((How In The World Did I Forget To Include This One? -- If you have read it, Chapter 1 & 2 is also what is in "The Story of the Story". But I wrote this nearly real time to the roleplay it was based on. I did that to try to encourage others to join in ... and it worked, sorta. But honestly - this was written as a welcome back gift to the main character of the story.))
Chapter 1 - A Chance Meeting
There was something about the thought of it that made him quick to accept. Sure he loved Karamoon, and wanted nothing more to help with healing the land, but what could he do? It seemed that this darkness that has taken the land is one for the wild or the mages to heal. He was just a human, he had no powers of magic, and he barely understood what had caused this land to do what it did. None of the new knights were a match for any of the keep demons, and surely if he took up arms he would be dead soon himself. He held the title of counsel, but it was meaningless in the shell of the town the demons have left. All that was left for him was his business, and there is no need for a merchant … not in this land … not now.
So, when Miss Wen asked him to find something … specific … his first thought was to another merchant he had met once or twice. It was too easy, actually. The idea of a night in a warm water port not far from Karamoon sounded as at least a welcome release from the darkness. He jumped on a small boat and in a few quick hours he arrived in Carmarthenshire.
Business done with the Carmarthenshire merchant, he chose to take this opportunity to explore this land. He wasn’t expected back to Karamoon before morning, surely … so why not.
Everywhere the land felt and smelled fresh from a summer rain. His ears still keen from his hunting days head fae languages and creatures about, but never felt the danger he would feel in the Karamoon wilds. Carmarthenshire would be no replacement for his home, but it was a wonderful escape.
Then all at once as the path would though the land; the hills flattened, the ground opened, and in front of him a circle with a fire pit. There in this circle, he could see two elven women in conversation. Thoughtless of interrupting him, he seemed compelled to greet these women, maybe hoping just for nice conversation.
“Greetings” he called to them, just within ear shot.
One elf, finely dressed, unfamiliar, warmly smiled and greeted him as a stranger with a quiet “Vedui”. The other … the other, was different … the other, didn’t wear the same fine clothing, instead wore something more with her connection to the wild … the other acted recognized his voice, jumped to her feet, and ran to him happily … above all else, the third was no stranger, no stranger indeed.
Chapter 2 - Choosing to Keep Her Joy
In no time, Arturos and the woman were surrounded by her kin, as the two of them fell back into the happy chatter they have known as longtime friends. At the urging of the one dressed in more fine clothes, the one called Maya, he told the story of the day they first met – when they were both younger, when Arturos had much more bravado, and the wood elf’s heart was much easier won. As the story continued, more elves entered the circle, each friendlier than the last; until it seemed an entire village hung on his every word. When he finished, another story was started by another man. But Arturos had no ears for him. Once the dearest and closest to him, the one that had left Karamoon so many months before, now sat like a dream from just across the fire.
She was happy here, even a stranger could see that in her eyes. The only sadness she had was the question about her missing falcon companion, Evan. They had left the circle to search for the bird, and with that the chance arrived for her to tell of her travels. She talked of what she had learned, what she had seen, who she had met. All the things she had told him, he had heard of previously. For as long as he knew her, she yearned for fellow wood elves, now she was surround by kin folk. All of what she had dreamed for … she had now. It had made him so happy to hear, her joy made him forget all that he sailed from just that day.
But it was she who brought the darkness of that land back to his mind. She stopped to ask for news of Karamoon, the rumors the people. She spoke specifically of the missing Vasa; the magistrate who left the port to their own service; and of Smog whom to Arturos has been missing longer than the wood elf. As she asked more and more questions, he fought in his mind, what to say. If he told her of what it is like, if he mentioned the darkness – her joy would end, she would certainly leave Carmarthenshire and people. He couldn’t have that. He wanted her to be happy; he always wanted her to be happy.
There were no lies told, she knew him to well to try such a tactic. Some questions were left unanswered. Others, he focused on small things. He spoke of the new wild folk, the growth of Brokton’s children, news of Timmie and Dracky’s engagement. She laughed and smiled, blissful within the new news to her, and he felt satisfied his tactics may be successful; until he can leave her here in the morning so she can continue happily here.
Slowly the sky fell darker, and the two old friends retired to her home up in the trees. A treehouse, she always wanted a treehouse. They did their best to talk well into the night, but as it seemed always the case for them, her yawns and closing eyes took her to dreams first. Smiling quietly, Arturos rested his head, and breathed in the warm air now happy for this break.
Chapter 3 - The Diary, The Cube, The Island
The fresh air of the morning woke him, his mind still rested and relaxed. It took him no time remember the night before, and wasn’t surprised to see she was already awake and off; something he had grown used to many months ago. There was a slight chill in the air, which reminded him to put on his cloak– he would certainly need it when he returned to the ungodly snows of Karamoon. Stretching himself, he stood and stepped out of the tree house to the platform high above the land. Laughing to himself, he was glad for this place, if not for the one thing he thought the night before … she always wanted a treehouse.
He scanned the land, looking for his friend, maybe to say his farewell and sail back to his home. He wouldn’t leave this place without seeing her once more, he felt he needed that just for himself. But she was no where to be seen from up high. None the less, if he waited, he would surely see her walking along a stream or flipping down a hill or climbing a tree … if he was patient he would see her.
As he looked around a bit, he spotted a small bench, with a book placed on it. She did mention she had learned more than letters, but words now, and writing; maybe this was hers. When Arturos opened the book, he needed the bench to sit. This wasn’t just a book, it was her book … it was her words … well written words, clearly written words. She was writing a diary, it appeared somewhat new with only a few pages full. She spoke of her concern for the missing Evan. She spoke of the other elves in this land, holding them highly. He stopped sadly, reading of when she wrote of a dream of Karamoon covered with blood, knowing well of what he keeps from her.
The last entry was strange; it talked of a cube and a button. She intended to show the one he met the night before, named Maya. Regardless, it seemed her curiosity would surely get her to press this button someday. Arturos stood from the bench and sat the diary down in its place. Doing so he spotted … behind the bench and almost tucked against the stairs, a cube with a single button. Surely it was the same cube as the curiosity to press the button grabbed him just as quickly; and with the impatience of his human race he reached and pressed it.
In an instant, he was consumed as if by a storm. Wind, thunder, lightning crashed around him and the world went out from under his feet. His body twisted, holding himself together as best he could, but thought that the gods have chosen this time and this way for his end to come. When all chaos have reached its peak, the air began to slow, thunder quieted, and his feet found solid footing below him. As things came clear he stood before a small wall. Looking around, he had no idea how he arrived here, knew not where he was, and thought of no way to find his way back to Karamoon. So he climbed the fence to see what this land had to offer.
In no time, he stood by a stream fed by two waterfalls off the hill. Lampposts directed him further across the hills. This land was warmer, and he draped his cloak over his shoulder. If Carmarthenshire felt elvish, this land looked elvish. Crystals reached up out of the ground, mushrooms grew big and full, and everything around felt enchanted as blessed by druids. But the human nature in him continued to ask the needed questions of how he would leave this place, and what will happen to him here.
After exploring the whole island, he draped his cloak over a large crystal and laid back against the foot of a tree. Rubbing his forehead lightly, closed his eyes, lifted his head up, and made a silent prayer to the gods for something to let him know he will not be forsaken in this land. He open his eyes, and there … why hadn’t he noticed it up there before.
Laughing, almost knowing what was to come, he called up a greeting. Then the voice, still so familiar came down “Arturos?”. She always wanted to live in a treehouse.
Chapter 4 - Time Was
Time was … he once thought he was an elf. It isn’t true of course. If he was an elf, he thinks, time would be of no consequence. It would pass like the moons and seasons, over and over again, thousands of times over. Days, weeks, instances move by like nothing – all parts of a life that to him would be a thousand forevers. If he was an elf, the need to accomplish so much in a morning, or a day … or something of his own lifetime. Wounds born from life, whether skin deep or to the heart would be cut, heal over, cut again and slowly be forgotten. If he was elf, he wouldn’t think of such things anyway, as it would be his existence, his life. Before he met any elves, he knew no burden at all from time; but with knowledge brings realization.
He thought of this again, busy moving across the small island. He had firewood to collect, see what animals lived her to be hunted (if she would let him), and as a last resort what he could use for a fishing rod – but by the gods he hated fishing now more than ever. Time was … he used to do this with her, him running errands to keep the tent in the outlaw camp until such time he would see her smiling face again.
Arturos never regretted learning the differences between elves and humans. As he walked back to the treehouse he looked up at that one who taught him nearly everything of elves. She sat on the rail of a high deck, her red hair moving lightly in the breeze and she smiles in quite meditation. So much the woman had taught her over the months, most she probably thinks he forgot or ignored; but there is little he would forget about her. Time was in those days long ago to him, he did all he could to remember everything about her. Time was when there were no secrets to keep from her. Time was … it wasn’t so difficult to stay happy.
Time was … climbing the rope to the treehouse would seem easier to him than his merchant flabbiness. Gasping for air he pulls himself to the rail near relching for air. “I tried the small boat down there,” he said between breaths, “but it seemed too old to move ... the gods, we'd be lucky if we can ever get off this place”
She made only the slightes move from her position, turning her head with a grin. “In a hurry?” she said sarcastically over her shoulder. She seemed calm, relaxed, and at peace with all time.
He yammered out a reply, “Ahh ... no ... it’s just that, well ... someday I would like to leave this place”.
“I have no wants or needs at the moment,” she said in response and proceeded to lean forward just a bit. Looking down at the ground, she pressed her lips together and allowed just a bit of moisture to move from her mouth until it began to make a little hanging.
Confused lightly, he watched her “Yes .. yes ... amazing place, good energy ... just ... like to go home someday.”
“Someday oneday another day sunday..not this day.” As she spoke, the droplet hang from a thread now growing longer enough to reach below her feet.
Worried of the questions that will come, and the closeness of such time away from Karamoon, he paced back and forth. “Well, I do have business soon …”
“Oops” she interrupts. Her spit nearly reached the ground, when it broke and dropped. Keeping grip of the railing with her legs, she leans forward, far out, to see where the spit landing. Just as she leans furthest as she could her weight shifts and she spins around railing. In an instant, the grinning girl with eyes as wide as saucers laughing is now looking back at Arturos, laugh happily … and above all else, upside down. “Weeee,” she screams hysterically looking at the world from this new view.
Time was … not so long ago as he thinks. How he could see a young hunter could fall madly in love with such a creature. Time was … he thought such things like the differences between elf and human were not so different, when such a love could happen. Time was so little different than now; but ... Time was … so long ago that it was different.
“Come we go and dance,” she calls, spins back to right-side up, and scampers down the rope. Arturos reaches to the rope to humor this old friend, to spend the day dancing rather then working, to remember when he was younger. As she ran to the dance circle, the gods reminded him of his age again – as his weak hands slip and he plummets to the ground.
Chapter 5 - Sunset on the Peace
There were bards throughout the land that knew guitars, flutes, squeezeboxes; but if one would mistake him for a bard, it would be on the drums you would see him. Banging out a rhythm, Arturos watched the elf dance happily spinning on this circle. Her laughter was enchanting enough in her happiness but the dancing brought it out even more. It was the second day on this land, and now the sun set bringing darkness, a change in light that was foretelling of what was to come.
At first, Arturos thought it was the wind, maybe bird call. Then it came closer, and more like a language. It called “Somebody?” as if help was easy to find. All at once the voice was right next to the circle and from a low rock a head appeared. It was the one they called Lailana, whom when Runa left the Karamoon tried her best to be an Elder in her absence. Quickly, Runa jumped happily to meet her old friend.
“How are you Lailana,” she called.
In as fast as it took Arturos to make the decision to stay silent, the silence was over. Lailana sighs ''Well stuff changed''
Runa gave an alarmed look to Arturos, “What changed?”
Arturos Gustafson looks to Lailana hoping to salvage this last chance and shook his head at her.
Lailana looks at Arturos surprised and asked ''You didn’t tell her?'' She sighed and said sadly ''The Keep killed Venovara and now the land is dead'.”
By the time Arturos turned to Runa, she had already fallen to her knees. He held his breath, seeing the pain seep into her mind, watching the happiness he fought to keep slide away.
Quietly, the woodelf asked, “Say that again.”
Forcing a smile, Lailana replied ''It can be solved, we are working on it.”
Seeing Runa on the ground, Arturos spoke quickly, trying to find other options to see different ways from letting Runa get wrapped up in the darkness back home. "Yes yes ... it can be solved ... lets find a way from here ... and Runa, you can go back to the shire ... and we can take care of karamoon ... all will be happy."
Runa’s pain changed, in an instant to anger. "You didnt TELL me?" she started to shout. "You had all this time, and YOU DIDN’T TELL ME? And, now you think I can go back to the Shire?" Shouts louder " And be there all HAPPY ???"
He shook his head in response, “You We're all happy ... before I came along, before this news ...”
"YOU dont understand ANYthing if you think i could be happy knowing this!" she interrupted rising to her feet and stepping towards him angerly. Her face was turning red with fury.
In so much time, in so many arguments, he never got angry, and now … he was. “That the BLOODY reason I kept it from you!!”
Lailana, no longer able to keep herself calm, spoke up as well, ''well you left us, we didn’t leave you!"
Alrunia Ahn stops and turns to Lailana "What? I said I would go on a journey, I didn’t leave you ONE single moment! I send a message and Smog knew also where I was!"
Lailana laughs ''Smog? Smog? I haven’t seen Smog in months!''
“What? He went back to Kara... to let you know. And Dos … and Evan …”
He spoke, still sternly, “We haven’t seen them … either … there was no news.”
Runa looked around, confused, shaking slightly. Her legs looked weak under her as tears ran across her red cheeks, “You can’t believe that i was able to leave Kara ... not seriously!" She turned, stepping over the rocks away from the circle.
Arturos’s rage was still evident. He needed to release it, angrily. Looking to Lailana he opened up. "You fool ... She was Happy here!! She was at peace"
Growling, spitting at his feet ‘‘No YOU were. She can stay if she wants but I AM GOING BACK. I have a mate and children! They need me there!"
“But don't you see? Now she knows, she'll go back .. Karamoon is dying, and if it dies she'll surely die with it.”
''You’re an ass for keeping her ignorant. She’s not a child. I know she’d rather die with it then don’t know about it.”
He throws his head back, shaking it. “you didn't see her there in the shire ... you didn't see her here. I may be an ass ... but I was looking out for her, she deserves a better life than that hell back I Karamoon.” He stomped off to the woods, staying out of sight of the women.
And as it did, the darkness of night was complete.
Chapter 6 - Only Words
Her voice resonated across the circle. There was energy to the notes that made the crystals hum with her in harmony. The sweetness of her words so often never rang so, so melodic over this place, it made all four of them close their eyes to feel it.
The rest of the night was a constant argument. Runa angry at Art for what he didn’t say; Art angry at Lailana for what she did say; and Lailana just angry at being at this place with no way home. For a short period, they stayed away from each to stew over such things. But this island was too small to hide, and when each passed another words flew.
She sang of a distant land. The way the summers were warm and long. The autumns bring life renewal and color. The winters bring stillness, restfulness and healing. The springs bringing hope.
It was the boat that set off the biggest argument. Arturos had seen a boat earlier, he know he did. Now the women didn’t believe him, blaming him. If he would have said something when they were in Carmarthenshire, they could have easily been to the port there and within hours, they would all be home. It was his fault, it was all his fault. And that was the last he could take.
She sings of a place they go, where there is mostly quiet. Flowers and butterflies … a rainbow lives beside it. From the hill, a waterfall pours and washes across a pond. Huge trees shade the people there – but they are all still warm. She sings of the laughter, of the animals, of the humming bees. She sings of the caves, of the crystals tune, of touch from the crystals and the happiness and safety it brings.
He did it – he did it of his own choosing – he did it knowing her anger, but that would days or weeks. He had many homes his life, he loved all of them, and Karamoon was no different. When Karamoon died, he would leave that place and find someplace new to love. Surely she would be no different; elves could be any different like that. Yes he knew she could bond with the land with her home; but he knew she had a new land now; and he was sure she would forget of Karamoon in no time.
She sang of the entire land. She sang of the dark places, and deeper more of the keep. Her voice rang of its evils but how it also belong there, belonged in their lives. She sings of the games she played with others in a canyon. She sang of the towers and of mages. She sang of walls protecting a port. She sang o f the games she played there.
What a fool, a stupid stupid fool he was. After all the arguments, after all of this time, after all the curious explorations, after all the secrets kept, after all chance meetings. After everything he had done among the elves, it was still as if he didn’t know her at all. Her words spat at him of how she missed her home, how no land would replace it. She fired at him the angry words speaking the bonds that she would hold. Her words promised to do everything to heal the land. Her words made clear if the land would die she would not wish to go on living. Her words echoed through the island of how she longed and missed everyone and everything about the land. Her words spoke of the longing for Karamoon and the only happiness is when she thought of going back. But these were only words he thought.
Her voice echoed all around them as she sings for the queen and the heart of the land, calling it all alive. She called for to them to see the hills and canyons and trees of this place; to see all of its landscape, and to feel its life bursting from joy and strength.
Elphaba had also touched the cube by now and found them as Runa took them all to the dance circle. Two to the drum, the third to ground, Runa stood in the circle, and gave them proof of what she so long for these many months, and how strong that love is. And she did this without any tricks or illiusons. Only words.
She sings now more silently, caring, like a mother would sing to a child. There is a feeling around the four of freshness of lightness and slightly of cold. Runa stops singing, and she see these dear friends. Runa stops to sing, they open their eyes, and they are home.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Saturday, May 28, 2011
The Story of the Story
((Big Kudos go to Maya Carfagno for allowing me to godmod her on the way to writing one of my favorite stories in my life))
- The Story of the Story -
Writers would dream of summer's eves like this. The setting sun, giving way to the moistness that hangs through the grass and moss in these woods enriching the air with a smell of earth, of growth, of life itself. It would be like this for many days thought Maya as she inspected the preparations for this evening's affair. The fire was already lit, but was not needed so early on such a warm night; but Maya wished the night to last well beyond when the fire's warm glow would indeed be needed. This was a night perfect for a grand story, one that would reach through the sunset, through the ages evens, and be as grand as the land of the Eldalie ned i Trannail is beautiful. If a talesman would work their magic for most of the eve, or for days to come, she would not mind in the least. She loved such stories, if only to give her the chance to learn something new, to see the world through new eyes. Her body was far from nearing its end, but a story yet unheard was rare and like magic to her soul. This day, she sent word to her kin to share with them such an eve, and her love for the story and the pride for her fellow elf will carry her though as long as the tale takes.
Her only concern that eve was for any pesky intruders. The circle of logs and stumps around the fire was fairly near the market and village. It was not out of the question for a gnome or human to get lost in the trees and homes of the elves. Sure, some of these turned out to be troubadours or the poor wandering bard whom could tip her curiosity with a lyric; but besides a few trusted friends, it was rare an elf would bring the proper respect for such an event. They lacked the patience for such beauty, lacked the culture to appreciate it. She did not fault them for that; it is what they were as she was what she was. But an overzealous dwarf sniffing beer could easily end a daylong story, and this was too nice of a night for such interruptions.
Time would pass as the fire ring filled; Maya was not surprised by this. There was no need to rush this eve. Tea was available, and punch, and fine Elvish spring wine; that alone would bring the appreciative ones when they are ready, and those just coming for the story will ensure to not miss much either. But the patience of her kind allows Maya to allow the time to pass, watching the leaves dance on the summer wind, listening to chattering of the tree squirrels, or just exchanging kind words with her kin who had arrived already.
An early one was a wild elf, arriving to the shire just a few seasons prior. Runa, Runa of the Wilds she is sometimes called, was a curious one. Maya had only met Runa within the previous year, spotting the wild elf as she ran through the woods of Carmarthenshire. The two bonded over their connection to the nature that surrounded them and became close. As they drew closer, Maya felt heartened by Runa's openness to her, the wild elf was typically more private; not so much to elves like her, but to those of other races. Strangely, though, Runa until just the days before this night had seemed to be away for over a season. Her return had brought a concern over a lost bird she called Evan, a Falcon that had been her companion for some time; as well as a puzzle (a box and a button); but this eve, Runa seemed to return to her more private nature. Like many of the newcomers, Maya directed the wild elf to the ready drinks, and Runa seemed more than satisfied to taste her drink then to look for answers. Runa was in good spirits, seemingly relaxed again around her kin. By the time Maya and Runa were about to find a soft place to sit, others had settled in to the ring. The idle conversation was nothing of any great depth. A simple greeting, a kindly chat about simple activities, but no great story yet -- none ready to offer up a tale yet.
This was likely due to the ruckus that was starting up behind them. It was undoubtedly human, stomping around in the trees, wandering about aimlessly as if they had no idea where to go. The noise was moving too quick to connect to the woods, and too quick to notice they were heading in the wrong direction. Many sitting in the ring smiled quietly to each other, waiting for whoever was out there to smell the fire or notice the clearing. Sure, humans were impatient, but in this case it will either wander away fast or find the fire fast. Sure enough, a man came over the hill with a satchel slung over his shoulder. The man was clearly human even though the dark red hair billowing madly from his head covered the round ears, his trimmed mustache and goatee were easy to spot. He seemed oddly dressed here, even for a human. His clothes were finer than one would wear in the woods, and maybe too heavy for the warm summer eve; but she wasn't one to assume that humans would know the proper thing to wear in the woods -- this one surely spent much of his days in towns. Maya immediately thought offering the man a drink would be the proper thing to do, as he surely would be thirsty in such heavy things walking about in these woods. That is likely what brought him here as well; but he appeared friendly enough, kind enough to show respect towards her and the other elves. Maya greeted him as she would any other, the man giving a greeting back to them as well.
It was Runa that seemed to react to the man, but not at all how Maya suspected. Runa gasping suddenly, and quite happily, when seeing the man, exclaimed "Arturos!"
Stunned seeing the elf, the man looked surprised to her in return. Blinking, his natural reaction to such shock replied “Runa?”
Maya smiled softly towards the two, feeling more at ease about this intruder. Leaning to another elf she says quietly, "Old friends, it seems."
Both showed agreement to Maya's words but it was clear to her that they were more focused on the other, more so than any casual acquaintance.
Runa was nodding madly, happy with her surprise. "What brought you here?"
"I ... I," he stuttered, "It must be a dream that has ... that is the only place I have seen you of recent."
Runa jumped to her feet, spinning around, grinning wide. "No Dream. Real Runa. Flesh. Blood. And Sharp Tongue to go with it."
The man started to laugh, slapping his leg as he does. Runa seemed no longer to contain herself and ran to the human, jumping up and wrapping her arms and legs about him, nearly pouncing the man. The man caught the elf, but stumbled back slowly at first seeming to catch his balance then falling to the ground behind him, Runa still wrapped in his arms. The two continued to laugh, she scratching at his hair, he trying to hold her steady above him. She asking of news hungrily, he just is going on about his happiness to see her finally.
Maya couldn't help to be intrigued by the two, especially from the typically private elf. The human did not seem to be too old, which means their friendship was relatively short seeded. But the roots grew deep, very much deep. Runa seemed alive in the arms of this man, and he smiled like the world was set anew. How could he have bonded to her so deeply, how had she let him to draw close. Maya's curiosity lit a bit of a fire in her interest, and she found a way to feed it. With a laugh she stated, "It seems we have our first tale -- come you two, tell us the tale of how you met. Or your greatest adventure together. Whatever you like."
Runa lifted up still sitting on top of the fallen man, the cheeky smile on her face towards Maya, spoke happily "Aye, we could indeed tell the one tale." She looked down to the man, shrugging slightly with a bit of a question "or another."
His eyes connected to hers, "How we met. That was a good story."
Runa sprung to her feet, and offered a hand to the man. "Come, have a seat and tell it." Together they moved next to the fire in a soft patch of grass. They sat very close, good friends, comfortable with sharing their space with one another, curious to see from a human. Maya settled back against a log, taking care to watch the two with growing curiosity, happily, almost eagerly, waiting to see what has connected the two.
The man let his eyes move around the ring to the gathering elves modestly. "So ... how we met ... it is probably best to tell more of that day. By the keep as well?" He turned to Runa, his face awaiting permission, "Shall we not?"
She gave him a smirk, nudging her side. "Bah ... if you are happy to tell it, than for me it is."
And in there the grand story was to begin, Maya lifted her wine and drank it quietly.
The man starts in, “There once was a young hunter," he said rising to his feet in front of the fire. The bit of modesty still was showing in his face. "He just arrived in a strange island, into a strange wilderness. He, so new to the land, had no place to sleep but the side of a stream.”
Runa watched the man, her knees curled up next to her childishly, but she edged on the ground un-elvish like with her impatience for the story.
The man straightened his arm out in front of him, like one would when drawing a bow. “One day while practicing his craft,” he continued, “A strange gentlemen approached asking the young hunter to look after an elf.” As he spoke he moved to stand next to the wild elf, a smile coming to his face. “This elf was new to the land herself, and while had many years on the human was young.”
The wild elf chuckled, impishly, her feet dancing on the ground child innocently. “A VERY young elf ... indeed"
“The hunter was quick to realize that while she was wiser than he, the newness of this place had affected her, leaving her awkward and a fair bit shy.”
Maya placed her hand on her chin, leaning in to the words. While the man spoke, her fellow elves were arriving for the storytelling. They greeted her kindly, but her attention remained on the tale, and the way the two hung on such a story.
“So,” the man offered calmly to the growing crowd, “these two spend the day exploring the land ..."
Grinning happily, Runa added “I wish to mention on this pint: this huge rat really looked scary," she held her arms outstretched showing the size. It seemed far bigger than any rat could be, nearly unbelievable. The man held his arms out as well, parroting the elf and nodding agreement with her. "And," she continued, "We ran! We ran as far from it as we could.”
Maya couldn’t help but to laugh, "Well you would know what size seems natural. A wise decision." The gathered elves chuckled at her words, smiles on their face in agreement.
“Aye,” said the man sheepishly. “We were not at all brave when facing the rat ... but that makes the rest of this story more comical”
Runa grinned blushing a bit while listening to the man’s story.
The man’s face turned more serious bringing the tale to turn with it. “As the sun set and the skies began to darken after this long day, the two and some of their new friends came to a long bridge over a deep valley. This bridge was the type ...” he paused to look around the gathering “… you have seen it surely the kind that lowers and raises? And it would lead to a keep ... a large castle building ... that seems to have a look of evil, and darkness.” His hands curled and scratched the air, his teeth bared as he spoke; the man's eyes almost darkened themselves.
Runa swam her arms through the air, and breathily added “Fog around, scary noises."
Maya nodded, her eyes growing in interest. She knew them as brooding evil places, human places.
“Well,” he said comically dancing around like a court fool, “these two and their friends stood there at the end of this bridge quietly. They knew not what lay across that bridge, but engaged all that passed. Meeting new people."
Runa nodded happily.
"That is," he said, “… until the bridge lowered."
Runa gasped at the words fearfully, convincingly. Maya couldn’t help to gasp slightly herself. She looked concerned now, for whatever her kin remembers of this story worries her now.
“Across this bridge comes a man, in strong, dark armor," the man continues. "In his hands he carries a large sword.” Dominantly the man walked towards Runa, his stature lifts so as if he looms over the elf.
“Overly large,” Runa exclaimed frightfully.
“Seeing this small group at the end of the bridge he approaches, making mean angry faces,” as the man speaks he mirror words, his own face skewing, snarling, “He sees them. He Approaches Them! Angry … DARK … And Menacing.”
“The dark one does not want them there, that was most clear, and most obvious.” As the man talks, he starts to walk about the circle, his steps slow and deliberate. “He says to them ... he says ‘All Fairies and Fae must leave here now!’” He holds his hands in a way to seem like an invisible sword is in his hands; his eyes gazing to each elf in turn. He moves like this dark man might move, he looks over the elves like one most evil might.
Maya gives a bit of a chuckle on the story and Runa’s seemingly hanging on each word accentuating a timidness she expresses that seems unlike the wild elf. Maya can not help but to feel the tension grow amongst the gathered as they listen closely.
“He seems to be focused on the wild elf most of all. He started counting ...saying he would dispatch them surely if they stay much longer." The man moves towards Runa now, and extends his finger point towards her as if a sword itself comes from it. "To emphasize the point, he brings forth his blade, reaching it towards the point at her, readying to run her through.”
Runa raises her face to the bard, her eyes wide, convincingly scared of what evil may be brought down on her at this time. But very visibly, while in mid-fright almost paralyzed with fear, she gives the man a wink.
The human can’t help but to smile and wink back to the elf, and in doing so changes his demeanor, crossing his arms, putting his hands in his pocket. But his voice continues to tell the story, “Now, this hunter … it’s at this time he remembers the one who introduced him to the wild elf. Remembered he said to protect her. So, he decided to act. He pulls his sword!!” From his pocket his hand comes forth but grips only air, jumping into a fencing pose minus the blade. “Mustering up all the bravery he had in his heart, he points it at the dark one. “LEAVE HER ALONE”, he calls to him flashing the sword at this warrior.”
“A much Smaller sword, though.” Runa adds with a laugh.
Standing at guard, he says "Rusted as well."
“And dull,” she adds.
“Could not cut cheese.”
Maya put her hand to her laugh, stifling a giggle, watching the man act out the looming fight.
“Well ... as brave as such a hunter, it immediately brought the attention of the warrior to me ... I mean to the hunter. The warrior aimed his blade at the hunter and gave him two choices ... run or fight.”
Runa, jokingly looked to the elves about and sarcastically offered, “And stupid one chose ...?”
Unphased the man bravely continued, “He Chose the Fight. The hunter stood his ground, and struck first at the warrior ...” saying as such, swinging his arm downward across his body, “a glancing blow that bounced off the warrior's armor.”
Some of the elves leaned back from the swing, as if ducking it themselves.
He moved his arm up and slashed thought the air, “The dark warrior then returned with a blade of his own ... swinging it towards the hunter dressed only in his leathers. Cutting him immediately and deep.”
Runa bit her lip, listening close.
"They traded blows", the man swinging his arm back and forth. He would lean to avoid phantom swings. "They traded words." He would slash in the air with his hand, causing some of in the ring duck back from ghost blade. "The warrior most of all bellowed."
"Run or Die!" Shouted Runa for the Dark One.
The man leaped and landed with his feet planted in front of the fire. His back was to Runa. His hand still ready to strike to the unseen warrior. His breath coming a bit hard, his shoulders drooping weekly. "The brave hunter ... fighting for the honor of the wild elf, standing in view of his new found friends, doing what he could to show the greatest of what bravery he had ... he did ... he did the only thing he could think of doing ..."
Runa leaned forward, smiling, eagerly. When she looked about the circle, all those in attendance did the same - wide eyed and breath held.
"The hunter ... Ran!"
The elves laughed delightedly, Maya included. "Oops," said an elf to the left of her.
"He ran as fast as his feet could take them. Bloodied in pain, he limped to the healer's hut to his own remorse," the man said with a smile on his face. His movement no longer reflected the hunter, as he stood upright and walk to take a seat on the ground next to Runa.
Runa shifted slightly, pulling her legs up to hug herself around her knees. Grinning madly she continued, "He left the poor innocent wild elf all along at such a dangerous place. With only the winds to protect her."
"Twas a crushing blow to the young lad. Even if she survived, she would surely not seek out such a coward ... twas what he thought." The man took the remainder of Runa's tea and drank it down with a heavy swig. He even drank like a human, take what is not his and quick to pour the liquid down his gullet, as if he had not the time to savor the drink or care where it comes from.
Maya was amused at how close the two sat to each other, the closeness seemed so natural. "And what of the brave hunter and the wild elf? What became of them?" she asked seeming to know the answer herself, "You say she would not seek him out?"
Runa turned to the man with a smirk. She gave him a wink and blew him a kiss. The man seemed to take this as a sign to speak with a wide grin, "we shall say ... that was not the case." Turning his head back to the audience around them he nodded politely, "and that is the story. Now ... where I come from, if one tells a story, he listens to the next, so who is next?"
Those around the audience stopped to applaud quietly, appreciative of the tale. Maya was not excluded, smiling warmly to the pair. The human blushed slightly from the response and raised the empty cup of tea as if to drink again, but seemed more like it was purposefully to hide behind it. A bit of modesty unlike many of their kind. Runa, still grinning from the story beamed from the attention, laying her legs flat on the ground and patting her knees happily. Their reactions almost exaggerating the differences in the two, and still bonding them at the same time. Maya chuckled to her self, thinking now that surely the story continued onward this battle. But this day, more would not need to be pressed, so Maya softly applauded and heralded, "The Brave Hunter and the Wild Elf!"
Shortly, Maya took on the responsibility for the next tale, inspired by the previous. As she did, the human stayed true to his word and listened respectfully. Runa seemed less patient, prodding him from time to time, a whisper asking for news. It was not long they left the fire ring to their own means. Maya could only think that the old friends had much to share and much to learn of the other's doings. Let the old friends go, she thought. There are still stories to be told.
-End-
Writers would dream of summer's eves like this. The setting sun, giving way to the moistness that hangs through the grass and moss in these woods enriching the air with a smell of earth, of growth, of life itself. It would be like this for many days thought Maya as she inspected the preparations for this evening's affair. The fire was already lit, but was not needed so early on such a warm night; but Maya wished the night to last well beyond when the fire's warm glow would indeed be needed. This was a night perfect for a grand story, one that would reach through the sunset, through the ages evens, and be as grand as the land of the Eldalie ned i Trannail is beautiful. If a talesman would work their magic for most of the eve, or for days to come, she would not mind in the least. She loved such stories, if only to give her the chance to learn something new, to see the world through new eyes. Her body was far from nearing its end, but a story yet unheard was rare and like magic to her soul. This day, she sent word to her kin to share with them such an eve, and her love for the story and the pride for her fellow elf will carry her though as long as the tale takes.
Her only concern that eve was for any pesky intruders. The circle of logs and stumps around the fire was fairly near the market and village. It was not out of the question for a gnome or human to get lost in the trees and homes of the elves. Sure, some of these turned out to be troubadours or the poor wandering bard whom could tip her curiosity with a lyric; but besides a few trusted friends, it was rare an elf would bring the proper respect for such an event. They lacked the patience for such beauty, lacked the culture to appreciate it. She did not fault them for that; it is what they were as she was what she was. But an overzealous dwarf sniffing beer could easily end a daylong story, and this was too nice of a night for such interruptions.
Time would pass as the fire ring filled; Maya was not surprised by this. There was no need to rush this eve. Tea was available, and punch, and fine Elvish spring wine; that alone would bring the appreciative ones when they are ready, and those just coming for the story will ensure to not miss much either. But the patience of her kind allows Maya to allow the time to pass, watching the leaves dance on the summer wind, listening to chattering of the tree squirrels, or just exchanging kind words with her kin who had arrived already.
An early one was a wild elf, arriving to the shire just a few seasons prior. Runa, Runa of the Wilds she is sometimes called, was a curious one. Maya had only met Runa within the previous year, spotting the wild elf as she ran through the woods of Carmarthenshire. The two bonded over their connection to the nature that surrounded them and became close. As they drew closer, Maya felt heartened by Runa's openness to her, the wild elf was typically more private; not so much to elves like her, but to those of other races. Strangely, though, Runa until just the days before this night had seemed to be away for over a season. Her return had brought a concern over a lost bird she called Evan, a Falcon that had been her companion for some time; as well as a puzzle (a box and a button); but this eve, Runa seemed to return to her more private nature. Like many of the newcomers, Maya directed the wild elf to the ready drinks, and Runa seemed more than satisfied to taste her drink then to look for answers. Runa was in good spirits, seemingly relaxed again around her kin. By the time Maya and Runa were about to find a soft place to sit, others had settled in to the ring. The idle conversation was nothing of any great depth. A simple greeting, a kindly chat about simple activities, but no great story yet -- none ready to offer up a tale yet.
This was likely due to the ruckus that was starting up behind them. It was undoubtedly human, stomping around in the trees, wandering about aimlessly as if they had no idea where to go. The noise was moving too quick to connect to the woods, and too quick to notice they were heading in the wrong direction. Many sitting in the ring smiled quietly to each other, waiting for whoever was out there to smell the fire or notice the clearing. Sure, humans were impatient, but in this case it will either wander away fast or find the fire fast. Sure enough, a man came over the hill with a satchel slung over his shoulder. The man was clearly human even though the dark red hair billowing madly from his head covered the round ears, his trimmed mustache and goatee were easy to spot. He seemed oddly dressed here, even for a human. His clothes were finer than one would wear in the woods, and maybe too heavy for the warm summer eve; but she wasn't one to assume that humans would know the proper thing to wear in the woods -- this one surely spent much of his days in towns. Maya immediately thought offering the man a drink would be the proper thing to do, as he surely would be thirsty in such heavy things walking about in these woods. That is likely what brought him here as well; but he appeared friendly enough, kind enough to show respect towards her and the other elves. Maya greeted him as she would any other, the man giving a greeting back to them as well.
It was Runa that seemed to react to the man, but not at all how Maya suspected. Runa gasping suddenly, and quite happily, when seeing the man, exclaimed "Arturos!"
Stunned seeing the elf, the man looked surprised to her in return. Blinking, his natural reaction to such shock replied “Runa?”
Maya smiled softly towards the two, feeling more at ease about this intruder. Leaning to another elf she says quietly, "Old friends, it seems."
Both showed agreement to Maya's words but it was clear to her that they were more focused on the other, more so than any casual acquaintance.
Runa was nodding madly, happy with her surprise. "What brought you here?"
"I ... I," he stuttered, "It must be a dream that has ... that is the only place I have seen you of recent."
Runa jumped to her feet, spinning around, grinning wide. "No Dream. Real Runa. Flesh. Blood. And Sharp Tongue to go with it."
The man started to laugh, slapping his leg as he does. Runa seemed no longer to contain herself and ran to the human, jumping up and wrapping her arms and legs about him, nearly pouncing the man. The man caught the elf, but stumbled back slowly at first seeming to catch his balance then falling to the ground behind him, Runa still wrapped in his arms. The two continued to laugh, she scratching at his hair, he trying to hold her steady above him. She asking of news hungrily, he just is going on about his happiness to see her finally.
Maya couldn't help to be intrigued by the two, especially from the typically private elf. The human did not seem to be too old, which means their friendship was relatively short seeded. But the roots grew deep, very much deep. Runa seemed alive in the arms of this man, and he smiled like the world was set anew. How could he have bonded to her so deeply, how had she let him to draw close. Maya's curiosity lit a bit of a fire in her interest, and she found a way to feed it. With a laugh she stated, "It seems we have our first tale -- come you two, tell us the tale of how you met. Or your greatest adventure together. Whatever you like."
Runa lifted up still sitting on top of the fallen man, the cheeky smile on her face towards Maya, spoke happily "Aye, we could indeed tell the one tale." She looked down to the man, shrugging slightly with a bit of a question "or another."
His eyes connected to hers, "How we met. That was a good story."
Runa sprung to her feet, and offered a hand to the man. "Come, have a seat and tell it." Together they moved next to the fire in a soft patch of grass. They sat very close, good friends, comfortable with sharing their space with one another, curious to see from a human. Maya settled back against a log, taking care to watch the two with growing curiosity, happily, almost eagerly, waiting to see what has connected the two.
The man let his eyes move around the ring to the gathering elves modestly. "So ... how we met ... it is probably best to tell more of that day. By the keep as well?" He turned to Runa, his face awaiting permission, "Shall we not?"
She gave him a smirk, nudging her side. "Bah ... if you are happy to tell it, than for me it is."
And in there the grand story was to begin, Maya lifted her wine and drank it quietly.
The man starts in, “There once was a young hunter," he said rising to his feet in front of the fire. The bit of modesty still was showing in his face. "He just arrived in a strange island, into a strange wilderness. He, so new to the land, had no place to sleep but the side of a stream.”
Runa watched the man, her knees curled up next to her childishly, but she edged on the ground un-elvish like with her impatience for the story.
The man straightened his arm out in front of him, like one would when drawing a bow. “One day while practicing his craft,” he continued, “A strange gentlemen approached asking the young hunter to look after an elf.” As he spoke he moved to stand next to the wild elf, a smile coming to his face. “This elf was new to the land herself, and while had many years on the human was young.”
The wild elf chuckled, impishly, her feet dancing on the ground child innocently. “A VERY young elf ... indeed"
“The hunter was quick to realize that while she was wiser than he, the newness of this place had affected her, leaving her awkward and a fair bit shy.”
Maya placed her hand on her chin, leaning in to the words. While the man spoke, her fellow elves were arriving for the storytelling. They greeted her kindly, but her attention remained on the tale, and the way the two hung on such a story.
“So,” the man offered calmly to the growing crowd, “these two spend the day exploring the land ..."
Grinning happily, Runa added “I wish to mention on this pint: this huge rat really looked scary," she held her arms outstretched showing the size. It seemed far bigger than any rat could be, nearly unbelievable. The man held his arms out as well, parroting the elf and nodding agreement with her. "And," she continued, "We ran! We ran as far from it as we could.”
Maya couldn’t help but to laugh, "Well you would know what size seems natural. A wise decision." The gathered elves chuckled at her words, smiles on their face in agreement.
“Aye,” said the man sheepishly. “We were not at all brave when facing the rat ... but that makes the rest of this story more comical”
Runa grinned blushing a bit while listening to the man’s story.
The man’s face turned more serious bringing the tale to turn with it. “As the sun set and the skies began to darken after this long day, the two and some of their new friends came to a long bridge over a deep valley. This bridge was the type ...” he paused to look around the gathering “… you have seen it surely the kind that lowers and raises? And it would lead to a keep ... a large castle building ... that seems to have a look of evil, and darkness.” His hands curled and scratched the air, his teeth bared as he spoke; the man's eyes almost darkened themselves.
Runa swam her arms through the air, and breathily added “Fog around, scary noises."
Maya nodded, her eyes growing in interest. She knew them as brooding evil places, human places.
“Well,” he said comically dancing around like a court fool, “these two and their friends stood there at the end of this bridge quietly. They knew not what lay across that bridge, but engaged all that passed. Meeting new people."
Runa nodded happily.
"That is," he said, “… until the bridge lowered."
Runa gasped at the words fearfully, convincingly. Maya couldn’t help to gasp slightly herself. She looked concerned now, for whatever her kin remembers of this story worries her now.
“Across this bridge comes a man, in strong, dark armor," the man continues. "In his hands he carries a large sword.” Dominantly the man walked towards Runa, his stature lifts so as if he looms over the elf.
“Overly large,” Runa exclaimed frightfully.
“Seeing this small group at the end of the bridge he approaches, making mean angry faces,” as the man speaks he mirror words, his own face skewing, snarling, “He sees them. He Approaches Them! Angry … DARK … And Menacing.”
“The dark one does not want them there, that was most clear, and most obvious.” As the man talks, he starts to walk about the circle, his steps slow and deliberate. “He says to them ... he says ‘All Fairies and Fae must leave here now!’” He holds his hands in a way to seem like an invisible sword is in his hands; his eyes gazing to each elf in turn. He moves like this dark man might move, he looks over the elves like one most evil might.
Maya gives a bit of a chuckle on the story and Runa’s seemingly hanging on each word accentuating a timidness she expresses that seems unlike the wild elf. Maya can not help but to feel the tension grow amongst the gathered as they listen closely.
“He seems to be focused on the wild elf most of all. He started counting ...saying he would dispatch them surely if they stay much longer." The man moves towards Runa now, and extends his finger point towards her as if a sword itself comes from it. "To emphasize the point, he brings forth his blade, reaching it towards the point at her, readying to run her through.”
Runa raises her face to the bard, her eyes wide, convincingly scared of what evil may be brought down on her at this time. But very visibly, while in mid-fright almost paralyzed with fear, she gives the man a wink.
The human can’t help but to smile and wink back to the elf, and in doing so changes his demeanor, crossing his arms, putting his hands in his pocket. But his voice continues to tell the story, “Now, this hunter … it’s at this time he remembers the one who introduced him to the wild elf. Remembered he said to protect her. So, he decided to act. He pulls his sword!!” From his pocket his hand comes forth but grips only air, jumping into a fencing pose minus the blade. “Mustering up all the bravery he had in his heart, he points it at the dark one. “LEAVE HER ALONE”, he calls to him flashing the sword at this warrior.”
“A much Smaller sword, though.” Runa adds with a laugh.
Standing at guard, he says "Rusted as well."
“And dull,” she adds.
“Could not cut cheese.”
Maya put her hand to her laugh, stifling a giggle, watching the man act out the looming fight.
“Well ... as brave as such a hunter, it immediately brought the attention of the warrior to me ... I mean to the hunter. The warrior aimed his blade at the hunter and gave him two choices ... run or fight.”
Runa, jokingly looked to the elves about and sarcastically offered, “And stupid one chose ...?”
Unphased the man bravely continued, “He Chose the Fight. The hunter stood his ground, and struck first at the warrior ...” saying as such, swinging his arm downward across his body, “a glancing blow that bounced off the warrior's armor.”
Some of the elves leaned back from the swing, as if ducking it themselves.
He moved his arm up and slashed thought the air, “The dark warrior then returned with a blade of his own ... swinging it towards the hunter dressed only in his leathers. Cutting him immediately and deep.”
Runa bit her lip, listening close.
"They traded blows", the man swinging his arm back and forth. He would lean to avoid phantom swings. "They traded words." He would slash in the air with his hand, causing some of in the ring duck back from ghost blade. "The warrior most of all bellowed."
"Run or Die!" Shouted Runa for the Dark One.
The man leaped and landed with his feet planted in front of the fire. His back was to Runa. His hand still ready to strike to the unseen warrior. His breath coming a bit hard, his shoulders drooping weekly. "The brave hunter ... fighting for the honor of the wild elf, standing in view of his new found friends, doing what he could to show the greatest of what bravery he had ... he did ... he did the only thing he could think of doing ..."
Runa leaned forward, smiling, eagerly. When she looked about the circle, all those in attendance did the same - wide eyed and breath held.
"The hunter ... Ran!"
The elves laughed delightedly, Maya included. "Oops," said an elf to the left of her.
"He ran as fast as his feet could take them. Bloodied in pain, he limped to the healer's hut to his own remorse," the man said with a smile on his face. His movement no longer reflected the hunter, as he stood upright and walk to take a seat on the ground next to Runa.
Runa shifted slightly, pulling her legs up to hug herself around her knees. Grinning madly she continued, "He left the poor innocent wild elf all along at such a dangerous place. With only the winds to protect her."
"Twas a crushing blow to the young lad. Even if she survived, she would surely not seek out such a coward ... twas what he thought." The man took the remainder of Runa's tea and drank it down with a heavy swig. He even drank like a human, take what is not his and quick to pour the liquid down his gullet, as if he had not the time to savor the drink or care where it comes from.
Maya was amused at how close the two sat to each other, the closeness seemed so natural. "And what of the brave hunter and the wild elf? What became of them?" she asked seeming to know the answer herself, "You say she would not seek him out?"
Runa turned to the man with a smirk. She gave him a wink and blew him a kiss. The man seemed to take this as a sign to speak with a wide grin, "we shall say ... that was not the case." Turning his head back to the audience around them he nodded politely, "and that is the story. Now ... where I come from, if one tells a story, he listens to the next, so who is next?"
Those around the audience stopped to applaud quietly, appreciative of the tale. Maya was not excluded, smiling warmly to the pair. The human blushed slightly from the response and raised the empty cup of tea as if to drink again, but seemed more like it was purposefully to hide behind it. A bit of modesty unlike many of their kind. Runa, still grinning from the story beamed from the attention, laying her legs flat on the ground and patting her knees happily. Their reactions almost exaggerating the differences in the two, and still bonding them at the same time. Maya chuckled to her self, thinking now that surely the story continued onward this battle. But this day, more would not need to be pressed, so Maya softly applauded and heralded, "The Brave Hunter and the Wild Elf!"
Shortly, Maya took on the responsibility for the next tale, inspired by the previous. As she did, the human stayed true to his word and listened respectfully. Runa seemed less patient, prodding him from time to time, a whisper asking for news. It was not long they left the fire ring to their own means. Maya could only think that the old friends had much to share and much to learn of the other's doings. Let the old friends go, she thought. There are still stories to be told.
-End-
Home
((Someday I dream of a full book about the life of Arturos. This will be the last chapter.))
I don’t know if this is real, or a dream. But I know I am home. Lately I have a hard time figuring out much of anything. Every where I turn, something seems wrong, everything I do seems not what I remember. Sometimes, what I am most sure about appears to be not what it seems in the least.
This cave is cold, it is dark, but most of all it is small. Smoke hangs near the ceiling, barely visible against the light of the cooking fire nestled across the room in the corner. I must use for a fireplace, something cooks there now I just can’t seem to remember what. The candles about the small bed I lie in flicker against the drafty cold air that licks against the wet walls. I must have lit them to read, but I don’t see any books in the bed next to me. I don’t see it on the table by the candles either. I am not quite sure what I was doing to light the candles, but something tells me they are too much of an expense to have going without some reason. Besides, they fail to let my eyes adjust enough to see anything that well.
That may not be the fault of the candle that I can not see. It may be my eyes that fail me too. The way I feel right now, it seems there is little left that hasn’t failed. When I lift my shoulders up to look around this room, my back twinges. I feel throbbing in my foot, and when I look down at it, I can see the sock that contains it seems bigger than the one on my other foot. My hands stiffen, and I fight the urge to grip and re-grip the fingers arthritically. I realize this shell of a being I am in is as old as the trees; and it takes every ounce of my being to try to shift in some way to where I can rest again. Almost to emphasize this, my chest starts to burn, and I cough with the lungs of the oldest of old.
It was an onion. I cook an onion in a kettle. I remember that now. But I have no idea how I am going to get there to get that thing or how I put it there in the kettle to begin with.
It is all too grey to me. Slowly, things start confusing me. How did I end up to be so old? It seems I was just making cheese, now this. It must be a dream.
How did I end up in this place? Where is this place? What magic is it that brings me here.
My hand shakes. I can’t seem to breathe right. It all confuses me, it starts to scare me.
My hand reaches to rub my arm, sliding up until the skin touches an area where hair no longer grows. I look down at the skin and see faded black markings; the tattoo of a youthful boy. One who saw himself as a fisherman for the rest of his life, and tattooed his arm to show community with his fellow fish hunters. Only weeks later to end up in Karamoon. Then Ravenscraig. Then Dee. Then … well, I am not sure where I went. But I know this tattoo. This must be me, this must still be my body. This coughing, hacking, old body is the same of that youthful boy that curses me now from some other place.
This cough, this air, it scares me. Not even the touch of my own arm seems to comfort me to think I am the right place. I close my eyes and begin to recount, the way they taught me as a boy to do. We were taught to recount our lives, when we are about to die. It is supposed to let us know what is important in our lives. But I do it to calm myself. It seems I have done this too many times, and now when I recount, I can see again what my mind seems to lose grip on. Once again, I feel the calmness of knowing my life was lost to my memory. Things start to become clear to me now, and my breathing is within my grasp.
The candles were as long as I remember when the door open, blowing one out. I know I must have slept; but must not be too long as they would have burned down for sure. I know I slept as things were different than before. Maybe it is the cold. The door opening made it colder, but the cold of this place, it seems more so even before the door started to open. The door was opening, because someone was knocking on it, and it wouldn’t stay closed with that impact of fist to wood.
I tried to get up. I succeed, but with some cost. I was slowly able to grunt my way to put my feet on the cold stone floor. Doing so brought sharp pains to my hip. It felt locked like my leg was locked into my pelvis. It felt like bone ground on bone. It hurt worse than any dagger plunged into my side, any spell burning my flesh, any of what seems like a hundred different evils cast down on me; none of that felt as bad as what this felt like in my hip.
Fighting to hold back a cry of pain, I call out “Door seems to be open, come in and greetings”.
The way I press my hands into the side of the bed, the way my legs hang over the side of the bed, the way I bend my back to try to revive the muscles at the side of the bed; my eyes are forced to stay to the stone floor. So it is her bare, scared feet I see first.
Normally, in my youth, or whatever time it was since I last saw her, I would try to contain my joy in the presence of the elf. My desire to leap into her arms is tempered by this poor shell of a body. I want to spring forth, but I can only lift my head to gaze on the elf’s eyes.
It is the elf, Runa. She was the elf that embraced me as many times as she cursed me over the years. She was the elf that seems to be a constant for season upon season when it seemed nothing was truly constant at all.
She is the stoic elfin presence now as much as she was back in those days. Her auburn hair darker, the braids less orderly, the cloths surrounding her softer, the twigs in her hair & the rings in her ears are different but as understated as ever; but all these things were just slight variations of the Runa of my past, no different than possible if you missed someone for a few moons. In those green pools that look over what was once her human, I can see now how badly I have aged. She doesn’t hider her sadness and pity. I am sure all the wrinkles, the faded parts of me, what is disappeared from my life; reads from her gaze upon what I have become. As much as she hasn’t aged creates a contradiction to that broken old man who could not even raise himself from the bed. But seeing her now, just as she ever was, it gives me comfort.
I swallow, my nature fighting the urge to break my emotions free, as I shake my head and speak, “How … how long has it been?” Words that one could speak to any old friend, but an answer that I can’t give myself.
She lifts a cheek to give a smirk, “I know nothing of time, man. Have you learned so little in your old age?”
My laugh, as light as I intended it, hisses and whistles through my lungs. “Same sharp tongue, tis good some does not change in us.”
Her smile brings light to this dark, cold room. She stands in a soft dress no different than what she would have worn in the summers. Maybe it is just I that feels this cold, it is too dark to see what else could be outside that door, and I can’t remember any more what season falls on this world. She does what I am not able to achieve, and steps closer to me to put her fingers into my still rough and thick hair. “You have turned white on me, man,” she says in reference to my locks.
I give a light moan, the soft pleasure of her fingers stroking my hair, my eye closing as the light scent of honey comes through the dank. I let this touch linger for some time. I start to forget this pain. Start to forget this body. But finally I need to look upon her.
Her eyes come to mine, her motherly eyes. You can see Gaia’s presence there as she says softly, “I found you.”
I don’t know what she means. I can’t fathom what she looked for me for. But it raises a joy in me I can grasp onto. The weakness of the old man’s emotions clench down on my throat. I try to cough to clear it, but the coughs are harder, too hard just to clear the air. I put my fist to my mouth and hold fast the breath as I try to spit out. “There is boiled onion on the fire,” I say between breaths, “if you are hungry.”
Her hand slides over my cheek, brushing the longer, whiter whiskers of my chin. “I thought that smell was your socks. You have no cheese?” she asks with a smirk.
I shake my head, as a flash of an answer comes to my tongue. “Tis an extravagance these days, but I would offer it if I had some.” Something in my mind flashes of how I got to this point, something about loss, something of poverty; something that sits on my soul with sadness and dire pain. Something in me that suggest I deserve this hollow of a cave. But as she moves to kneel down in front of me, there is a stronger force in my head to forget what I only now started to remember.
“I am not hungry,” she says to me with a smile. Her hands slowly work a sock to roll down my good leg. I expect to feel the cold of air, but find it warm. Her fingers take their time, stopping to touch the light dark hair on my calves, bringing back just the hint of feeling to them again.
“Need not be modest, Runa. I may be old, but I would offer what I have.”
As she rolls the other sock down my left, its thread thin and dirty, the foot inside reveals itself to be like the other. Not swollen as I saw before. Not throbbing. Not in the least as dead as it felt before. Without the sock in place, my feet look as alive as they were in my youth. She seems not to notice as she balls the socks, and tosses them to the fire. “Never understood why you wore those,” she says to the burning socks.
“Hey,” I try to protest seriously, “I need those to keep warm.”
Her long braids slide back over her shoulders when she shifts to gaze up to me from the floor. Her smile appears kind, dare I say with a feel of hope. “Not anymore,” she says quietly. She stands, lifting my legs until they are out in front of me. Effortlessly, she helps to turn my body to lay again in the bed.
Effortlessly for her. The sharpness of the pain in my hip flares, and I suck hard into my lungs. But once I am turned, the pain lessens. Her touch is soft on my skin. Something flashes into my head at that moment, but it’s not so clear. “It has been years for us, since we have seen each other, hasn’t it.”
She shifts the pillows around me, helping me to rest. She sits onto the edge of the bed as she does, tending to me. “Have I changed so much for you?”
I slowly shake my head. I lean back against my pillows to lie softly, and my back doesn’t fight these old bones. “Quite the opposite, it as if you are the same that I knew; but … it has been …” my breath gets the best of me. All this movement, this effort, this excitement to see her; more than I think my body wants to handle.
As I settle back, she turns and lays herself back against me as well. Her head softly tucking into my shoulder. “Rest your mind, man,” she says in a soft manner. She reaches for my arms, and wraps them around her body until I embrace her. She rests in my arms, in a way that takes me back to days long long ago. But seems as familiar as the time at this very moment. I have a memory of her doing this before. I have a memory that she would climb into my lap and pull these arms around her. I would be her wrap, he bed, her place to rest. It would be those brief moments in time, those too short of nights, those glances of time when she would be MY elf.
“How …” I said as sleep starts to near me, “how did you find me? Why have you come?”
Her words, her final words as I drift away dance on the air, spun free into the my mind like butterflies and fairies on the wind. “I have come to show you the way.”
Her body warms me. The chilly of this cave seems to not be there anymore. It is still moist, but no longer cold.
I can smell her as well, with her body so close to mine. But it is not just the honey, but of trees, of grass of the earth.
Her cloths are soft, but memorable. Leathers, soft soft leathers. Like those I used to wear. When I hunted in the wilds. But its not what she wears is it, I wear it now.
The candles burn brighter. Maybe it is that the door is still open and morning comes.
More than morning, it is daytime. It is summer.
It is the grass, and trees, and all that grows forth around us.
It is those days, the beautiful wonderful days.
There are flowers that rise, there are ferns, there are the flora growing around me.
I am surrounded by the spirits of the wilds.
I am surrounded by the energy.
I feel it surround me and take me.
I am free.
I am happy.
I don’t know if this is real, or a dream. But I know I am home.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Looking Back
Arturos looks back at the city.
Spring winds from the south were strong, catching the tide was easy for the old ship hands. She wasn’t a fast ship typically, but this old wooden hall took to the sea with enthusiasm. Not long after the sun turned orange to yellow, they were out past the sand banks and heading north for trade. All of the crew, flushed by the way their beloved boat found its legs early all looked ahead, excited and happy.
All except Arturos, Arturos looked back.
The wool would have been sheared in Koehldbae. They will have the docks filled, and this ship will load up the cargo in short order for the trade. It was a route that seems as expected as the great seasons shift. Tis was his duty to look forward to this, to make this trade happen, to bring coins enough to his homeland that they can afford to last another year, to feed their children, keep the older ones warm.
Tis was his duty to look forward, but he looked back.
The Captain wasn’t quiet about his concerns with picking him up in Dee. You could not ignore the cannons and walls built high. The seas were filled with rumors of wreckers on Dee’s shores. Sure, the Captain was happy the guard was doing something about it, but its hard to feel safe as yet. As he stood next to Arturos, as the ship moved from the dock, the Captain talked, Art listened. The Captain talked about the war that looms there. The Captain said that Arturos wished to be home, to be fighting by his compatriots, to defend his city for what is right.
Art looked back, but it wasn’t for that.
Art would return to Dee, this was only a few days, this was only for trade purposes. Surely the people in Dee will know he will return, but this departure, so quick and so unannounced, it may be seen wrong. So many people assumed to think what Arturos wanted recently. So many will likely think he leaves now to night fight against Sjofn. With the way she treats him, he would rather be there to see where he body ends up … just to make sure she was dead.
Looking back, sometimes it feels to Arturos that few really seem him.
Danara does.
Well
Danara did.
They knew the day would come when what they were could not continue. They talked about it, tried to ignore it. The evening before … that was the day. If one was to look forward, Arturos would know this is the true future for them. She will rise in the pack, she will be unchallenged to stand as Kylerra’s Beta. Danara will be strong, she will be independent. She will be free of the questions of her loyalty. None would see her as a human lover, or see her as any but truly embracing her Garou nature. Most of all she will be happy. She will find trueness in herself. She will find what greatness she is capable of. She will find a mate, a true love, a male like herself that would make it possible to be herself.
If Arturos could see the future, he could see what is to come, and he is sure it will be much better than what lies behind him.
But today …
He could only look back.
Spring winds from the south were strong, catching the tide was easy for the old ship hands. She wasn’t a fast ship typically, but this old wooden hall took to the sea with enthusiasm. Not long after the sun turned orange to yellow, they were out past the sand banks and heading north for trade. All of the crew, flushed by the way their beloved boat found its legs early all looked ahead, excited and happy.
All except Arturos, Arturos looked back.
The wool would have been sheared in Koehldbae. They will have the docks filled, and this ship will load up the cargo in short order for the trade. It was a route that seems as expected as the great seasons shift. Tis was his duty to look forward to this, to make this trade happen, to bring coins enough to his homeland that they can afford to last another year, to feed their children, keep the older ones warm.
Tis was his duty to look forward, but he looked back.
The Captain wasn’t quiet about his concerns with picking him up in Dee. You could not ignore the cannons and walls built high. The seas were filled with rumors of wreckers on Dee’s shores. Sure, the Captain was happy the guard was doing something about it, but its hard to feel safe as yet. As he stood next to Arturos, as the ship moved from the dock, the Captain talked, Art listened. The Captain talked about the war that looms there. The Captain said that Arturos wished to be home, to be fighting by his compatriots, to defend his city for what is right.
Art looked back, but it wasn’t for that.
Art would return to Dee, this was only a few days, this was only for trade purposes. Surely the people in Dee will know he will return, but this departure, so quick and so unannounced, it may be seen wrong. So many people assumed to think what Arturos wanted recently. So many will likely think he leaves now to night fight against Sjofn. With the way she treats him, he would rather be there to see where he body ends up … just to make sure she was dead.
Looking back, sometimes it feels to Arturos that few really seem him.
Danara does.
Well
Danara did.
They knew the day would come when what they were could not continue. They talked about it, tried to ignore it. The evening before … that was the day. If one was to look forward, Arturos would know this is the true future for them. She will rise in the pack, she will be unchallenged to stand as Kylerra’s Beta. Danara will be strong, she will be independent. She will be free of the questions of her loyalty. None would see her as a human lover, or see her as any but truly embracing her Garou nature. Most of all she will be happy. She will find trueness in herself. She will find what greatness she is capable of. She will find a mate, a true love, a male like herself that would make it possible to be herself.
If Arturos could see the future, he could see what is to come, and he is sure it will be much better than what lies behind him.
But today …
He could only look back.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Return of the Hunter
((From Early 2009 - is a personal favorite because it ties the original way I played Art to ways played him over time. Out of context, this may not be as interesting - but still a keeper))
In the morning he digs through some crates, mindlessly digging through the clothing he has purchased from many ports. His hand touches a piece of fur and holds fast. It feels like something that is like a dream, like a memory, but in a way what he still is.
Every where he turns, the horns blow, the drums beat, the hearts grow stronger. War comes to this land. No longer are many to ignore what the Northerners have done. No longer can so many fight separately. Come soon, a fight will come far greater than any recognized.
Standing in his well tailored jacket, Arturos, looking across a frozen patch of rye. He fights to think of the spring planting. He fights to wonder what has happened to the livestock. He fights to think of Jill Frost, of Morrigan, of vampires, of lycans. Instead, each time he closes his eyes he sees friends, eyes glazed over ready for a fight. He tries to think with his soul to be clear, to be focused towards those problems that threaten him every day. But he can not deny the vision of them falling in the red snow.
The Northerners continue to force themselves on us. Each of us in a way have been threatened by them. Not all can fight, but those who can … they must make a decision. To ignore what they do or to join the army.
He finds himself running through the wilds, gaining speed across the open paths and down the hill. The buck in front of him runs hard as well, cutting back and forth down what it is familiar with. Arturos, sweated hard within the jacket, slipping on his boots with smooth well tanned leather.. His sword drawn, he pushed his body past the pain to get this creature. It had been months since he hunted in Karamoon, but the chase was on, but regardless he hadn’t forgotten what was key.
The flags over the camp snap and bite in the chill. The curl of smoke rolls between tent to tent. May men raise a glass and laugh in the coming troubles. Many will not see each other before the coming days are out, but as with all wars the glory doesn’t come form winning, but with a good fight.
In his hands was not any piece of fur. A shirt … pants … leggings. The touch of them were like the finest of velvet under his fingers, thought it was just the touch of past happiness. He looked out the window to the setting sun and made his decision. There was a day we wore these with friends. Before he was an innkeeper, before he was a merchant; and well before he was governor; Arturos wore the clothes of a hunter. He will wear them once more.
In the morning he digs through some crates, mindlessly digging through the clothing he has purchased from many ports. His hand touches a piece of fur and holds fast. It feels like something that is like a dream, like a memory, but in a way what he still is.
Every where he turns, the horns blow, the drums beat, the hearts grow stronger. War comes to this land. No longer are many to ignore what the Northerners have done. No longer can so many fight separately. Come soon, a fight will come far greater than any recognized.
Standing in his well tailored jacket, Arturos, looking across a frozen patch of rye. He fights to think of the spring planting. He fights to wonder what has happened to the livestock. He fights to think of Jill Frost, of Morrigan, of vampires, of lycans. Instead, each time he closes his eyes he sees friends, eyes glazed over ready for a fight. He tries to think with his soul to be clear, to be focused towards those problems that threaten him every day. But he can not deny the vision of them falling in the red snow.
The Northerners continue to force themselves on us. Each of us in a way have been threatened by them. Not all can fight, but those who can … they must make a decision. To ignore what they do or to join the army.
He finds himself running through the wilds, gaining speed across the open paths and down the hill. The buck in front of him runs hard as well, cutting back and forth down what it is familiar with. Arturos, sweated hard within the jacket, slipping on his boots with smooth well tanned leather.. His sword drawn, he pushed his body past the pain to get this creature. It had been months since he hunted in Karamoon, but the chase was on, but regardless he hadn’t forgotten what was key.
The flags over the camp snap and bite in the chill. The curl of smoke rolls between tent to tent. May men raise a glass and laugh in the coming troubles. Many will not see each other before the coming days are out, but as with all wars the glory doesn’t come form winning, but with a good fight.
In his hands was not any piece of fur. A shirt … pants … leggings. The touch of them were like the finest of velvet under his fingers, thought it was just the touch of past happiness. He looked out the window to the setting sun and made his decision. There was a day we wore these with friends. Before he was an innkeeper, before he was a merchant; and well before he was governor; Arturos wore the clothes of a hunter. He will wear them once more.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
The Demon Gave His Word
((Early 2010 - Based on a Specific Roleplay. The demons in question were targeting the Village of Ravenscraig to be destroyed, and they chose those of 'pure blood' to be a part of a ritual. Art was the first target. To encourage the rp, and to bolster my backstory, I created this.))
“Pure of Light ushers in the Dark,” he said.
I am the pure of light now. The dagger, long and twisted like a tree root, held over my arm; gleaming and harsh. The eyes of the demon wide and near glowing in anticipation of what comes. I fought the shackles on my wrists, kicked at the irons on the ankles, but they were too tight, too strong.
“Pure of Light ushers in the Dark,” his brother repeated.
I closed my eyes, clenched my fists, pressed out my legs; it was all I could to fight this coming doom. I growled and spat. The cold stone scraped against my fighting back. The cold moist air kept hanging the stench of decay coming from these two demons. As the blade touched my skin and started to cut I can feel the warm liquid begin to flow from my arm to their cup, and I knew my end was near. I was laid out like a pig for a slaughter; like so many animals I have hunted or farmed that I myself lay out and ended. I could see them in my mind, the look in their eyes of fear – that guttural fear coming out of me now. As I bled for these demons.
I am fear, and I am dread. The pain was light, the blade being sharp and the cut was well calculated. But that was my life being drained from me now, my end was near. Recount, they taught us when I was young. You must recount at your final minutes.
I am a Defender. Tis just a few brief moments ago. There was the ravine, where the demons surrounded me. They said if I went with them they would not harm me, I made them promise to end their attack on the village. The blue one gave his word. I thought I was saving the village from harm. That is why I was laid out. I was trying to protect, trying to defend.
The cup is half full already, must not dwell on this – there is a whole life to recount; there are blessings I have done, things that I must accept that are good in my life. Must recount what is good or I can not die in peace. That is what my teachers taught me.
I am a farmer. I did good deeds as a farmer. That is what I do. I tend the land. But, I gut pigs and sheep for food or profit. I am no better than those demons. NO! Recount.
They have their cup filled. They repeat those words.
“Pure of Light ushers in the Dark.”
The blue one speaks, he says that this is a point in the symbol; that it has now begun. The realization of all this starts to come to me. It is like the journals, it is like the scroll Maryld showed me. An army comes, their weapons of fear and dread; and there is little one can do to fight against that. It starts with my blood. It is me who has given the first of this.
Recount. The end is drawing closer. What was I before … I am a Governor, I tried to be the protector of Port Tarrund. I tried to bring peace. All there ever was brought war. I could not protect it; I ran off the failure, the poor soul. Tis a fool who thinks I could have protected Tarrund, the same bloody fool that thought one can protect this village. Now I have doomed it.
NO!! RECOUNT, Bloody Recount.
These demons step away now, they leave me laid out like a lamb on an alter, awaiting its final bloodletting. They discuss, and I can hear them. One wants to slaughter me, the one of fire. He also argues to offer me to the wampry who stood by and let me be bled. The blue one talks of giving his word to me. What word can you accept from a demon, my end comes, I know it is true.
I am the doom to Ravenscraig. I can only picture the village now, destroyed like these ruins here. I can see people … friends … gutted like pigs; gutted like I will be soon. It is at my hands, it is with my blood this happened. If I can free myself, I must warn them what I saw; but I can not undo what I did. If I can be free. But I won’t be free, I will be dead soon. Must recount. Must find the good I have done.
I am a boy. I think back to Kohlbae, and my youth. Those that turn on the boy then were children themselves. Those that hate the one that was not pale, was not light haired like a good child of Kohlbae; the boy’s red hair, tanned skin. How one’s own grandparents made one feel hated, that there was no hope for him in this world. That they could put hope in him, that he could be an elder some day – was a fool’s belief; as foolish as taking a demon’s word. What could he be, the son of an outsider, a wild woman – she was no child of Kohlbae, so how could this boy be.
They end their argument, the demons have made their decision, but I must recount, I have lost my senses.
She is the answer to all of this, isn’t she; the wild woman. The gods made me think of her. She is that peace for me. She is what I should recount. She is the one to remember when I die. But I do not remember her face, she was run off before my first season was over. How can I recount her.
They approach me again, the one with fire looking angry, but he keeps his distance. The blue one approaches, his claws, his coldness. This is it.
I close my eyes, and whisper quietly to the gods. I ask them for this one chance – I can not recount, I am not ready to die. They free me, I will find her. They free me then it is the one great thing I could do, to let her see her son before she dies. I make the promise to the gods. Let me live, I promise I will tell the village all of this I have seen, and I promise I will find her. I gave them my word.
The blue one reaches for my ankles. Tis too late.
The irons are removed.
At my wrists, now, the shackles are free.
I am able to cover the cut, I am able to stop the bleeding, I am free to go.
The demon kept his word.
The demon makes one last demand, to keep this silent, to not tell. But I am sure it was not the demons that let me live, but the gods. And I promised them something else.
And I gave them my word.
Ice on the Hull
((Early 2010 - Was more topical to issues Art was dealing with - but I was really happy with the imagry))
They never make the noise you think it does. Little floats of ice, looking as soft as snow. The ship runs up against it, and you hear the wood grind and growl to keep itself intact against the hard cold. It shakes you a bit. The hull has this new ironwood they call it at the stem. It looks to me that they just nailed a few blades to the wood. Aye, it seems to work, and they say this is the fourth winter they sailed in ice and without a single leak yet. Still, ice on metal, ice on wood – tis not what one wants to hear at sea. Ice always wins, and you wonder if it will be this time it will, or next.
By mid-day the ice will be behind us. By evening tide, I should see the lands of Ambrea again. Put this bloody trip behind me. We reached the northern islands, but that is all. You could see the ice shelf from there, nay going to find a ship heading to my homeland from there. As long as boats could make it to that place, it was always known that rarely a boat would get in – or for that matter, get out. Still do not know how the note got out of the bloody place just days ago. Still do not know if what is says is even true. Still do not what the bloody elders would send me this note, or why they bloody held it from me for these seasons, or bloody well why they think they can get from me now with it.
Still do not know why I got on that bloody boat to find out.
Seems I make strange decisions these days. Winter has that effect, I guess. Especially now that with no crops, with the farmhands, with the snow – with the demons and rift beasts and … – tis easier to hide in the farmhouse, sit in the warm tub, let the ground freeze and thaw.
Tis’ easy to think of things that makes one happy.
That is it most likely, the answer to those bloody questions. Or maybe just the one. If I can find that one bit of information. Nay … if I find her. I think that will make one happy.
Standing up here, against the railing of the ship, looking down at the sea, and I watch the ice move along. What is it that makes one think that this little bit of ice, that is so harmless. Watching it strike the hull, barely move at the weight of the ship, then groan against this what keeps us afloat. You wonder if the next time will be the time when the hull no longer holds.
Fishermen
((I began this story as a way to explain why I was offline for a week in February 2010, but it grew so long so fast that I decided to break it into two parts. That became three, the four then ... this.))
PART 1
Koehlbae is my homeland, or more accurately that of the bloodline of my father. There is an old legend for the folks of Koehlbae. It tells of the first great attempt to venture out of the quiet bayside village to reap the sea of its rewards beyond the great stone reefs, beyond the Isle of Buen, beyond even the End Rock – quite literally beyond where eyes can see at the docks. The legend has it that on this first brave attempt the men who made this adventure were the strongest and bravest that Koehlbae could offer the most seafaring of them all, which I never saw the coastal fishermen of Koehlbae to be all that strong or all that brave, but sometimes legend’s truth comes from times before great changes.
The men were after a simple thing, cod; as a pod of the fish was spotted just beyond End Rock heading to sea. On a sunny, quiet day, the long boat sailed and the nets cast about in the sea over the school of fish. With each pull of the nets onto the boat, the ancient fools found the nets to be empty and the skies to be darker. It was on their last great cast that a single fish was brought aboard. As the legend goes, the fish was held high in thanks to the gods as is the custom. The cod, the cod that has always been known as the Lost Cod, it is said to have spoke at this time. I looked directly at the weakest of all the fisherman and said with a sneer, or at least as much of a sneer a fish can do, it said “oh, you foolish pretty ones, the gods can not help you here”. With that, the fish flipped from the men’s hands jumping back to the sea.
As the lost cod made its escape, the winds fired up strong blowing the boat back towards the bay, the rains began filling the hull with water so fast that the ship began to list. Finally lightning struck three times the ship three times causing fires to start. When the boat entered the harbor and could be reached by other fishermen, it had nearly listed completely and was fully ablaze. Only the weakest of the fisherman survived to tell the tale. From that day on, only the greatest of fools ever sailed beyond End Rock
That story was always told to children to scare them from sailing beyond End Rock – the suggestion was, anyone who went out that far were unprotected by the gods, and can expect certain doom. It worked for nearly all of them. Those of us that did venture beyond End Rock were looked upon as the saddest of souls, the ones that the evil spirits think so little about that they do not even bring the wrath down on you when you are unprotected and easy prey.
The people of Koehlbae rarely speak to me when I arrive back to my homeland, some choose to advert their eyes when seeing me. The village is quite large, large enough that one would believe one could just disappear into a crowd. But in a village where all look nearly the same, all small, pale, white haired, on the verge of illness -- to look different makes those remember one; especially one that was the grandson of an elder, and son of the man who killed that elder. The only place one can hide these days in Koehlbae is out past End Rock.
I am here as the winter stocks are fading, and the cloth from the looms, the fine furnishings built in winter workshops, and the excess wood can be taken to market to the south. Tis business what brings me here, seems I am the only one that this village trusts to do business with; thought they can not trust me enough to look me in the eye when they do it.
I stand now in the grand hall, which is nay as grand as the statehouse of Ravenscraig, nor of the old courthouse of Tarrund. But as Koehlbae is concerned, it is the grandest hall in the village. I stand at the podium looking on to the two elders at the bench made for three. We argue the cost of grain. If I was so inclined I can leave these old men, these men who never had to argue the cost of anything, I can leave these old men with their last coins and make them think I was the one shorted – but tis always that I respected the seat I was once meant to sit in. So I let them become breathless at first and leave them with a good price. Now that has passed it is time to talk the real reason they felt they needed to argue grain; the subject they avoid.
“Your grandmother is ill,” Mastiv, Son of Mastuf says. He is now the head speaker for the elders, for the village if the need arises.
“Aye, tis what your note had said,” I say. “I hope you have not said as such expecting I return to nurse her to health.”
The second elder looks across the bench with a bit of a smirk, at least the best you can tell on his strangely skewed face. He is Gunder, son of Gunther; and just before I left this village Gunder suffered an attack, freezing half his body. Most he hides well, except that half of his pale, dull face appears always to be winking and smiling constantly. “I think your grandmother is well cared for these days.”
“What he means,” Mastiv says, his long drawn face nearly looks disapproving of Gunder, “your grandmother is watched over by Miss Rissa.”
“Do you know this woman?” Gunder says with a smile, what is clearly a smile.
“Aye,” I said with a smile, “she had been a friend to Grandna since I was old enough to remember. Nary had a day Miss Rissa not come to our home for tea. They were much close, so tis no surprise that Miss Rissa would take care of Grandna.”
Gunder gives an amused grunt, “Tis no surprise indeed.”
Turning my head looking at them, “whom cares for an old woman should not be a concern for the elders.”
“Bah!” Gunder waves his hand, “like your grandfather you remain short sighted.”
Mastiv raises a hand quietly towards Gunder in a way that appears to calm the overexcited gossiper. “My dear boy, maybe you do not understand the concerns of the elders. You see, we have an open seat here, do we not?” Mastiv waves his hand to the chair between him and Gunder. That place where my Grandfather Lars once sat, where my father Gustaf should have sat if he had not killed my grandfather, even where I was to sit.
Pulling my hands from my pocket, I slid my arms across my chest, chewing my lip slightly. “I guess I do not see what my choosing to not take the seat of an elder has to do with my Grandmother’s …”
“Rissa has a son,” Mastiv said sternly interrupting.
Remembering the boy of my own age from my youth I nodded, “Aye, Jakko, Son of Hedrik …”
Mastiv interrupted again, “your right to the seat of the elders was yours to give up and yours to still claim until this day; since you are the first born son to an heir of the elder seat.” Mastiv sits back in his chair, his arms crossed sternly looking at me with lowered eyes. Mastiv grows this way just as soon as he tries to attack one with his words. “While you choose to ignore the proclaimed ways of Koehlbae, your grandmother is a scholar of them. She nay forgets the rights of the wife of an elder, and when the male say no to the chair, tis the female that chooses her next to sit.”
Turning my head slightly, “I never heard of such …”
Mastiv interrupts again “Bah!” My patience grows thin with the old man, but his with me was never there to begin with. “Tis the laws, we can not stop her.”
Scowling slightly “What is so wrong with Jakko?”
Gunder speaks, his sneering smile is only half there now, suggesting he is no longer gossiping. “Tis no blood of elder in him … he is no Lars, he is no Gustaf.”
Raising an eyebrow to the two old men, to contradict their words, “He is no Arturos.”
“Bah!” both old men say in unison.
I can’t help to smile a little, watching these old fools squirm the first time was a great day for me, and tis a fine day to see them do so again, “the way I see it, you have come to some conclusion about this Jakko. Tis no doubt a great disliking the bench has for me, so to even assume that the blood of Lars could resit … I am impressed by such forgiveness from such old men.”
The dull skin of Gunder could not help to redden slightly in anger, “you stupid child … I’ll ..”
Mastev interrupted his equal, “Jakko does not see the world that is best for Koehlbae. While it is foolish to believe some outsider’s child could sit at this bench like the Son of Gustaf; we bloody do not want someone who speaks of trade pacts and alliances. Gunder here has not just one fine son but two, both could sit at the Elder bench just fine. If she would only take into account the true bloodlines of the elder than the best decision can be made.”
Turning my head slightly, and seeing the game at foot, “so, what you ask of me is her to choose a name of your own choosing, not one of her own.”
Mastev looks to speak but Gunder is the one that interrupts, “Aye – the boys will be both fine for this duty.”
“And,” I responded, “What is it that I can expect for such a challenge – tis no easy task to convince my Grandna to stand when she is sitting, let alone change her mind on anything of importance.”
The two elders look at each other, slightly confused. They only just learned in the last few years negotiation, still surprised one would do so on something not related to money.
“This bench holds information regarding the outsider tribe that spent summer south of the village near the mountain lake.”
The elders looked at each other, their concern evident, and their conflict growing. They knew what I was to ask; and it was no doubt my grandfather swore them to secrecy.
I continued, “I wish to know what the elders know of this tribe. Their names, their purpose, where they could have gone.”
Mastev sighs, and shakes his head slowly.
Gunder, who had more to lose, and more to gain from his boys in the seats was the one who spoke for them. “You speak to your grandmother; and we will give you what by the laws we know.”
Smirking slightly, I nod with a smile “I will speak with her, I still have the right to that chair, that is a law I know.” The subject quickly changes to the price I will pay for wool in the spring; no longer in much a forgiving mood I get them settle on a price that nearly swindles them.
---
Sitting by the fire there is an old woman. Her pale skin is more grey, her wrinkles harsher, her white hair (the white hair that was always white, as is always the way with children of Koehlbae) now thins and nearly falls out. This is the widowed wife of an elder; and her age is younger than how the years have made her look.
“You do not grow too fat.”
That is the first thing Grandna says to me when she sees me. Me with my smile wide to see the old woman who raised me all those years, and she says this to me first. What is odd is I realize this is a loving greeting.
“Aye, the winters are not as harsh in Ambrea, so tis still much work to keep one healthy.”
She puts a dirty rag to her mouth and coughs harshly into it. The blankets around her loosen with each hack. I step closer to her in part to be closer to the fire next to her for my own warmth, but mostly to help wrap her tightly again.
“Bah” she says, “I am not feeble.”
Chuckling softly as I tug a blanket up her sides, “Grandna, I will never mistake you for feeble.”
“Bloody well not,” she said spitting figuratively the words before literally into the fire.
Kneeling down on the floor next to her, like a good son shall, I look up at her with some concern, “This winter though seems to nay done you many favors. You will give me the right to worry about you, will you not?”
A small smirk came to her face, which she skillfully hid looking towards the fire. “Aye, you have the right.”
Nodding quietly, “Miss Rissa has been the one that worries the most for you … so I have heard.”
Scowling slightly, “Tis a scandalous rumor then … to have reached down to Ravens ... Moonens ... where ever the bloody place you are now.”
Seeing her hand resting on the arm rest I place mine on top of it, “The elders saw fit to tell me when I arrived in the village that you have thoughts of seating a new elder.”
She looked at me through lowered eyelids, understanding that there was more to what I was saying than what I said. “Tis my rights to name one as elder. Tis the laws.”
“Aye, tis the laws, so I have been told. But they think you have chosen one, and they seem not to approve.”
She nods slowly, “I have chosen Jakko. He will be a good leader of this village once he grows old enough.”
“And you have chosen my replacement without even telling me? You know that seat is mine if I so wish.”
Calmly, she says in response “The boy Jakko will never leave this land. He knows what can happen out beyond the End Rock – the bloody evil that will cut and bleed you.”
I looked at her, the statement was meant to hurt; and it did more than she thought it would. “You speak so poorly of your own Grandson, your own blood?”
Turning pale face to me she scowls, “He will be wise like your grandfather was.”
Shaking my head slightly, “my grandfather drove his own boy to kill him.”
Her hand pulled sharply out from mine, and she readied herself to strike me. In my youth, my Grandna’s hand was just as feared as my Grandfather’s whip; the physical pain was less severe, but to be struck by her – that was more painful. Just the threat would have made me cower as a child, even cry as I came to age. Now, I fight to hide my defiant scowl from her eyes; to show her no fear at all, no reaction at all. Her face was grimacing angrily at me. “You know nothing of what you speak,” she spat at me.
Breathing calmly, I say “They know I can stop this, proclaim my right to the seat. They have offered me something that you never had Grandna. You can offer me the same in return, and it will not only let you have what you want, but spite them in the same move.”
“You are a bloody foolish boy. You nary want responsibility, then when you do you use it stupidly.”
I sit back onto my feet, and chew on my lip quietly. I think back to a time not so long ago when I tried to be responsible, to take on the safety of an entire village – and in turn nearly handed it over to dark forces. I shake my head off quietly and remember there is a cause I need to fight for, need to bargain for “I have not agreed to anything, Grandna .. but such a reaction by the elders is curious is it not? Even more coming from you.”
Coughing slightly, pulling the wrap tighter around her “Tis not bloody well any of their business, tis bloody well none of yours either.”
I rise and I walk slowly over to the table and pick up some bread tearing off a bit. “I will be honest, Grandna. I agree – tis not my business anymore more.”
Giving a quick nod, “Good, then tell the bloody fools you agree and you can go to wherever the bloody place you be these days.”
“Oh no,” I say with a smile popping the bit of bread in my mouth. “Tis not my business anymore to say who is or is not the Elder … But the elders made a different deal with me, and they offer something that you can give me – and I am guessing what you have to give is more valuable to me than what they can give me.”
Pulling the blanket tighter around her, she begins to rock in her seat to circulate warmth through her veins, something I always doubted there was to begin with. “You found your riches out of the god’s hands, what do you want from an old woman.”
Chewing and swallowing the bread, my answer is short, but understood “Her.”
Looking up at me, her eyes are once again cold; and once again she knows what I am going to say before I say it. “No!” she says sternly.
There is a quiet silence hanging like the biting cold moisture from the sea. Smirking a little, I turn towards the door moving slowly “well, I guess I must make plans to step to the seat at the bench.”
She speaks quickly now as to stop me, “Bloody fool! No! I have told you before, there is nothing to say about her.”
Standing at the door I say, “She lived here for nearly a season, do not say you know nothing of her.”
Looking directly at the ground in front of her, the anger spitting from her words, “Bloody fool! You hold this whole village hostage with this? For some bloody … some …” she spits into the fire. “You do this … you do this to .... Because you want to know … BAH!”
I felt indignant, I felt angry; and for the first time that I ever spoke to my Grandna, I felt in control. Her reaction to my asking for information on my mother was … well, I expected her to be angry and say no. But as I walk towards her, my chin feels like iron as my teeth grit, I can’t help to think that her tone now seems she puts up a fight with herself to protect the past, while getting what she wants. There must be some grand reason she wants Jakko in power, something so grand that she is struggling to give up the one thing she never would normally. The merchant in me smells an opening and I lay out my hand. “You want me to agree to this, then you must give me what I want. And I want it all, her family name, what her people where, where do they go,” I walk back over to her, and stand defiantly in front of her; leaning down, I put my hands on the arms rests of her chair and stare directly into her eyes. “I want it all.”
She turns her head slightly, the cold eyes looking into mine. I have seen this look before, and it sends chills down my spine. “You want it all? You are just like her,” her eyes slit, and she spits the word, “Worthless.” She pauses to let it slide in, a smile grows showing her rotting teeth, “The evil spirits do not even care that you go past End Rock, as they never cared that she nary gave birth to you there. They see you as nothing, and that is what you are, that is what she is.” Her face sneers at me, “she was a freak and the good gods of this land almost killed her for it.”
I can almost taste blood on my lip, I bite it so hard. I want to hit this woman. I want to kill her myself. But she says these things only to incite me, to get the upper hand. With the last bit of reserve in my heart, I lift up and pull away walking to the door. Saying over my shoulder, no longer wanting to look at this heartless shell of a grandmother “My ship sails in four days. I have not what I need, I will tell the elders you cheat them and any attempt to take control of the bench is a breech of town law.”
PART 2
------
It is morning of the next day when my grandmother made her next move. It is a predictable one to anyone’s standard. For the visits I have made since my grandfather’s death I have stayed at the Inn by the docks. Through some of my own investments (since it is rare anyone else stays at this Inn), it is very comfortable lodgings. When Genni the innkeeper’s wife called me down for breakfast, I made it to the top of the stairs when I saw her. Not my grandmother, not Genni. No, she wasn’t either of them. Miss Rissa was old enough to be my own mother; but she always looked that old as long as I knew her. Her soft wrinkly paleness hadn’t changed much when her dull eyes found mine.
“Arturos, look at you, grown and strong.”
I self-consciously curled my arms across my chest. I was not ready to go out, so I stood in a sleeveless shirt; not what one should wear when doing business, but this isn’t business. I slowly descended towards her forcing a smile, “Miss Rissa, I wonder when she would send you.”
She turned her head and kindly smiled “Bah.” He face was so much sweeter looking than the normal Koehlbae face. She had been one of the few that did not treat me different. Miss Rissa spent many days in our home, helping my grandmother with her chores; and even bringing her son Jakko over for someone for me to play with. As harsh and cold my grandparents were, was as soft and gentle as was Miss Rissa. Something my grandmother knew very well, and had used in the past to gain my favor indirectly through her dear friend. This is why Miss Rissa’s arrival at the Inn was only surprising in as far as how early she came..
I settled into the seat across from her at the table and Genni arrived shortly with tea for the two of us. There was a silence there as Genni tended to us, and as I heard her foots behind me heading to the kitchen I said, “You must be proud then, that my Grandna considers Jakko to be worthy of an Elder chair?”
At first, she looked beyond me checking to see Genni was in the kitchen, but then Miss Rissa looked at me more directly. She smirked slightly and took my hand in hers. “I hear you have become a merchant of sorts, and some sort of leader of a port village. Being so direct with your questions must be helpful in such things.”
Her smile makes me falter a bit. I may be upset at my grandmother, but this woman was not my grandmother. Looking down slightly with a smirk, “There was a time I was Governor of Port Tarrund, but that is seasons ago now. But you are correct that I am a merchant, though not much of one.”
“Fair enough that the elders will do business with you.”
“Aye,” I smirk again. “Tis odd to see our people learn what it is to be greedy. I bring a nice thing, they want three, and they ask for more next time.”
“Nice things are nice.”
Nodding quietly, I respond “nice people are that in the same way, Miss Rissa.”
She looks down with the comment, hiding a bit of a blush. Doing so she sees the scar left on my arm from a demon’s blade. “This looks like it cut you deep.”
Nodding slowly, I reply “Aye, deeper then any blade can.”
“Who did this to you?”
Shaking my head, I say in passing, “a demon. There are some that … well, there are nice people and … there are ones who prey on others.”
She smiles as her eyes continue to look to my arms. Her hand moves slowly upward, stroking at the tattoos I carry. “What are these, they do not rub off.”
Filling her cup as well I say quietly. “Tis permanent. Tis ink under my skin, from the days I was with southern tribesmen hunting fish as big as a boat.”
She traced the lines turning her head slightly as if in disbelief. “There is much out there beyond End Rock, is there not?”
Looking towards the door with a smile, nodding slightly, “the greatest things I could ever imagine as a boy, I see things beyond that daily; and I thank the gods for the experience that it gives me.”
She smiles a little, “many different than children of Koehlbae then?”
Nodding quietly, “aye.”
“The gods,” she says almost with an urge of curiosity, “they listen to you out past End Rock?”
Smiling to her, I can not help to shrug “I find things that make me happier out past End Rock then as I ever was here, so I have to think they do.”
She has stopped tracing the tattoo and looks up at me with a small smile. “Then a child of Koehlbae would stand out in the world past End Rock.”
I give a slight chuckle and I shake my head, “Beyond End Rock there is a world where there are so many that are different from all else. Females who have fins for feet. Women who are more cat than human. And Elves that are the most stubborn and vengeful and …” smirking slightly with a smile I pause “… sweet … at least as any human one can imagine.” She looks up at me as I speak and I can’t help to speak with a gentle calmness, “Beyond End Rock, there is so much different, so much life … one never stands out, because all stand out.”
Turning her head slightly, her eyes opening with a bit of envy. “Bah”, she says softly, “I am sure you stand out, you were one that always stood out.”
Scoffing at this, “Aye, because I twas the only one without white hair, or pale skin, or was thin.”
Shaking her head with a smile, “nay, you stood out.”
Pursing my lips slightly, I look down.
She pressed to hear more, and slowly I obliged. She didn’t speak much, my guess was she did not know what to say. But she was genuinely curious of things. Someone once told me, ones rarely hate a one, they hate folk. Tis nothing new for me to say I hate the folk that is here in Koehlbae, here in my homeland – but tis not new for me to remember that I do not hate this one.
She begins to stir her tea, it is a new drink to these lands, not much tea grew in this cold land but I found a market for it when they tried it. “There is a female in your life?”
Shaking my head slowly, and then shrugging a bit. “Not in how you ask.”
“None you have had eyes for?”
Sighing slightly, I say “My eyes fall onto those that tis best I do not court – ones that … well … tis just different than I. I guess one can say it is a trait I have gained from my father, can you not?”
The woman purses her lips; but doesn’t speak. She appears to avoid the subject. For our ways, it would be improper to talk about something that had always been considered a great embarrassment on my father’s family. My father bared a child out of wedlock and with an outsider. The only reason why one would comment on the subject is if there was something of great importance could be gained from pressing it. Miss Rissa would push the matter if she knew my desire to know more about my mother was what was keeping Jakko from the elder seat.
I lean back in my chair and I realize why she does not push this matter.
My Grandmother has not told her of this demand.
Miss Rissa is now only a pawn.
“You must think me foolish,” I say, turning things towards the business at hand, “me standing in the way of my Grandmother’s decision. The elders are uncomfortable with a child outside of the bloodline of elders taking such a position.”
She smirks at me, a habit that I now realize I gained from her, as some in Ravenscraig seemed to pick up on do with great frequency. “I am sure it comes to no great surprise that the elders hide things from the people.”
My eyebrows knot at this statement, as she smiles a little looking down.
“There is a bloodline,” she says.
I blink, an odd reaction I get from being around too many confusing elves.
Miss Rissa explained. She began to speak of elders, brothers, and out casts. Confusing elves is one thing, but even as she explained the bloodlines I lost myself a number of times in the connections that are there. It took this one another cup of tea to understand it all, but what was clear was that Jakko did have an ancestral right to the elder chair – something that my Grandna neglected to tell me; something she felt wasn’t something that would allow me to move ahead.
She was honest with me in her understanding that the connection is vague, but I needed to be honest as well.
“I will not lie to you Miss Rissa, I carry a motive against Grandna. But in all honesty, I hold nary a grudge against Jakko; but carry nary a positive reason for this move either. All I can promise is to find him this day and speak to him of his plans.”
Her eyes jump and she begins to blink, “Oh, he does not know of this.”
Turning my head, again feeling like I was speaking to an elf, “why … why not?”
Smiling a little, she shrugs, “he has duties on the farm he must tend to, what he does not know does not distract him.”
Chewing my lip and watching her I say, “but would be foolish of me to not understand what any decision I make will do. Tis like the fishermen, tis it not? They knew not what laid beyond End Rock, and … we know what happened. I think I still need to speak with him, it will not be today as I have business to attend to, but tomorrow for sure, and I promise when I speak to him of Koehlbae I will … just not … speak of why.”
Miss Rissa looks at me, relieving a big sigh considering the statement, and then nods slowly.
------
One can not spend the day drinking tea and eating short bread. So, I wandered down to the docks to check on the cargo. By mid-morning, the whole of the cargo was offloaded from the hull, all of the goods promised or bought. This is a good thing for any port I sail too, much so for this one.
Saul, the old captain notice as much, “Good coins you got on this.” We were shaving slices from hunks of dried ham
I nodded quietly, sitting on an empty barrel at the bottom of the gang way, a piece of ham hanging from my mouth.
“Wouldn’t have expected that,” he said, his shakey hand cutting at the block of meat in his hand.
I looked at Saul and gave a bit of a smirk, “I have sailed with you for season, and you doubt my salesmanship?”
There was a little wag to his head as he flipped a bit of meat towards the cats that seemed to recognize a free meal was to be had. “Just this village, wouldn’t have thought that they would buy anything when I saw them the first time.”
I chewed on a bit harder of the ham and spoke through bites, “they are like any other, they have needs.”
His dusty coat hung on him like a parent’s coat over a child. Only his sea worn face said otherwise. “Everyone has needs, just not all pay for it.”
I shake my head, “It is no question that what really brings a profit to this village. I mean … the winters are very long, and while they have the food for it, tis just not … high variety. It is,” holding up the ham, “dried meat or preserved vegetables. You bring hard breads and cheeses, ales, sausages, and even fruits … they will buy it, and you will do very well. They are surprised by what I bring, many are concerned for what it is I bring; but as reluctant as they tend to be, they still buy.”
“Reluctant, lad, does not make good profits,” he said.
“Good demand means good profit. The demand is there, you just not see it when you see their surface. This is my homeland, but this is business.”
Looking towards the boat, “Where do they get the coin to pay you, no other boat ever comes here it seems.”
Chuckling quietly, looking down. “From me. Tis what we will be loading for the next few days. I will leave with less coin in my pocket then I arrived, but the furniture and cloth will make me a great coin south of here.”
Chewing on the ham he looks at me, “How did they get coins before you came along.”
I shrugged, “there were coins here, but not much worth. Most was traded from folk to folk. One could not just come to this land and expect the coins to jump from pockets,” shaking my head I said, “no, there was nothing of worth to an outsider.”
Sliding his knife back into his belt and throwing the last bit of ham to the cats, the old captain stands slowly and looks down the docks. “You must love this place then.”
I nearly laughed out a bit of ham. “Bloody do not, Saul.”
Rubbing his back stiffly he says, “you not?”
“There are reasons why I left this place long ago,” I said taking his lead and tossing the last of my ham to the cats, who seemed to recognized that the free lunch was over and ran off towards the land.
“Family trouble?” he asked.
I tilt my head with a shrug, but I didn’t respond. I knew this captain, but this day I did not feel he was one worthy. “Why do you think I would love this place?”
The captain reached down and picked up a walking stick. “Extra day’s voyage to this village costs you a good coin compared to some near here that will pay you the same rate. And come to find out that the whole coins economy up here .. its your doing. You want to bring good things, fine things. That is business, but there is other ways of doing business.”
I could feel the heat to my face, and my teeth gritting a bit, but did not know why this was bothering me. “I hire you to carry my goods, not judge the way I do business.”
The captain stared blankly at me. “No judging Arturos. But maybe you need to look at why you do what you do.”
“I do what I want Captain Saul.” I spat, still not sure where this came from.
“Aye, lad. You do what you want. And you come here.”
With that, he walked towards the village, leaving me to wallow in my denial.
PART 3
“Who knew a sailor boy could swing a fork,” Jakko laughed.
Twas a contest between us as most things turned out between us, and I was pitching hay like a champion in my fine leather boots. “Tis not so removed from farm life as you think, this one is.”
Shaking his head with the flying straw from his own efforts, he states between puffs of air, “Bah! You stay away too long, and keep too much from your friends.”
Throwing the last bit of hay into the old mare’s stall, I close the gate quickly, and turn to him seeing he is still unfinished. “Done!”
“Bah!” he says throwing his fork down with a laugh. “What is now, thirty-two for you, fifty-eight for me?”
“BAH!! Fifty-two, do not cut me short,” I say with a laugh and move over to help him finish up his work. Our little contest never have anything wagered to the winner, only count of who has won more. Jakko and I were never far apart in this count, but we still tried to make it sound as such.
“I am just surprised you let these nice jackets and pants get messy with us old farmer types,” Jakko laughs, then gives me a slap on the back of friendship. It’s these glimpses of humanity that sets him apart in this village, he was one that was never too afraid to show an emotion; and probably is why he was my closest friend as a boy.
Shrugging I turn to him, and lean up against the rake. “Many get the wrong opinion of me in Koehlbae, tis just nice to prove one or two wrong.”
Jakko chuckles and leans back his tall frame against the wall. If the story of the fishermen was true, Jakko would be a descendent of them. He stood over many in this land, his shoulders more broad, and his arms firmer. His skin still paled next to mine, but he looked as there was more blood in his cheeks than any child of Koehbae that ever lived. Even his white hair seemed full compared to the straggly thin look of the rest. “You proved nothing more that you can fork hay,” he jabbed with a smile.
Shaking my head, I wipe a bit of sweat from my brow. The winter here still fought to keep its hold, but this hard work was enough to get the blood going. “So … Your mother tells you I was coming, so you decided to put me to work?”
“She told me you spoke on and on yesterday morning of demons, elves, fisherman … of all that is strange in your world. I just thought all that talk was going to make you soft” he said trying to prod me a bit.
“Bah!” I laughed in reply.
“What is it that brings you here?” Jakko asked.
“Can a man not visit his old friend?” I answered, trying to hide a bit of concern that my motives would be found out.
He smirked, something like myself, he picked up from his mother. “Not what I meant, I mean, what brings you back to Koehlbae.”
I let a bit of a laugh, and begin brushing off the hay from my pants. “Ahh … well, tis the elders. They sent to negotiate the trade goods built up over the cold months; wanting me to give them a fair price and start sending gold in return.”
“And did you give them a fair price?”
Chuckling, I nod; “I am far more fair with them than I should.”
Jakko nods, and moves down the barn, stopping to look in each empty stall checking to see what needed to be cleaned as the animals were out in the pasture. “That is more than what one could say if any other merchant comes to this land.”
“One can not blame the old men sitting behind the bench for that. Tis generations of elders whom never learned the art of trade. They so what they can to know what they can.”
Jakko shrugs and smiles. “You are too kind to them. If a scoundrel would come to this land those fools would never know what hit them.”
“Aye,” I said, giving a shrug. “I guess that is the boy in me, knowing if I do not say something kind of the elders it would mean a strap on my hide.”
Jakko turns and looks at me with a bit of seriousness, “you are an odd one Arturos.”
Chuckling I look down, “that is something I am reminded of often, but I assume you have a reason to say so yourself.”
Taking his fork he begins to pitch a little more hay into a far stall. “You do not notice the clues you give. You give the elders a fair price. You defend them of their lack of business knowhow. Yet you nearly curse the one elder that is of your blood.” Finishing the work, he closes the stall door and puts the fork against the wall. Brushing his hands off he continues to speak, “You hate your grandfather, but you cast no negative towards the chair he sat in.”
“In this case, I have more respect for wood that makes the chair, then the man who sat it.”
“Nay,” he says shaking his head with a bit of a smile, “You plan on sitting in it yourself … just as the rumors said.”
I knit my eyebrows, curling my lip slightly. The thought of taking that seat make me clench painfully, the further thought that I may suggest by my actions that it is what I wish is just as uncomfortable. “What rumors are those?”
Jakko smirks, he answers with the tone of humoring me, as if he is just letting me know what I face when I make my return for the seat. “Gunter, the elder, wants both his sons to sit. There are some that say he is playing for that; even my mother mentioned as such once. He seems to act more quick this winter, as if there is one who has decided to make claim to the chair. ”
“Tis a right of an elder, if a seat is vacant.”
Shrugging, Jakko says, “tis laws I do not know, do not care to know. But tis not right for one elder to put two sons forth.”
“Well,” I say moving over to the wide barn doorway and leaning against it looking outside towards the snow covered mountain, “I am sure there would be many who speak that would choose an elder’s son over some bastard child of outsider woman.”
I guess you could say I was stunned a bit by Jakko’s slow response. When one spits out such comments, one assumes someone will return in defense of your character. Jakko did not, at least not right away. “Aye, there would be many concerned with such things.”
I turned and looked at the man, trying to hide a bit of the hurt from his words. “You support me leaving the seat be filled by others.”
Shaking his head, “I agreed with your statement, nothing more. I would rather you sit in the chair more than any other. But, Aye, there would be many concerned that you are born to an outsider. Many that would be concerned that an elder went out past End Rock and returned unharmed; and even do so on one’s free will.” He walks to the doorway himself, leaning on the opposite frame from me.
“I can not change who I am, Jakko, you can not ask me that.”
“Tis not the point, Arturos.” I look at him hard, my frustration growing in my eyes. “You do not see it, because you do not hear what is said when you are gone,” he continued. “You go forth, out beyond end rock, and you return with stories and scars and … and …” points to the tattoos on my arms. “And you come in to do business, and you give us fair prices, but we do not know what that means; we do not know what brings scars. You speak of demons but we do not know what they are – and you nearly gutted by one. You speak of elves, and … well … I do not even know what a bloody elf is or what they can bloody well do to me.”
I look at him, listening as he seems to grow in a bit of passion of the kind rare in this land.
He points up to the mountains, waving his hand around; “look at this place, Arturos. The gods gave us this land where we are protected, where we are safe. There is no way a dragon can get over those peaks; no way a demon can dig under it.”
I intended to correct the man on his assumptions of those creatures but let him continue.
“But people … bad people … they can … they can just sail right in the docks. You proven that … I mean, not that you bad, but sometimes those people on the boat with you … sometimes they do …” shaking his head he turns to look at me, pursing his lips. “Am sorry, I do not mean to suggest you do anything ill. Tis just …”
I am looking at him, I am concerned for something he must bear that seems not able to say. “We are friends here Jakko, say what you will and I promise to carry no ill will against your opinion of me.”
Shaking his head he speaks sadly, “tis the point. Tis not you Arturos. Tis the people that come from beyond End Rock. Tis those that … “ he shakes his head again. “I am just saying, tis the elder’s job to protect this village, to make it so that the people can be happy … to live happy. What you do when you come here is that you make that possible with what you bring. But if you are not the one bringing those good things, that if it is someone else … that if it is someone bad … there is nothing our elders can do to stop it. Nothing they can do to protect us.”
Kicking the ground a little, “you make it sound, tis better elders in this village than any that have gone beyond End Rock.”
“I would not know one,” he says shaking his head and turning to me. “I not know any that would do the job you would, but know you would hate to be here, and there are better things for you if you follow the path of the fishermen. If not, the godless ones will come here and we will lose ourself; regardless of what you can do.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “This village needs you to be our means to the outside world .. but it needs you to be our only means, Arturos.”
Looking at Jakko now, pursing my lips, watching him pour out this statement from him; I started realizing what I am doing in this place. “Tis many that speak like this … that think it is best for me to be …” my voice trails off, pathetically unsure if what is being said is nearly a rejection of my person from this village.
He sighs a bit, turns to move inside the barn, “I … I do not know … was my thought … I only mentioned it to my mother … but I think your Grandmother overheard from the next room.”
For much of the time since I met with Miss Rissa, I wondered what caused my Grandmother to trigger her to make such a decision to choose Jakko. This was it, my Grandmother would rather I not be in this village at all. Sighing quietly, I spoke of my own thoughts, but surely to Jakko it seemed I changed the direction, “I envy you, Jakko, to be one that has a mother that is kind and is there to listen to you. I do not even remember my own mother’s face.”
He turned and looked at me. We at one time were as close as brothers, now seemingly worlds apart. Kinfolk across the ages and across bloodlines. Looking to each other and sharing what we are. His response was very much the child of Koehlbae’s but also the brother of Arturos.
“Bah!”
-----
The elders found me the next day at the home of Selma and her son Kehl. Selma, the lovely widow of Helver, loved to torment me when we were children; but as we grew our conversations became much more friendly. Kehl, I had only known for a year, and was enchanted with how the boy seemed to come alive like no child of Koehlbae does; but only when he was in the presence of his constant companion. And if any shall ask … twas really the companion what I would tell those why I came up the hill to this home, as twas improper for an unmarried male to visit the home of a widow. When the elders arrived, they found me with this companion. I was on the ground, scratching behind the ears of a big, white maned, shaggy beast of a dog that I once called my own. I enjoyed the company of both Selma & Kehl, but I missed the only female that would ever do what I asked, and Snausy, yelping and bouncing on me in joy, Snausy seemed to miss me too.
The elder Gunder was the first to show displeasure, his skewed mouth frothing slightly, “Bah! You called us all the way up this bloody hill when all you do is act like a child?”
I try to speak, but its made nearly impossible as the dog’s wide tounge laps at my face, “Oh .. tis good too see you gentlemen … I wanted to ..” I try to push the dog away, but am overridden by a yap, “tis good of place as any …” I get my arms around the dog and push myself to my feet with her large body wriggling around in my arms.
Mastiv speaks with a foreboding tone of superiority, “tis that the dog that soils the village square?”
Giggling slightly, Kehl stands, his and gives a grand bow like a court fool to a king, “Tis the very one, your eldership.” Kehl is growing now to a strong young lad, looking nearly a teen and 2 or 3 years beyond his actual age, and it seems the spunk of having a dog around has brought out a bit of rebellion in him. “I am ever so sorry for such natural actions of a harmless beast, I will do much better to clean her leavings.”
Both elders looked aghast by his speech, before they could speak Selma spat, “Son!!” The boy turned to his mother, his face growing pale at her word. She stood at the top of the stairway to her house, a towering position, with her arms crossed, and her eyebrows stitched together in a harsh scowl. “That is nary a way to speak to your elders. Apologize this instant or be swatted until tears in public.”
The boy turned slowly to the elders, something made a bit more difficult now that Snausy seemed to want to dance circles around him. Kehl’s face lowered to the ground, in penance and respect. “Excuse my tone, elders. Twas a fool to speak to you such a way, I ask you forgive my poor actions as tis will be the last.”
Gunder was about to speak, but Mastiv, always the one to stand firmer in emotional debates spoke first, “Know thy place, lad. As your whole life there will be elders in your presence, and only with great admiration and respect given to us will we pass along the gifts of the gods to protect you from the world’s evils.”
Grabbing the scruff of Snausy’s neck, thus bringing the dog to a dutiful heel at his side, Kehl nods. “Aye sir, wise words that I will remember; and I will do what I can to make sure my dog keeps the village from being spoiled.”
Gunder tried to speak again, still gasping from the climb up the hill, he seemed itching to speak bad words to the boy; but twas his mother who spoke first. “Inside with you until I have decided your punishment.”
The elders nodded their approval at her actions, something that the rest of us did not seem to think was all that necessary; however, we were not the ones that called ourselves elders.
The boy moved with the dog towards the house. I watched the three of them, mother, son, dog, as they approached one another. As Kehl looked to his mother in passing, I noticed the slightest of winks from the woman to him. Once inside she gave a deep sigh and turned to the males on her lawn, the elders standing sweaty from a hill climb that only lazy old men would tire from, and me still layed out on the grass in my fine grass-stained leathers. “May I offer you gentlemen tea,” she said more towards the elders, “Arturos brings it from someplace east he says.”
Gunder raises an eyebrow and looks towards me, “you bring the widow tea?”
“We only came to speak briefly to Arturos and we will be on our way, no time for tea.” Mastiv said seeming like he ignores his companion’s question.
“Very well then,” she says and turns into the house. As a host to this strange meeting between the elders and myself, her departing would be strangely odd. But there was a familiar way to how she left us to our business, like a woman allowing her mate to complete what he needs to. Something that didn’t go unnoticed to me, and may have caused me to make sure that the wrong thing is thought.
“I … umm … do apologize for Kehl’s dog. Tis used to be mine … and … well … in my presence the dog has become somewhat independent.” Scratching my head a little, I say looking in towards town, “tis why I visit by the way, since I can no longer keep the dog Kehl watches it for me … and I … I make sure Miss Selma has the means to buy its food.”
Sneering through his skewed face, Gunder says, “That does not explain the tea, Arturos.”
I should yell at this man. I should not take his assumptions. In the ways our people do, he has suggests the impropriety of what I do, and that of Miss Selma. Such simple words to tarnish my character. Well … tis time to test his.
“I assume you came to find me based on my letter?”
The elders nod dutifully, silently.
“I asked to meet you as to tell you per our agreement, that I have spoken to my Grandmother and request you give me what I asked for such a duty.”
Gunder’s face lightens up, though again tis hard to tell on his near winking face. “She has agreed to let my boy sit in Lars’ chair?”
Turning my head, somewhat sarcastically, “tis no time to change the subject Gunder, I simply stated that I asked for the information you promised me.”
“Bah … quit speaking like a fool and tell me what she agreed to.”
I say back very clearly, “Our arrangement was that if one talks to my Grandmother, the information of the outsider tribe known to the elders be passed to me. There was nothing in our agreement specifying what she was to agree to.”
Gunder hrumphs at this, “tis not my memory, tis that you were to talk her into …”
I interrupt him this time, “I do remember specifically saying that tis no small feat to talk that woman into anything.”
“BAH! You bloody child, tell me what she said. I demand it.”
I move to my feet, doing so and standing on an incline to the men makes me stand over them. “You lose your temper, sir. Such emotion is more childish than my desire for you to uphold our agreement.”
Stomping the ground, “Fool, you have no …”
“Arturos”, Mastiv interrupts drawing the rant from Gunder to a halt. “I will mediate in this, and as I remember you were to speak to your grandmother and report to us. You are to do so …” Mastiv draws out his words, in stately rhythm, with great purpose, “… as proclaimed … by the desk … of the elders.”
Gunder smiles wide, looking at me triumphantly. Such a statement is not given frequently, and is an order that failure to head is punishable by law.
Tis laws I long since stopped caring for, but there was something in me that made me choose to respect it. I nodded to them and said quietly, “She is stubborn, she has agreed to nothing.”
Gunder scowls angrily at me. He turns and looks up at the mountain to the west. Mastiv waits and lets his equal take the next move. With some thought, Gunder turns back to me and says with a bit of a sneer, “Then, my boy, there is nothing to give in return.”
I blink at the comment, “We had an agreement.” I look to Mastiv, “You know this, there was an agreement.”
Gunder begins a slow chuckle, “Aye, but there is nothing to give in return.”
In an instant, my face turns blood red. “You bloody … fool, how dare you invoke law and spit in the agreement we made.”
Mastiv shakes his head and raises his hand. “Tis not what you think, Arturos. You asked for all the information the elders have on the tribe, but your grandfather burnt those documents before his death. The elders have nothing to give you.”
I could feel the anger grow in me. “You … You bargained … with nothing? You know what I ask, you know what this information is to my … my … And you dangle it like a toy in front of a lion?”
Gunder continues the chuckle then speaks in slow, “You lose your temper, sir.” He repeats the words I just spoke with as much of a smile as he can muster. “Such emotion is more childish than my willingness to help your cause. I would say … tis like the nature of the dirty godless things that grazed the lake so many summers before … but since there is no record, I wouldn’t know anything about that, or the whore that bored a bastard child.”
I remember once seeing a man, the lycan-man, I thought took the one my heart was meant to be tied to, and losing all feeling sense of myself. I remember the one time the Raven woman appeared to me, taunting the prisoner that was the Romani girl, and fighting every bit of my being to destroy her. I remember the demon who just bled me, who began ushering in what we thought would be a doom, and wanting to gut it if I had a blade to do so. Those were times when I can only see the hate, the anger and I never really know what consumed me to lose all senses. Or why in the end something stopped me as well.
As I pulled my blade, presented its tip, and layed it the smallest distance from Gunder’s throat; I know not what made me draw this weapon, nor what made me stop.
Gunder’s eyes were wide, his hands up in protection, his breath caught in his throat.
“You mind your words old man, I am no weak child.” I growled, on the edge of piercing him through.
Gunder swallowed hard, he closed his eyes and tensed, as his mouth started moving his words were coming in quiet whispers. He was recounting his life, preparing to die; something I have done myself, something that when I realized he was doing so, I knew I could not complete that work.
Mastiv spoke, through it all he stood calm and stately. “Put the blade away, Arturos. You of all should now the penalty for killing an elder.”
Aye, I knew. It was the crime of my father, it was that brought about them putting him to death. I took the blade away from the old man and slid it into the sheath.
Gunder took an extended breath, his mouth opened, his lips were dry. “And … And now … I wish you … to leave this village … to never return.”
“Your wishes are meaningless, Gunder.” I spat.
“He is right, Gunder,” Mastiv said, still standing proudly. Gunder turned quickly to his equal and looked on the verge of objection. “Arturos is still heir to the chair, and none can stand in his way from claiming it.” Mastiv’s stoic calmness brought a level of respect for the old man, was still a very low level, but a level none the less.
Gunder still try to stumble out “For threatening my life I should …”
“You should put the laws above all else, Gunder. As you are an Elder.”
Gunder’s anger was evident, turning back and forth between the two of us. “Bah … soon enough he will not have a claim to the chair.” Throwing his hands up he begins to waddle down the hill, Mastiv slowly behind them.
I choose this time to speak, one last statement, I must. “Do not be so sure,” I spit, and the words come faster than I can think, “I intend to claim the chair tomorrow.” In this moment, I am not sure what I speak of.
“WHAT!” Gunder exclaims as he turns quickly to me.
I breathe deep and say calmly, “You not want Jakko as an elder, you say it is because he is not elder bloodline you say this is not our way, this is not our laws. But in the same right, giving two sons of an elder seats is not our way either, tis not our laws. What is only right is that the true heir of an elder take the seat.” I cross my arms and look to Mastiv, his face beginning to look a bit gloomy. “Let it be know that … as per custom … I will declare at high noon tomorrow in the square I have taken the seat of the elders. I will be an Elder.”
Gunder’s eyes were wide, and he turned to Mastiv. Mastiv’s face was hardened and cold. He stared at me with grave anger and indignity. But Mastiv is one above all else who respected and honored the laws and the ways of Koehlbae. Whether or not I went past End Rock, this was my right. So with that, he nodded slowly. “There is much to prepare, if you will excuse us.” With that, he walked down the hill, and one could hear Gunder argue back to the other the whole route.
“Tis true?” I hear behind me. Standing at the door is Selma, leaning against the door. “You return now? To be an elder?” Her face is stoic as well, but with a flare of curiosity.
I did not intend to let anyone else hear such a thing. I look down, my face beginning to blush slightly, and I kick the ground. “I hate those men, Miss Selma. I hate what they try to do to this village. I must do what I think is right.”
She looks at me, and nods. Her face suggests that it wasn’t an answer she wanted to hear, maybe it was, maybe it just was not the reasoning for the answer. “Come inside, there is stew and tea.” She does not mention it the remainder of the evening. It would not be proper for such things.
PART 4
Koehlbae is a village surrounded by high mountains, as if the stone and granite make a fierce, towering wall. To many, there is only one way in and out of this land, a narrow passageway to the south where the water leads from the bay to the close fishing grounds where one can catch cod, salmon, or halibut; to End Rock where the mythical fishermen ventured past, met a with the Lost Cod, and thus were doomed; and to the Great Northern Sea, the world of the outsiders, and the sea passage sending me home.
To a noble few, there is known of a second route. One can not see it from the village. There are two great peaks to the east that overlap. If one follows the gravel landfall and oppose the leaning of the trees through where the peaks over lap, through the hills that hide one another and hide one’s assent to the peaks; they will come across a grand pasture that flourished heavily with sweet smelling grass. Tis there a fresh mountain lake, clear and filled with summer bred fish. Beyond that lake leads to a passage through the mountain peaks to the hills leading onward and overland. But this path also leads to the world of the outsiders.
Only a noble few know of this path, as the elders have done what they can to keep this from the children of Koehlbae. The outsiders were always dangerous, they were always feared. Tis the same reason the fishermen were slew out past End Rock, the gods do not protect anyone who go beyond our village. The path through the mountains will lead to where the Children of Koehlbae will be unprotected, but more dangerously, it will awaken the evil outsiders to the way to Koehlbae, and a way to our own doom. The outsiders would surely come to our lands, prey on the pretty chosen ones of Koehlbae. If the Children of Koehlbae knew that such an easy path existed over land to our home, all of them would be panicked, and all is lost.
The elders were successful for the most part to keep the pasture and lake kept from the people. Besides, twas easy to keep quiet as there was never a known outsider attack into the village through this way.
It was only until one elder, who knew how grand the pasture was and who wanted only the best for his grazing sheep, sent his flock to summer in that pasture with his son to watch over them. Sometime there after, it was whispered that an outsider tribe of folk that live in tents brought their animals to camp there as well. The most dangerous whispers talked of one outsider who actually entered the village from that tribe of outsiders. She was nothing but a wild woman, baring a child that the loving arms of the village welcomed in freely and happily without judgment or ill behavior towards the woman, nor the child.
The elders did not stop this whispering. Twas mostly harmless, because there is no way a young mother could endanger the mighty Children of Koehlbae. Besides, twas not like a story about fisherman and a talking cod. In the village was proof that the mother existed, that a child was born to an outsider mother within our mountains. The child remains as proof; living, breathing, heir to the chair of the elders proof.
---
That proof was now on a floor, knife in hand, digging at the pegs that hold the wood down; trying to free them to get to this board.
I was eager to do something, anything to take my mind off of this plan of mine to step up for the elder chair. I know it is not what I wanted. But what started as a small rock escaping from my mind some days ago now seems like a landslide, building strength, building speed, and seems nearly to pull me under and keep me in this bloody place. Worse yet, keep me from Ravenscraig, from Karamoon, from the lands that in as much pain it brings me – the place where I found peace.
There are no hiding noises in this house. Besides the scrape of wood on the blade, the only other one could hear was the dripping of water as the ice melt from the roof found its way into droplets towards the bucket in the corner. In honesty, the water was a welcoming sound to me, lying in this room all those years ago on the nights when my grandfather and grandmother were already in bed. That dripping reminded me that the days were warming and soon spring would arrive.
Since my father was put to death, my grandmother was never very welcoming to my prattling around alone. One finds it safe to assume tis because the home is all she has; but one may also assume tis because she has lost trust that her boy has told her grandson more than her grandson needs to know. Besides, tis not what I want her to catch me in the act of. That is why I waited until I knew she was with Miss Rissa on a walk around the town.
I keep digging at the floor with my blade. I hurry now, as I feel I waited too long after they left the house. I keep chipping bits of wood out of the peg holes, keep wedging the blade along the edge of the board, keep scraping at seasons of dirt driven into the crevices. I cut, I dig, I pull – trying desperately to get into the material. Thinking I had enough of the peg gone and enough of the seam open, I pound at the crevice between boards with the knife – sticking it hard into the wood. Gripping the handle I start yanking at it to pull it from the floor, struggling to free it.
It appears I am wrong that no noises could be hidden, as they can be hidden behind the noise of a fool cutting at a wood floor.
It appears that I was correct to think I waited to long.
It appears that I can be surprised by one coming to the door, as I am only alerted by a yelp at the door of the room.
Standing there is Miss Rissa, in her arms a heavy blanket, a woolen throw. She wears similar around her shoulders, so what she carries is for another – for my grandmother. Miss Rissa’s hand is on her chest, her eyes wide, and she is catching her breath. “Arturos, I … you scared me …” she says a small smile coming to her face.
I look up at here, caught, started myself, my blade still stuck in the wood. Stunned in the moment of seeing the motherly woman I … I just have nothing I can say.
She almost starts to laugh, something you never hear in this hand, her hand still pressed on her chest. “Whatever are you doing down there, boy?”
I open my mouth, eyes wide to her and start to stammer, “I … I am … trying to …”
Giving me a warming smile, she shakes her head and moves into the room towards me. “Seems like no position the next elder should be found in, fumbling around on the floor in nice linens.”
I look down at my clothes almost on instinct to her comment. They were nice for Koehlbae, but not to many other places. I would wear these woolen slacks and shirt cleaning the barn in the winter. Shaking my head, I look to her “Tis just what I have on, I guess, and …” that is when I realized what she said, “Next elder, you have heard?”
She turned her head slightly with a smile, like one showing approval and pride to a good boy’s deeds.
I look at her slightly confused, “I … I can not believe … they would make that more public. The elders I mean … tis something I just told them.”
Walking over to the bed, she lies the blanket and woolen throw onto it. “No … twas Selma who mentioned it this morn. Your grandmother and I saw her this morn, with her boy and that dog of yours. Good girl Selma is, though not one that can keep a secret.”
Looking back down at the knife, I try to pull at it to get it out of the floor, and it begins to move. I am looking more at the knife so I do not have to look at her when I say what I must now say. “You are upset that I did not just let Jakko be selected.”
“Bah,” she says lightly. “You are to be an elder, and if the gods believe you to have such a gift, then this decision is not one to make one upset.”
I stop in place and turn my head to look at her. “Surely you are not saying that an elder’s decisions are to be unquestioned. Surely an elder’s decision on anything while must be respected, is always up for question.”
She smiles a little bit at me, “I am not saying an elder should not be questioned – just who the elders are. Elders are not chosen, they are blessed upon us. If that is meant to be you,” smiles a little, her face showing no wavering, no doubt to her words, “then tis the best for all of us.”
I know not how to respond. I feel I am used to the wrangling on the elder chair. From the elders, who want to choose who is there; to my grandmother who seems to have her own plans; to even Jakko who has judgement on what is best for me. But here is one, one who has much to gain with a decision, and she blindly accepts. I know not how to respond, because I expected to argue my side – but she gives no argument.
With a sweet smile, she looks to the knife and makes a change in the subject to my grandmother, “She is in the privy, and will be here soon, best get that out of the floor and tell me what you are up to.”
I nod, moving quickly … perhaps a bit too quickly. I yank the knife and it comes free. As it does it swings up and nicks my finger slightly. I grumble a quick curse and put the finger to my mouth. The light metallic taste of blood is there on my finger and try to speak. “I was … just trying to free a board. To take with me.”
“Take with you,” she asks, moving by my side and taking my cut hand in hers to examine it.
“There is business to attend to, whether I leave these lands as an elder or not, I must sail this eve on the tide.”
She rubs at the cut, just barely edging into the flesh, and with a little work the bleeding stops. “And you need the board to sail with?”
Chuckling slightly, I shake my head “I just … would like .. a bit of …“ I trail off a bit, not wanting to answer.
“A bit of the house,” she finishes.
I shake my head, “I bit of her.”
She smiles a bit on this, still looking to the cut and nodding happy the cut has stopped its bleeding. “So you have made amends with your Grandmother, that is very honorable of you.”
“No,” I say maybe a bit too quickly. “I mean … no I haven’t … and … twas not the ‘her’ I meant.”
She looks up at me, her hands curling around mine. Her old, caring eyes smiling at me. “Your mother?”
I can feel a bit of a blush, confirming her answer. “This was her room too, you know,” I confess, no longer wanting to hide things from her. The landslide of the elder chair seeming to quiet as she looks to me, holds my hand; and it seems that peace is what leads me to speak easier of this secret I kept from all. “She lived here, was kept in here when I was still nursing. I used to think … that is … I … I mean … I used to hope …”
She stood listening, no look of judgment on her face, no look of despair.
I knew I had nothing to keep from her, she knew what my boyhood was like. And finally, I felt I need to say what I normally would feel improper to say. I swallowed hard and began, “Sometimes, on those nights when my grandfather said something hateful about either of my parents, I would crawl down onto this floor and lay my head on the wood. I had heard once … I do not know where … but … I used to think that one effects all that they touch. As if … if they walked on some wood … they always leave a bit of themselves behind. I used to think that one’s presence remains where they are, where they lived.” Shaking my head a little, I crack a bit of a smile, “A fools delight, this was the only place I thought such things. But those nights, I laid my head on this floor … I felt that I was touching her, and … felt like … she touched me back.”
She looks at me, and a warm smile came to her face. “Do you have anything else of hers?”
I am reluctant to say it first, stopping my own breath. She would be the only one living in this village that would know. But I just confessed to the woman of my grandfather’s cruelty, there is no stopping now. “There is a bracelet. Gold, spinning around one’s wrist like a snake. Tis too small for me, and I normally keep it. But I gave it to one …” chewing on my lip a little and looking down, “… as a promise that I would return from this trip.” I look down a bit, “I guess I never intended to say I would never leave this village again.”
She continues to look into my eyes. Her emotion there was with depth, was with meaning. I wondered if it was understanding even rather than just motherly pity. Miss Rissa carried something in her, and almost as confirmation of that sighed heavily and began to open her mouth to say something.
The front door of the house interrupted her as it creaked open, interlaced with the cursing & muttering of my grandmother. “Bloody spring is coming, that privy smells like the winter’s shat melts,” she grumbles as her feet can be heard shuffling into the house.
Miss Rissa gives a quick smile, and take my hand moving me towards the door; “We have a guest. Your grandson cut his finger and came for a bit of care,” she stated happily coming around the corner to pull me into view of the old woman.
It appears the fresh air and coming spring sun did nothing to improve my grandmother’s appearance. She skin was ashen and dull, and even as the blood was rushing to her face apparently unhappy to see me here, she still seemed sickly and pale. What was noticeably different, different from the last time I saw her at least, is that her eyes were wide and standing in shock. I had no reason why she would look at me this way – as if someone coming across a ghost or a demon for the first time. One could say it would be like seeing her son, or husband, returned from the dead – but even if the woman was senile, she would never mistake me for them.
What one could say is that I would likely be as pale as she was. Unsure of what to say, unsure of what to react. This … this elder thing … this was more standing my ground against the old elders … and now I feel this landslide is running again, forcing me to do what I do not want; not just in defiance of those old men, but this old woman as well. As she stood in the door, she was there figuratively and literally in my way.
“Tis true?” she finally spit out, her arms resting on canes in either hand, her body beginning to shake slightly from fatigue.
Nodding slowly I state with a bit of obliviousness, “Aye, I cut my finger.”
This seemed to bring my grandmother to her senses as she climbed into the house and hobbled to her chair by the fire. “Stupid boy,” she cursed, “I meant the elder chair.”
“I can warm some cereal or eggs if you wish to stay, Arturos; or some nice tea that you brought,” Miss Rissa said in an attempt to change the subject. She left my side and moved quickly over to my grandmother. Miss Rissa eased the feeble old woman into her chair by the fire and pulling a blanket for my grandmother to cover up. Miss Rissa moved not as a friend to my Grandmother to me, but as her servant.
I shook my head stepping back attempting to reject the offer, as I stepped towards my room and grabbing a jacket I had left, “tis no need, Ginni makes a fine breakfast, and there is much to do today.”
“Aye,” Grandmother spat between coughs. Her arms were waving a bit angerly, seeming now to get back a bit of her spunk, “like spit on your ancestor’s graves and curse this village to doom like the bloody foolish, spoiled child that you are.”
I turn sharply back at her, “I follow the laws of this village – nothing more. Have you turned on them as well now?”
“Turn on the laws? Never. Not like a bloody child running off with outsiders.”
I turn my head, feeling myself open up my arms to that damn bloody landslide of this duty, “I follow the laws!”
“Laws mean nothing you, you bloody fool.”
My voice raises, “This is my Right! Do you question the Gods’ Judgement!”
Her voice raises in return, “You Are FOOLISH AND SPOILED! The Gods Ignore you, the Gods care bloody nothing for you.”
“HELGA!” Miss Rissa cries looking to my grandmother. She used my grandmother’s name. She used it like a curse. In her hands was a large spoon, clinched in her hand as if she was to use it as a weapon. “He is your own bloody Grandson.”
I was a bit shocked. I have never heard Miss Rissa curse, rarely heard her raise her voice.
My grandmother’s brow rolls, it curls, her cheeks pressing upwards. Her eyes slim looking at her caregiver from across the room. Her chin begins to slide around, her lips pursing. Her face contorts in anger, but waits as she carefully chooses her words. My grandmother appears as if she prepares to ignite the fury of the gods on Miss Rissa – but I can not tell if it is because she intervenes into something that it is improper to intervene into, or if Miss Rissa states something that my grandmother feels is the furthest from the truth.
My grandmother’s reaction is great enough to pull me from my shock, as this is a nerve that has always left me with questions of her. Now was the time for me to find some truth. Looking towards Miss Rissa, I state sternly, “No Worries, Miss Rissa. My Grandmother only says what is well know, does she not? I have sailed beyond End Rock, have I not? The gods do not protect us beyond there.” Turning to the frail old woman in the chair I say with a bit of spite to my words, “or did you mean it as the gods turned their backs on me the day father fell in love with … what did you call her?” I tilted my head, the anger clearly evident in my eyes as I answered for her, “A Freak!”
The old woman’s chin began jutting in defiance towards me, an edge of superiority; confirming my suspicions. Confirming why this old hag has treated me the way she has since the day I was born.
I couldn’t keep my disdain from her, and the words came before I could even control them. “You were bloody worse than Grandfather, were you not. At least he had no ability to hide his judgment. It was clear that I was nothing to him – but to think I spent my childhood thinking that someone …” I flicked my head angrily at Grandmother, “… that you gave anything for me. Say what you will old woman, but the gods seem to care a bloody well more than you EVER did. You are worse than the bloody demons that live outside of this place.”
“ARTUROS” Miss Rissa yelled. She threw the spoon angrily on the floor, its wood handle shattering and spitting across the room. “That is ENOUGH!”
The noise turns me toward Miss Rissa. My teeth clenched, fighting the urge to ignore her and continue into the target for my hatred. My grandmother decided to speak at this time. “This is no place for you, you foolish boy. Leave this village and never come back.”
I hear my grandmother, but I do not look at her. I nod slowly to Miss Rissa and move towards the door. The nod was my only goodbye to the only woman I respected in the room. To the other I only said, “The offer still stand, I asked something from you, and if you give it to me I will honor your wishes.”
Haste to the door would understate the speed I wished to leave this place. There is shifting about the house as I do. The door behind me muffles the voices, as they are no longer raised. As I wander down the path to the road I know that a curtain will not rise to see me go. On the surface there will be no evidence of what has taken place at the homestead by the time I have reached the next farm to anyone outside of that house. That is the way she prefers it. That is the way this people live. What is seen must remain harden, cold, dry – like the granite that rise up to make the mountains that protect this place.
-------
Twas just before noon when I arrived in the village square and it was quite full of people. Miss Rissa had been right about Miss Selma’s ability to keep this quiet. Midday, the people of Koehlbae usually have much to tend to, whether it be chores to be completed, meals that need cooking, or the basic necessities of life. In the warm part of the day, milling about the village square does not be what the entire village would normally do … but today it is.
After leaving my grandmother’s home, I did what I could to remain busy – to ignore how foolish of a thing I must have committed myself to do. I returned to the Inn to pack my belongings for my departure, bathe & clean myself, and dress in the fine red jacket, grey vest, and black pants edged in gold and silver – the suit I wore daily as the Governor of Tarrund. This outfit was of fine cut, it was clean and bright, it was sharp, dignified, and smart; and I wore it to make me feel the same. But since it has been seasons since I was the Governor, standing now in the village square amongst the Children of Koehlbae, it was also ill-fitting.
The square was filled with all I could think of from this town, each with their own small purpose to be here. Miss Ginni the innkeeper’s wife strolled along the cobblestones, her basket full of bread for the night’s meal – but also in company with the baker as well. Saul, the captain of my boat, stood out in the crowd, his blue sailor’s jacket, fair skin, and dark hair clashing with the paleness of the toe-headed citizens. He was near Toki, the harbor master, who’s son Gaud, nary the same age as I was when I left this land, stood by Toki as the harbor master laid into the young man for something that was not worth the angry words. Miss Selma, the perpetuator of the news that brought most here, smiled and pointed my way when talking to the other young mothers of the village. Young Kel teaching Snausy to sit up on his haunches at Selma’s feet.
As many in the square caught sight of me entering it, the rumble of conversation began to quiet; eyes were moving my way. Conversations were changing to say the least, most sounded darker, more harsher, more disgruntled; and most definitely unhappy. I had to fight my natural urge to look towards the ground, to chew my lip, even to smirk. This landslide had come, and if I was going to step towards the center and take on the chair, I better be able to look at each of them in the eye.
“Your plan is still to proceed with your proclamation?” came a slow dark voice next to me. I turned and the elder Mastiv stood straight and tall near enough that he can keep his voice low to me. He was in the long, tailored black coat, the village crest on the breast, he had order from me the year before for grand occasions. He dress seemed to respect the action I said I would take.
“Aye, your eldership,” I said attempting to show respect in return, and in doing so pulling back my own urge to throw this all away now.
Mastiv nodded slowly, “Tradition requires that the proclamation occur when the sun is highest. That is soon.”
I nodded kindly to him, what I didn’t need was more time to regret this decision, so in some ways his words were welcoming. “It seems all of the village is here, but I do not see Gunder.”
“He has stricken ill this morning, and will not arise,” Mastiv responded.
I smirk slightly, “is it a true illness, or does he just not respect this result.”
Mastiv take a long sigh then looks to the crowd, “when you are an elder, you do not always believe things are decided by the gods; and it makes one harden to belief that a man makes decisions you would not make.” Mastiv nodded his head and looked back at me, “I am sure you understand … some things take time.”
Through the crowd my eyes fall onto a cart on which my grandmother sits, a blanket covering her shoulders, her cane held in both her palms. Her eyes were locked on me, cold and stony. There is nothing left to speak to her about, and I can tell there will be no information from her, not now, not never. “Aye,” I respond to the elder looking towards my grandmother still, “but time runs out as well.”
“Aye,” he responds, “for you as well. The sun is at its highest point.” With that I turn to look at him, his hand is offered to me. He wasn’t the same stiff, angry man that tried to haggle for cotton prices or tobacco just four days earlier. He looked not at me like some outsider, or some child. As I shook his hand, it felt like I was different in his eyes – and our manners have now changed. “Speak well, Arturos, and these people will listen.”
I nod to him, and turn towards a stone stage erected to one side of the square. This is where every proclamation had been made in the town since it was founded, legend has it. This is where news was given. This is where laws were established.
This was even where my father was hung for his crimes.
I make my way through the crowd towards the stage. As I do the murmuring seems to quiet even more, the conversations ending, and the questions ready to be answered. My way is left open to precede, but congregation of the village clearly positioned themselves around the stage for what they had found their way here to see. I can not help but to look at the faces of the crowd that turn to me. These are Children of Koehlbae. They are pale, cold, and to those of us who spend much of out time elsewhere, sickly. But all of this is more so today. So many lips turned towards the soil. So many sunken eyes, darken, or slit. Maybe the elder is right, maybe they will listen to me as an elder; but this village seems like they prepare themselves to hear words they wish were not spoken.
Just as I near the stage, Jakko came out from the crowd. On his face is a smile as wide as his broad shoulders. His hands reached out to me welcomingly, one heading for my own hand, the other for my shoulder. “Glorious Day Arturos. You look as grand as the day deserves.”
Caught up in his unlikely burst of emotion, I return the handshake happily saying, “Tis, isn’t it? Quite a crowd here?”
Jakko’s infectious smile locked on mine. “Of course, who would miss such a day. You could have not picked a better day for such an event, the gods obviously smile down to bless us at this time.” As he spoke a few men started circling around him, their eyes wide and smiling as well. They looked at me almost as if I was some legendary man, but seemed to carry much of the energy that is so rare for this village, but flowed from Jakko today. “Am sure none other wanted to miss such a rare thing regardless. I myself have never seen an elder claim the chair.”
I looked to each of the men that stood by the friendliest child of Koehlbae, and they all wore smiles like Jakko. But I couldn’t help to realize what Jakko just said and replied, “I nary seen one take the chair myself; not even sure what a bloody elder has to say at these things.”
Jakko laughed amused, and quickly the other men joined in. “You are the wisest I know Arturos, and the gods bless you. Whatever you can not think to say, they will guide you the rest of the way.” He kept shaking my hand, kept patting my arm. Above all else, he kept smiling. I remember something Miss Rissa said just the other day. His smile makes him stand out in this crowd, with so many faces showing the a gloom of the coming information. But even now as Jakko stands with his friends close around him he stands out as well. Tis not because he smiles that makes Jakko stand out, Jakko stands out, because Jakko stands out. But I still believe that I only stand out in this crowd for the darkness I may bring.
“I do not know that Jakko.” I shake my head with a smile, “I try to convince myself what I do is right, but many times …” shrugging a little.
Jakko speaks up, turning to the men around him, “What did I tell you, not a more modest man you ever met.” Looking back at me he says loudly, almost as if he wanted the whole of the village to hear, “A true child of Koehlbae this one is, and one we all should thank the gods for.” Jakko’s words are near blasphemy in my mind. I am the only person to go past End Rock and even suggested as much. I can not help but to look to the ground, kicking a bit at the dirt. The men around Jakko, the braver ones start speaking, a “he’s right Arturos” or a “right right” or “Jakko, yes, true words”. The voices seem not as much chorused with agreement, but parroted dutifully. That alone gives me enough doubt in the trueness of it.
I shrug it off, and I look up at Jakko, “Thank you old friend. All I could hope that you would be here, to not be here alone with this.”
He smiles wide, his eyes warm like that of his mother, Miss Rissa’s. But he chuckles slightly and says, “Bah … get on with it then.”
Laughing, I nod, and turn quickly. I jump the step or two to arrive on the stage and turn towards the crowd.
This is it. This is the moment. As a child I was taught by my grandfather the importance of this chair. He taught me what it meant to be an elder. He told me of the rights of the bloodlines. He showed me that it was more than leadership, it was more than glory, it was necessity to stand here. All those years ago he instilled within me the drive to be here where I am at this time, to stand before family, to stand before the people who I must care for, and make the proclamation I am about to take. But as a boy, I saw the glamour, but can you blame a child for that? I was the wishful boy back then, dreaming of the game that was the elder; all of the responsibility, dignity, and power that comes from it.
But years ago, when I jumped the passing whaling ship, escaped this town, left it for seasons. I do so knowing that this moment would never come. I did not want it, I did not want to have the same moniker, the same title, or for that matter the same anything that was my grandfather, the same anything of what I thought of my father. I was the rebellious lad who wanted nothing more to break loose of all this hate and anger to what I was and become something else.
I can not help to think that I have reached this great battle point, where the wishful boy fights the rebellious lad. I thought once that neither the two shall win – but that is foolishness. You must either stay in Koehlbae, or go past End Rock. Once you go out past End Rock, nothing can take that away from you – that is who you are.
I see that know, I see what this has brought me to.
So I look out at the crowd. My eyes first going to my grandmother, her gaze is still angry and cold. She fidgits with Miss Rissa by her side like one that feels she is made to sit in cowstink.
I turn my head away and look to the rest of the village, feeling a bit of the anger at her coming back, and trying to find something in the crowd to give me calmness, to give me strength. They now stand with wide eyes, bright smiles, a sense of hope. But there is a restlessness, the anticipation, the hopefulness, it is eating at them. The mood has changed though, from when I first entered the square until now; noticing this, now noticing this was the way since I have seen Jakko, since he spoke to me; I see that the smile on the friend’s face has passed to each in the crowd.
I have been standing here for a bit longer than I should, and a grumble of questions rumbles across the people. The noise grows. Jakko, standing at the edge of the stage, front and center, quickly looks back at the villager, waving his arms palms out and facing the ground, saying “quiet quiet, he is about to speak” and the crowd does so.
Looking down at the old friend, I give him a warm smile. I should have listened to him like this crowd seems to. I know now what the gods want from me. I know now what I should do. My grandmother was right, I was foolish and spoiled. But Jakko is right as well, I am a child of Koehlbae. I look up at the crowd and begin, “My Name is Arturos, Son of Gustaf. My bloodlines give me the right to claim the chair of the elders; unchallenged by the elder themselves. On this day, at high noon, in accordance with the laws of Koehlbae, before the Village of Koehlbae, and the hope and guidance of the gods themselves … I hearby proclaim myself, Arturos – Elder of Koehlbae!”
There is silence from the crowd, acceptance, realization, completion. No more questions to be asked of the empty chair, the void of leadership was filled. It was like no one spoke, as they were too busy exhaling. The relief has come.
Before they have a chance to breathe in, I continue …
PART 5 <== The Previously Unpublished Part 5
“My Name is Arturos, Son of Gustaf. My bloodlines give me the right to claim the chair of the elders; unchallenged by the elder themselves. On this day, at high noon, in accordance with the laws of Koehlbae, before the Village of Koehlbae, and the hope and guidance of the gods themselves … I hereby proclaim myself, Arturos – Elder of Koehlbae!”
There is silence from the crowd, acceptance, realization, completion. No more questions to be asked of the empty chair, the void of leadership was filled. It was like no one spoke, as they were too busy exhaling. The relief has come.
Before they have a chance to breathe in, I continue. “As many of you know, I have not been one to follow the rules of Koehlbae. I have shunned this chair since the death of my grandfather.” Looking around the crowd I cross my arms over my chest. “Many of you say that I followed the ways of the foolish fishermen of the past, and sailed beyond End Rock; doing so many times pointing out my disregard to the gods.” I look directly towards my grandmother, her eyes just a stiff and angry as when I began speaking. “Some of you called me spoiled. Some of you called me foolish. Some of you even said I was a curse, spitting on my ancestors. Tis our way though. We do not know what the gods expect of us, we do not know what the gods want from us. We do what we think is right, and while we question the actions of those around us, we ultimately accept them as what is best. It was an old friend who seemed be the kindest to me, to give me the most confidence in what I need to do, and to actually do what is … well … what is clearly the right thing to do.” As I finish these words I am looking directly at Jakko.
He smiles, and he responds, speaking as if we are just in a conversation, just the two of us, and he says to me “Well, you will make a good elder, I know that in my heart. All I said is that we should thank the gods for you.”
Smiling to him I say, “Tis not the words I meant, old friend. You said something far different the other day, in your barn. You told me tis the job of the elder to protect this village, to make it so that people can be happy, to live happy. I believe that is the right task of the elder as well.” Looking down at the floor of the stage, my foot kicks at it slightly, “but you also stated that tis best for this village, the best way to make it happy, and the best way to keep it safe – tis to be the only means to the outsider world. To be its means for trade. That is a skill I can no do from these shores, and as well all know, the fishermen who sailed forth beyond End Rock – they were cast aside by the gods, slaughtered, and whether I believe that story to be true or not …” looking up at the crowd, “I can not ignore the threat to all of you of it being true.”
Looking down at Jakko, my lip now sliding between my teeth and chewing on it. Jakko looks confused, shaking his head still, and tries to speak with some heir of confidence. “You are an elder, Arturos. You can not help to protect this village. Do not take my words with any wisdom, I am just a simple man, and my words come from a simple man’s mouth.”
I give a bit of a smirk. I look over towards my stony faced grandmother, and the gentle Miss Rissa smiling stoically next to her. “But he is not just a simple man, is he?” I say towards Miss Rissa.
Miss Rissa, turns her head slightly looking to me.
“Saying you are a simple man, Jakko,” I say, still looking towards Miss Rissa. “one never knows what one’s heritage could really say about your wisdom.”
My words are more of a question to Miss Rissa. She sees this now, and there is a realization in her eye of what I ask. Miss Rissa is wise as well. At this point, she becomes the only one in this square that sees the meaning in my words. She sees my plans. She sees what I am about to do, with that she gives a quiet nod to me.
I begin simply, “Jakko, Son of Hedrik. You are wise, but do not look at your bloodlines as any evidence. In fact you share the bloodlines of the elders.”
It should not be a surprise that there is a gasp amongst the crowd. There were no known bloodlines to the elders outside of ones that are elders. Hedrik was no elder. Many of the crowd turned to Miss Rissa, Jakko included.
“Your mother, Miss Rissa is the granddaughter of Koeleed. Who was the daughter of Koeld, the second son of the great founder of our land. Koehlbae himself. Koeleed was destined to wed Gunt, the ancestor to our own elder Gunder. But she had chosen to wed from love. A commoner. Named Jakko. The man your mother had you named after.” The crowd turns its gaze back to me now, Jakko included, I speak softer looking to him, “You may not be the son of an Elder, Jakko, but the blood of the god who founded our land runs through your veins.”
Jakko’s eyes seem be conflicted. He seems to be unsure of himself now, unsure of everything of who he is. “No … there is nothing … I mean … we all had to read out ancestors … in school,” turning back towards Miss Rissa, “mother? This is … this is true?”
Miss Rissa speaks, she raises her voice to be heard over the crowd, “there is nothing written, was … was kept only in spoken history … but … is what I have been told.”
A voice raises from the crowd, “if it is not written, then it is not true.” The crowd jumps on this statement, and there is words of discontent shouted and called out.
I wave my hand to quiet the crowd, “I do not find reason to not believe Miss Rissa. When she told me it was with no gain for herself. Besides does anyone think her to be a liar?”
The crowd is turning back to me, but there is still some disgruntled talk.
“Does anyone question Jakko enough to see him not to be of wise stock? Or question his motives?”
The talk quiets and becomes more of a murmur at that point. None called out anything against Miss Rissa.
I look down to Jakko, his face contorted still with confusion. “Ask yourself, old friend,” I say. “Is there anything that makes you believe that this isn’t true? I see how when you speak the people listen. I see how your friends follow your lead. Can you tell me that this is not the way those around this village should look to anyone who should be elder one day?”
He looks to me, a bit of a smile coming to his face.
“Then in that case, it is true. And I will as my first act as an Elder, make is so. Jakko, Son of Hedrik, has bloodlines that would make him eligible to be heir to the elder chair,” smiling and looking to Mastiv the eldest of the elders, and using the words that the position ensures “as proclaimed by the desk of the elders.”
Mastiv looked confused, looked stern; but he is a man of discipline to the laws of Koehlbae, and with this comment I have created one. He turned his head slightly and said in a slow tone, “Forgive my forwardness, Arturos, but what is the purpose of this discussion.”
Jakko still confused, nearly stunned turned to look at Mastiv and nodded in agreement “Aye. I mean … forgive me to question your actions, but of all things to make your first proclaimation? I am … that is … I am not worthy of such a thing. What does this …” his voice trailed off, as he looked up at me. His mind now at work, and seeing a connection in my words. “You are leaving us,” he exclaimes, “you are leaving us … based on my words. That is what you saying. Leaving us without an elder because you think I speak on the blood of some ancestor?”
Across the square then comes a gravelly voice, angry, and spiteful. “You Cannot Be Elder if you Sail Past End Rock.” It was my grandmother, standing now, resting her palms on her cane. The crowd turns slowly to her, respectfully to her. “The laws state that any elder who sails past End Rock is no Elder. You would leave this village without a successor because of your selfishness and your failure to find a good mate.”
“Aye, Grandna,” I reply trying to make my voice sound respectful and warm as one would do to a grandmother one actually loves. “I mean, Aye, one could read the laws to state that one who passes End Rock gives up their eldership – but is it not clear? I will not leave this village without a good a capable successor.”
Looking out to the crowd, the air of uncertainty looming, I am somewhat taken aback that my decision was not so obvious to them.
I smile and speak calmly, almost as if having a conversation with each in this mass. “The laws state that an elder shall name a successor. The laws state that the one who is to inherit the chair must be from the blood of elders, and I will agree to that. But the laws do not require it to be my heir, that is tradition, and I will not uphold that tradition. I name Jakko, Son of Hedrik my successor to the chair.”
“Bloodyhell,” Jakko spat from the crowd, his mouth open slightly looking to me, but there was a bit of a smile under the realization to how it all seemed to come together for him.
I looked down to his words, a wide smirk on my face; “Surely, you would not object to this, do you?”
He blinked a little, and stuttered, “I … you can not think that … surely you do not.”
I turned my head, seeing a few faces aimed at Jakko, their smiles growing a bit. “Look about you, old friend. Do you see faces of those who do not think of you well? When you speak to your fellow villager, do they not listen?”
Shaking his head, he looks down at the ground a little, “Boah.” He struggles with this surely, likely to not accept what I am about to offer, I could tell the modesty that I always admired in him coming to the top. This does not sit well, this sits uncomfortably. This all would only work if he accepts what I am about to say.
“I can not stay in this land, while this was once my home – and I know this will not be understood – but tis not my home now, tis not where my destiny lies.”
I give a sigh, I slide my hands into my pocket, face skyward, and I feel a frustration from all the arguments and secrets – the one good thing I try seems to be failing. So, I speak of it to the whole crowd, “When I arrived in these lands a few days ago, I had no intention of standing here now. Twas my intention to sail to my new home, to meet the new day with new vigor leaving this land behind me once again. Sometimes I curse coming to this land – because wherever I turn there is politics and … well … there is the past that is well known of my family. Since my return it seemed like there was quite a lot of work being put into who is to be the next elder, some things said, some things done. Most of it foolish, and I was not the exception. To be honest, I stand here now because I … well … I did not get what I wanted, so I thought I should punish those who stood in my way.”
I shake my head and look down to the ground, kicking at the stage a bit. “I guess, I realized too late that being an elder because of my own selfishness is downright the most foolish thing one could do.
“The thing is,” I continued, “most of what work was afoot was around you, Jakko. There were many that wanted you to take this chair, many that wanted to prevent the both of us from taking it.” Jakko scowled a bit from this still struggling with much of the idea. “Jakko, through all the madness that I have been a part of, you were honest, you were loyal, and you were kind. Not just to me, to all of us. That is why this village listens to you. That is why they would stand with you. That is why you will be a great elder.”
Jakko’s face turned to me, a bit of a smile on his face, but not so much that he was truly convinced. “This … I think I want … I want to think about this.”
Hopping from the stage, I move to him and pat him on the back, “This chair laid vacant for over a year old friend, it can stay vacant until your ready. Besides – there is fresh rum in the tavern, you will need at least the night to drink it to celebrate this day.”
A man behind Jakko cried, “and a week to recover, eh?” The crowd laughed, many of them moving forward to pat him on the back. Shortly the whole of the village surrounded Jakko to congratulate him, as I moved towards the edge of the village and away from the festivities. Sure I was the one who proclaimed the chair as mine this day, but this was Jakko’s day; and in time he will see how welcoming this village will be with him proclaiming the chair himself.
---
“Do not be thinking this gets you back into good graces with me.” The old woman’s voice sneered behind me while I prepared my things in the Inn. I intentionally left the last of my packing before I sailed, so I would have reason to be undisturbed following the announcement, and could busy myself. My Grandmother had other intentions. She arrived shortly after I did and by this time had already belittled me on every word mentioned, all while Miss Rissa stood in the hallway listening to it all. I was hoping that if I continued stuffing my satchels Grandna will realize I nary had the time for her troubling me; but she did not care. “If you would have listened to me from the beginning you could have saved yourself the breath of those awful things you said to me. This is no way to make up for disrespecting your ancestors.”
“There is no disrespect to this at all, Grandna, quite the opposite.”
“Tis no tradition to name the heir, tis the law – all ways of your ancestor is law.”
“Laws are written, not assumed.” I and shoving paper into scrolls, written full of calculations and ledgers.
“Foolish ideas. Foolish Decision.”
“Was it not your idea to name Jakko from the beginning? Was that not what you wanted?” I responded.
She pauses for a moment, her head shaking. “BAH! Leaving this village without an elder, that is what you do. Endanger us.”
I force a smile and sigh heavily, “today’s not the day for such talk, Grandna. One of your own blood accepted the chair of the elders. And you closest friend will share the same soon. This should be a day of joy.”
She gives tightens her eyes and peers at me, berating me for a bit longer. When it was clear I was ignoring her arguments she gave up. “Bah, I go to the privy.” She turns and waddles down the stairs of the Inn.
Miss Rissa stayed behind, though. When I turn to her she reaches for my hand and cups it, silently – my packing can wait now. Miss Rissa’s smile is warmer than her norm; beaming with pride. Her eyes have a slight sparkle to them, almost as if she is near the edge of tears. The extended time we stood like that helps to calm any fears I have for my own decision, as just this one quiet sense of gratitude to one who had always cared for me seems to assure that it was the right thing to do.
“I hope …” I struggle to say quietly, “that … I did not cause you … that is, I hope my slowness to this decision made you … that you would not think ill of me.”
She gives me a wide smile, turning her head slightly dismissing the comment. “Of the request for your mother – the one that she said you requested in return for naming Jakko Elder.”
I chewed my lip for a moment, the foolishness of such demands seems meaningless now. “Aye?”
“This was your own decision, tis it not” she said factually, “I could tell by your Grandmother’s anger – but can you not get what you were bargaining with her for?”
I am not sure how to answer this. I wanted the information I sought, but now that last bargaining chip was gone and I will never have the means to barter with the old woman again. But Miss Rissa did not know that, and I was torn between letting her feel saddened of what I missed or obligated to what I sought. I sighed pretty heavy and just told her, “As you said, this was my own decision. A bargain for this decision was not the right act for an elder.”
“May I ask … what you asked for?” she questioned.
I passed her an innocent lie. “Twas selfish … there is gold my father inherited, I wanted that.”
She looked into my eyes, the same sparkle is there, the same kindness, but maybe a bit of doubt. She nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer. “Then … let me give you something so you do not think this decision a total loss.” She reached for her sack of goods beside her and started digging around inside of it.
Sure now that I have brought her to dip into her own coins, I spoke quickly. “No … No … tis selfish of me, you owe me nothing,” I try to say to stop her.
“Nonsense,” she responds pulling a blanket from the bag. It is heavy wool, and aged. It is tartan, dark blue with red, yellow, and green stripes patterned plaid & meticulously across the stitching. “Does this look familiar?” she asked.
“It does,” I say immediately, “I remember it from … from your house? Was this not Jakko’s?”
She nods with a smile urging the blanket into my hands. “Aye, it was what he was wrapped in as a toddler. Tis yours now.”
I felt the cloth, now like a merchant more than anything. The weaving was tight, with only a few flaws in the strands. The wool was of mediocre quality, but was spun tight and strong. As it was tartan, the pattern was fairly unique and not one I recognized; so I asked about it, “these are made by highlanders. Each design stands for a clan … a family so to speak. But … how would this come to Koehlbae, I do not know. Who gave this to you? I mean … sometimes they are produced by non-clan members, but tis rare to find one willing to buy a tartan that is not of their own clan. I only assume …”
“Your mother,” she interrupted.
I look up at her with a start, surely my mouth was open, my eyes wide, my shock so evident even the blind could see.
Miss Rissa smiled at my reaction and began stroking the cloth. “After you and Jakko were born, your Grandmother brought me over to her home quite often when Henrik was in the fields so you two could play. I knew there was someone in the room your mother was kept, and the latch on the outside kept her in there. The whole village knew there was an outsider kept at the elder house, but nary saw a glimpse of her. Rumor was she snuck out at night and wandered the village looking into windows, watching us. But there was no sign of such. One day as your grandmother was out collecting wood I heard your mother coughing in the room. It was a dry cough, sickly … almost … almost desperate. I was … well … it was dangerously foolish, but I quickly retrieved a tankard of water. When I unlatched the door and entered the room, she looked scared of me. But as I gave it to her, she first looked slowly at what I offered then drank it down swiftly, her eyes never leaving mine. I thought at first that she drank quick because … well, I guess later … I realized she drank quick to protect me, to send me on my way before your Grandmother returned.” Her eyes go to the cloth again, running a fingernail along one of the lines in the fabric. “I could see that the woman was making these blankets there, with a small loom and a spinning wheel, and bags of wool she used for a bed. She said not a word to me, she gave me the sweetest of smiles. From that day on, when your Grandmother was not aware, I would bring her water.”
Turning her head back to give me a soft smile she continued, “One morning I woke and found this blanket on the doorstep. I figured she could hear I had Jakko with me when I visited, so she thought maybe it was a good gift for him. I meant to thank her … but … I found out that day the outsider was no longer at the elder’s house.”
I looked at the woman stunned. My throat choked slightly as my eyes dropped to the blanket. “What … what was she like?”
She pauses, she is gauging her words. Not out of fear for my grandmother now, more out of calming this boy she speaks to. “Young, full of life. Even towards the end, she was full of color. I mean … no one can mistake you for one of this land, but you are surely more like your father than your mother. But I can see what he saw in her.”
I chew my lip, holding back a wide smile, but unable to speak.
“That is all I can remember, Arturos. It was a long time ago. I wish I could give you more.”
I fight back a bit of a tear. This was a grand gift indeed. Not just for hearing these words, but seeing this blanket. Miss Rissa surely would not understand the significance. My mother made this tartan pattern as it was what she knew how to make. One only does that if they are making these tartans for a clan to buy, or if they are in that clan. I find the clan, I may find my mother. “You could not be more generous, Miss Rissa. Not only you give me this piece of her. But you were kind to her. She surely thought of you more high then I could ever.”
Just a light touch of red covered her cheeks as she drops her head modestly. “I do not know about all that, Arturos. I only knew she was thirsty.”
---
The sun had moved between the high peaks of the mountains to the west as the ship left the docks. I stood forward of the masts to smell the salt as it snapped from the sails. We departed late, the mountain winds doing us no favors at the beginning of the tides, but now as the night were coming the boat moved slowly already past the great stone reefs, approaching the Isle of Buen, and moving towards the End Rock – quite literally beyond where eyes can see at the docks. Since the short days I last seen these landmarks, I have outcast myself to my last blood tie, brought out the curses of the elders, proclaimed the chair of the eldership myself, commit myself to many more returns to this god awful place, and once I past the End Rock leave a vacant elder chair once more. After all the politics and arguing, I looked forward to the peace and tranquility of the demon curses and plagues of Ravenscraig.
But I know these wandering feet will keep me going. Now I have a purpose, I have a key to my mother. This means my days to come will see more on the sea then at home. Which is fine I guess, Ravenscraig seemed more doomed with me in it then without me. But I do miss the lands, I miss the elves, I miss what made me happy there. For now, the sea is coming through the stone waterways our ship sail through; and I welcome the smell of it like a hungry man to a baker.
“Arturos, there is something I must speak with you about,” comes a voice behind me. I turn and there is the good captain Saul. Beside him is a boy no more than 16 years. His pale skin, his white hair, is sickly appearance make it clear this is a child of Koehlabe. He carries a hat in front of him in both hands, seemingly removed out of respect. I believe I know him.
“What is this?” I say, “Gaud? Son of Toki?”
The boy nods slowly confirming him as the child of Koehlbae’s harbormaster, a look of fear on his face, his lip between his teeth.
“What are you doing here, this ship sails for the sea.”
Saul spoke for him. “It seems the boy signed on with the mate, I thought you should know.”
The boy looked down at the deck, his hands playing with the brim of the hat, still held in front of him. Speaking sheepishly Gaud said, “I … I wanted to see the world. I … did not … want to be like … like my father.”
I sigh, frustrated. “This is not the way of Children of Koehlbae, is it not? You understand your actions? If not I will make the good captain turn around right now.”
Gaud nods, his eyes still cast to the deck before my feet.
“Look me in the eye and tell me you understand what this means.”
The boy looks up at me dutifully, “Aye, I understand what I do.”
“What makes you think you can leave Koehlbae? No one leaves Koehlbae.”
The boy chews his lip slightly, his hands moving along the rim of hat sending it in a slow circle. Gaud has to noticeably fight keeping his eyes towards me, keeping them off the deck. “I saw you the square today, sir. You proclaimed the chair. I have always heard of the places you been through my father – the stories you tell him. I thought … well … if someone can leave the village … and … ummm …” His voice trails off to nothing more than a mumble.
“Speak up, lad,” Saul said.
The boy made a quick look to the captain, then back to me, then back to the deck at my feet. “If one can be an outsider, and still be an elder … maybe the gods will watch out for me too.”
There’s heaviness in my sigh, disappointed with the boy. I knew not where my disappointment came from. “What do you know of me, boy? What do you know of why I left this place?”
His eyes moved up to mine, “N-nothing, sir. I know you left is all, and you are an elder.”
“I am an outsider as well, or did you …” I reach up and shake my red hair, “… not notice that I am different than you?”
“Aye,” he says, “I mean, I noticed … noticed you are.” He sways his hand over his own head, but does not vocalize what he means. “But you are a child of Koehlbae -- that is what they say. Are you not?”
I chew on my lip, my hands slide across my arms and gauge the boy. He fidgets. I wonder what makes this boy desire to leave the village. I wonder what he thinks he will do with his life. I wonder what I must do to convince him that I am a fool, the way our village has always done. Then that thought lingers in my head – the way out village has always done. For as long as I lived in village of Koehlbae, I was taught to not be a fool, to do what is expected, to follow this and go there. All those lessons were made to let others tell me the way the world was, to tell me what to expect. Staring at this boy, I felt the need as an elder to do the same thing. But instead I asked him, “You know the story of the fishermen and the lost cod, do you not?”
“Aye,” the boy answered.
“Tell me it … for the good captain’s sake,” I say nodding towards Saul, part just to urge the boy to speak.
The boy looks down, his hand working the hat still. The version he gives is far from the most eloquent, but still spoken as that was is true rather than myth. “Fishermen they were, strong and bold. They went after the riches of the sea – a school of cod. They sailed past End Rock. Out past End Rock the gods no longer protect us. When they did they were only able to catch the one fish, the Lost Cod. The evil ones spoke through the fish, and cursed them. All but one died.”
I nod, “and End Rock? What does the story say of it?”
The boy looks up at me, eyes wide, “and awful thing, jutting straight up from the see. You can not see it from the village, but you can not miss it as it approaches.
“What does it look like, lad?”
“It is shaped like a dragon, tall, angry, black as night. Some say it glows red against the dying of the light at sundown. Stands as high as the fisherman’s mast.”
Saul is chuckling, he waits to see how I react, but is most amused by this.
I give a nod to Saul, giving him a bit of reassurance about the boy, suggesting the new crew member will be fine. Turning back to the boy, I say: “Come, there is something you must see.”
I walk forward of the boat to the rail, the boy joins me at my side. We have reached the mouth of the bay. The boat snaked through the high mountain fjords that protect the village’s harbor, and stands now at the edge of the vast sea. We are already making good time now that the open air of the offshore winds cause the waves to brake along the hull with greater velocity.
The boy gasps audibly next to me. When I turn to look to him, his amazement and awe are evident. His face smiles from excitement. He may have spent his time working the docks of Koelhbae, but it was more than clear he has never even approached the mouth of the bay. Now that he for the first time sees the open sea, its clear that it surpasses his imagination. I know this, because I remember the first time I saw this view as well. There is no fear in this boy of the outside world, there is only the hope of youth, the love of seeing something new. I remember that time in my own mind, in my own life, and I can not help to smile myself.
I look back to the water and see it, immediately pointing a short distance forward of the boat to a place where something dark just edges above the sea. It approaches off of our starboard side, but far enough that we will not hit it. “Look there, boy, see that?”
He looks down at the water and squints a bit. “Tis a turtle?”
I shake my head.
“Oh, a large fish then, like in your stories of those whales?”
“Watch close, lad, do you see it move?”
He stares at it for a bit, and then shakes his head. “It is just stones then?”
“Aye. One stone. A Piece of granite from a small underwater breaker. The captain here knows to sail around it, as we hit it with the boat it may puncture the hull; but only on the way in, tis smooth on this side and the boat would likely slide right around it.”
The boy’s eyebrows knit, and reluctantly say, “tis good to know, if I …umm … ever bring a boat of my own back here.”
“No,” I reply, “Tis good to know, as … That is End Rock.”
The boy watches the rock, leans over the edge slightly as the ship passes it rapidly, uneventfully. “What … what happened to it? Where is the … the dragon?”
I fend off a chuckle, “twas never a dragon ... at least it only existed in the stories. Sometimes it does glow a nice red, but … well … tis just a rock.”
“It was not true, none of it? Not even the fishermen?”
“Oh, there is some truth to it. I am sure there was fisherman, and it would not surprise me that if only one returned from that voyage. But I have seen much that I would never believe could talk, and cod is not one of them. There has always been some truth to what we have been told, Gaud. In every story there is truth, if even just a sliver. I mean, there is a End Rock, tis there not?”
The boy nods, the rock now moving behind the boat and with that he turns to me.
I look to him and say, “We were protected in the village, but much of it was the elders telling us of what is foolish or what is not. Out here, to protect ourselves, we are our own fools, and we are the ones that define what foolishness is. We can not rely on stories of fishermen … we ARE the fishermen.”
“How do we do that?” the boy asks.
Smirking a bit, with a laugh. “You really do not know, do you?” I chew on my lip, turn to the sea; and I think of a blanket lying on my bed in my cabin, with a tartan pattern and a whole new quest ahead of me within it. “We open our minds to what this world still holds for us. We ask our own questions, we look for our own answers.”
“But … what if no answers come?” he asked, seemingly challenging his own bravery now that he has set out to sea.
“But,” I respond, “what if they do?”
He paused for a minute and turned back towards where the entrance to the bay started to become hidden against the rocky shore, and End Rock stood against the water as the tide exposed it a bit more. “You are no longer elder,” he said.
I nodded, “not since we passed End Rock.”
“If it is proper, I still may wish to ask you questions; even if you are not an elder. Tis alright?”
In the days to come, the boy would learn of knots & sails. He will strain long hours hauling gear and moving ballast. In the days to come, I will go from port to port examining cloth and goods. I will strain long hours with questions of clans and tartans. There will come a time soon when I will be a lost memory to this boy, and he one of mine as well. I doubt we were ever the first to leave Koehlbae, and I doubt we will ever be the last. But this day, we left our home together. No, I did not answer the boy’s question. I just patted him on the shoulder and sent him off to get to work on his new job. There was much ahead of both of us, and it was best to not spend that time with words anymore. It was time to see what the gods bring out past End Rock.
PART 1
Koehlbae is my homeland, or more accurately that of the bloodline of my father. There is an old legend for the folks of Koehlbae. It tells of the first great attempt to venture out of the quiet bayside village to reap the sea of its rewards beyond the great stone reefs, beyond the Isle of Buen, beyond even the End Rock – quite literally beyond where eyes can see at the docks. The legend has it that on this first brave attempt the men who made this adventure were the strongest and bravest that Koehlbae could offer the most seafaring of them all, which I never saw the coastal fishermen of Koehlbae to be all that strong or all that brave, but sometimes legend’s truth comes from times before great changes.
The men were after a simple thing, cod; as a pod of the fish was spotted just beyond End Rock heading to sea. On a sunny, quiet day, the long boat sailed and the nets cast about in the sea over the school of fish. With each pull of the nets onto the boat, the ancient fools found the nets to be empty and the skies to be darker. It was on their last great cast that a single fish was brought aboard. As the legend goes, the fish was held high in thanks to the gods as is the custom. The cod, the cod that has always been known as the Lost Cod, it is said to have spoke at this time. I looked directly at the weakest of all the fisherman and said with a sneer, or at least as much of a sneer a fish can do, it said “oh, you foolish pretty ones, the gods can not help you here”. With that, the fish flipped from the men’s hands jumping back to the sea.
As the lost cod made its escape, the winds fired up strong blowing the boat back towards the bay, the rains began filling the hull with water so fast that the ship began to list. Finally lightning struck three times the ship three times causing fires to start. When the boat entered the harbor and could be reached by other fishermen, it had nearly listed completely and was fully ablaze. Only the weakest of the fisherman survived to tell the tale. From that day on, only the greatest of fools ever sailed beyond End Rock
That story was always told to children to scare them from sailing beyond End Rock – the suggestion was, anyone who went out that far were unprotected by the gods, and can expect certain doom. It worked for nearly all of them. Those of us that did venture beyond End Rock were looked upon as the saddest of souls, the ones that the evil spirits think so little about that they do not even bring the wrath down on you when you are unprotected and easy prey.
The people of Koehlbae rarely speak to me when I arrive back to my homeland, some choose to advert their eyes when seeing me. The village is quite large, large enough that one would believe one could just disappear into a crowd. But in a village where all look nearly the same, all small, pale, white haired, on the verge of illness -- to look different makes those remember one; especially one that was the grandson of an elder, and son of the man who killed that elder. The only place one can hide these days in Koehlbae is out past End Rock.
I am here as the winter stocks are fading, and the cloth from the looms, the fine furnishings built in winter workshops, and the excess wood can be taken to market to the south. Tis business what brings me here, seems I am the only one that this village trusts to do business with; thought they can not trust me enough to look me in the eye when they do it.
I stand now in the grand hall, which is nay as grand as the statehouse of Ravenscraig, nor of the old courthouse of Tarrund. But as Koehlbae is concerned, it is the grandest hall in the village. I stand at the podium looking on to the two elders at the bench made for three. We argue the cost of grain. If I was so inclined I can leave these old men, these men who never had to argue the cost of anything, I can leave these old men with their last coins and make them think I was the one shorted – but tis always that I respected the seat I was once meant to sit in. So I let them become breathless at first and leave them with a good price. Now that has passed it is time to talk the real reason they felt they needed to argue grain; the subject they avoid.
“Your grandmother is ill,” Mastiv, Son of Mastuf says. He is now the head speaker for the elders, for the village if the need arises.
“Aye, tis what your note had said,” I say. “I hope you have not said as such expecting I return to nurse her to health.”
The second elder looks across the bench with a bit of a smirk, at least the best you can tell on his strangely skewed face. He is Gunder, son of Gunther; and just before I left this village Gunder suffered an attack, freezing half his body. Most he hides well, except that half of his pale, dull face appears always to be winking and smiling constantly. “I think your grandmother is well cared for these days.”
“What he means,” Mastiv says, his long drawn face nearly looks disapproving of Gunder, “your grandmother is watched over by Miss Rissa.”
“Do you know this woman?” Gunder says with a smile, what is clearly a smile.
“Aye,” I said with a smile, “she had been a friend to Grandna since I was old enough to remember. Nary had a day Miss Rissa not come to our home for tea. They were much close, so tis no surprise that Miss Rissa would take care of Grandna.”
Gunder gives an amused grunt, “Tis no surprise indeed.”
Turning my head looking at them, “whom cares for an old woman should not be a concern for the elders.”
“Bah!” Gunder waves his hand, “like your grandfather you remain short sighted.”
Mastiv raises a hand quietly towards Gunder in a way that appears to calm the overexcited gossiper. “My dear boy, maybe you do not understand the concerns of the elders. You see, we have an open seat here, do we not?” Mastiv waves his hand to the chair between him and Gunder. That place where my Grandfather Lars once sat, where my father Gustaf should have sat if he had not killed my grandfather, even where I was to sit.
Pulling my hands from my pocket, I slid my arms across my chest, chewing my lip slightly. “I guess I do not see what my choosing to not take the seat of an elder has to do with my Grandmother’s …”
“Rissa has a son,” Mastiv said sternly interrupting.
Remembering the boy of my own age from my youth I nodded, “Aye, Jakko, Son of Hedrik …”
Mastiv interrupted again, “your right to the seat of the elders was yours to give up and yours to still claim until this day; since you are the first born son to an heir of the elder seat.” Mastiv sits back in his chair, his arms crossed sternly looking at me with lowered eyes. Mastiv grows this way just as soon as he tries to attack one with his words. “While you choose to ignore the proclaimed ways of Koehlbae, your grandmother is a scholar of them. She nay forgets the rights of the wife of an elder, and when the male say no to the chair, tis the female that chooses her next to sit.”
Turning my head slightly, “I never heard of such …”
Mastiv interrupts again “Bah!” My patience grows thin with the old man, but his with me was never there to begin with. “Tis the laws, we can not stop her.”
Scowling slightly “What is so wrong with Jakko?”
Gunder speaks, his sneering smile is only half there now, suggesting he is no longer gossiping. “Tis no blood of elder in him … he is no Lars, he is no Gustaf.”
Raising an eyebrow to the two old men, to contradict their words, “He is no Arturos.”
“Bah!” both old men say in unison.
I can’t help to smile a little, watching these old fools squirm the first time was a great day for me, and tis a fine day to see them do so again, “the way I see it, you have come to some conclusion about this Jakko. Tis no doubt a great disliking the bench has for me, so to even assume that the blood of Lars could resit … I am impressed by such forgiveness from such old men.”
The dull skin of Gunder could not help to redden slightly in anger, “you stupid child … I’ll ..”
Mastev interrupted his equal, “Jakko does not see the world that is best for Koehlbae. While it is foolish to believe some outsider’s child could sit at this bench like the Son of Gustaf; we bloody do not want someone who speaks of trade pacts and alliances. Gunder here has not just one fine son but two, both could sit at the Elder bench just fine. If she would only take into account the true bloodlines of the elder than the best decision can be made.”
Turning my head slightly, and seeing the game at foot, “so, what you ask of me is her to choose a name of your own choosing, not one of her own.”
Mastev looks to speak but Gunder is the one that interrupts, “Aye – the boys will be both fine for this duty.”
“And,” I responded, “What is it that I can expect for such a challenge – tis no easy task to convince my Grandna to stand when she is sitting, let alone change her mind on anything of importance.”
The two elders look at each other, slightly confused. They only just learned in the last few years negotiation, still surprised one would do so on something not related to money.
“This bench holds information regarding the outsider tribe that spent summer south of the village near the mountain lake.”
The elders looked at each other, their concern evident, and their conflict growing. They knew what I was to ask; and it was no doubt my grandfather swore them to secrecy.
I continued, “I wish to know what the elders know of this tribe. Their names, their purpose, where they could have gone.”
Mastev sighs, and shakes his head slowly.
Gunder, who had more to lose, and more to gain from his boys in the seats was the one who spoke for them. “You speak to your grandmother; and we will give you what by the laws we know.”
Smirking slightly, I nod with a smile “I will speak with her, I still have the right to that chair, that is a law I know.” The subject quickly changes to the price I will pay for wool in the spring; no longer in much a forgiving mood I get them settle on a price that nearly swindles them.
---
Sitting by the fire there is an old woman. Her pale skin is more grey, her wrinkles harsher, her white hair (the white hair that was always white, as is always the way with children of Koehlbae) now thins and nearly falls out. This is the widowed wife of an elder; and her age is younger than how the years have made her look.
“You do not grow too fat.”
That is the first thing Grandna says to me when she sees me. Me with my smile wide to see the old woman who raised me all those years, and she says this to me first. What is odd is I realize this is a loving greeting.
“Aye, the winters are not as harsh in Ambrea, so tis still much work to keep one healthy.”
She puts a dirty rag to her mouth and coughs harshly into it. The blankets around her loosen with each hack. I step closer to her in part to be closer to the fire next to her for my own warmth, but mostly to help wrap her tightly again.
“Bah” she says, “I am not feeble.”
Chuckling softly as I tug a blanket up her sides, “Grandna, I will never mistake you for feeble.”
“Bloody well not,” she said spitting figuratively the words before literally into the fire.
Kneeling down on the floor next to her, like a good son shall, I look up at her with some concern, “This winter though seems to nay done you many favors. You will give me the right to worry about you, will you not?”
A small smirk came to her face, which she skillfully hid looking towards the fire. “Aye, you have the right.”
Nodding quietly, “Miss Rissa has been the one that worries the most for you … so I have heard.”
Scowling slightly, “Tis a scandalous rumor then … to have reached down to Ravens ... Moonens ... where ever the bloody place you are now.”
Seeing her hand resting on the arm rest I place mine on top of it, “The elders saw fit to tell me when I arrived in the village that you have thoughts of seating a new elder.”
She looked at me through lowered eyelids, understanding that there was more to what I was saying than what I said. “Tis my rights to name one as elder. Tis the laws.”
“Aye, tis the laws, so I have been told. But they think you have chosen one, and they seem not to approve.”
She nods slowly, “I have chosen Jakko. He will be a good leader of this village once he grows old enough.”
“And you have chosen my replacement without even telling me? You know that seat is mine if I so wish.”
Calmly, she says in response “The boy Jakko will never leave this land. He knows what can happen out beyond the End Rock – the bloody evil that will cut and bleed you.”
I looked at her, the statement was meant to hurt; and it did more than she thought it would. “You speak so poorly of your own Grandson, your own blood?”
Turning pale face to me she scowls, “He will be wise like your grandfather was.”
Shaking my head slightly, “my grandfather drove his own boy to kill him.”
Her hand pulled sharply out from mine, and she readied herself to strike me. In my youth, my Grandna’s hand was just as feared as my Grandfather’s whip; the physical pain was less severe, but to be struck by her – that was more painful. Just the threat would have made me cower as a child, even cry as I came to age. Now, I fight to hide my defiant scowl from her eyes; to show her no fear at all, no reaction at all. Her face was grimacing angrily at me. “You know nothing of what you speak,” she spat at me.
Breathing calmly, I say “They know I can stop this, proclaim my right to the seat. They have offered me something that you never had Grandna. You can offer me the same in return, and it will not only let you have what you want, but spite them in the same move.”
“You are a bloody foolish boy. You nary want responsibility, then when you do you use it stupidly.”
I sit back onto my feet, and chew on my lip quietly. I think back to a time not so long ago when I tried to be responsible, to take on the safety of an entire village – and in turn nearly handed it over to dark forces. I shake my head off quietly and remember there is a cause I need to fight for, need to bargain for “I have not agreed to anything, Grandna .. but such a reaction by the elders is curious is it not? Even more coming from you.”
Coughing slightly, pulling the wrap tighter around her “Tis not bloody well any of their business, tis bloody well none of yours either.”
I rise and I walk slowly over to the table and pick up some bread tearing off a bit. “I will be honest, Grandna. I agree – tis not my business anymore more.”
Giving a quick nod, “Good, then tell the bloody fools you agree and you can go to wherever the bloody place you be these days.”
“Oh no,” I say with a smile popping the bit of bread in my mouth. “Tis not my business anymore to say who is or is not the Elder … But the elders made a different deal with me, and they offer something that you can give me – and I am guessing what you have to give is more valuable to me than what they can give me.”
Pulling the blanket tighter around her, she begins to rock in her seat to circulate warmth through her veins, something I always doubted there was to begin with. “You found your riches out of the god’s hands, what do you want from an old woman.”
Chewing and swallowing the bread, my answer is short, but understood “Her.”
Looking up at me, her eyes are once again cold; and once again she knows what I am going to say before I say it. “No!” she says sternly.
There is a quiet silence hanging like the biting cold moisture from the sea. Smirking a little, I turn towards the door moving slowly “well, I guess I must make plans to step to the seat at the bench.”
She speaks quickly now as to stop me, “Bloody fool! No! I have told you before, there is nothing to say about her.”
Standing at the door I say, “She lived here for nearly a season, do not say you know nothing of her.”
Looking directly at the ground in front of her, the anger spitting from her words, “Bloody fool! You hold this whole village hostage with this? For some bloody … some …” she spits into the fire. “You do this … you do this to .... Because you want to know … BAH!”
I felt indignant, I felt angry; and for the first time that I ever spoke to my Grandna, I felt in control. Her reaction to my asking for information on my mother was … well, I expected her to be angry and say no. But as I walk towards her, my chin feels like iron as my teeth grit, I can’t help to think that her tone now seems she puts up a fight with herself to protect the past, while getting what she wants. There must be some grand reason she wants Jakko in power, something so grand that she is struggling to give up the one thing she never would normally. The merchant in me smells an opening and I lay out my hand. “You want me to agree to this, then you must give me what I want. And I want it all, her family name, what her people where, where do they go,” I walk back over to her, and stand defiantly in front of her; leaning down, I put my hands on the arms rests of her chair and stare directly into her eyes. “I want it all.”
She turns her head slightly, the cold eyes looking into mine. I have seen this look before, and it sends chills down my spine. “You want it all? You are just like her,” her eyes slit, and she spits the word, “Worthless.” She pauses to let it slide in, a smile grows showing her rotting teeth, “The evil spirits do not even care that you go past End Rock, as they never cared that she nary gave birth to you there. They see you as nothing, and that is what you are, that is what she is.” Her face sneers at me, “she was a freak and the good gods of this land almost killed her for it.”
I can almost taste blood on my lip, I bite it so hard. I want to hit this woman. I want to kill her myself. But she says these things only to incite me, to get the upper hand. With the last bit of reserve in my heart, I lift up and pull away walking to the door. Saying over my shoulder, no longer wanting to look at this heartless shell of a grandmother “My ship sails in four days. I have not what I need, I will tell the elders you cheat them and any attempt to take control of the bench is a breech of town law.”
PART 2
------
It is morning of the next day when my grandmother made her next move. It is a predictable one to anyone’s standard. For the visits I have made since my grandfather’s death I have stayed at the Inn by the docks. Through some of my own investments (since it is rare anyone else stays at this Inn), it is very comfortable lodgings. When Genni the innkeeper’s wife called me down for breakfast, I made it to the top of the stairs when I saw her. Not my grandmother, not Genni. No, she wasn’t either of them. Miss Rissa was old enough to be my own mother; but she always looked that old as long as I knew her. Her soft wrinkly paleness hadn’t changed much when her dull eyes found mine.
“Arturos, look at you, grown and strong.”
I self-consciously curled my arms across my chest. I was not ready to go out, so I stood in a sleeveless shirt; not what one should wear when doing business, but this isn’t business. I slowly descended towards her forcing a smile, “Miss Rissa, I wonder when she would send you.”
She turned her head and kindly smiled “Bah.” He face was so much sweeter looking than the normal Koehlbae face. She had been one of the few that did not treat me different. Miss Rissa spent many days in our home, helping my grandmother with her chores; and even bringing her son Jakko over for someone for me to play with. As harsh and cold my grandparents were, was as soft and gentle as was Miss Rissa. Something my grandmother knew very well, and had used in the past to gain my favor indirectly through her dear friend. This is why Miss Rissa’s arrival at the Inn was only surprising in as far as how early she came..
I settled into the seat across from her at the table and Genni arrived shortly with tea for the two of us. There was a silence there as Genni tended to us, and as I heard her foots behind me heading to the kitchen I said, “You must be proud then, that my Grandna considers Jakko to be worthy of an Elder chair?”
At first, she looked beyond me checking to see Genni was in the kitchen, but then Miss Rissa looked at me more directly. She smirked slightly and took my hand in hers. “I hear you have become a merchant of sorts, and some sort of leader of a port village. Being so direct with your questions must be helpful in such things.”
Her smile makes me falter a bit. I may be upset at my grandmother, but this woman was not my grandmother. Looking down slightly with a smirk, “There was a time I was Governor of Port Tarrund, but that is seasons ago now. But you are correct that I am a merchant, though not much of one.”
“Fair enough that the elders will do business with you.”
“Aye,” I smirk again. “Tis odd to see our people learn what it is to be greedy. I bring a nice thing, they want three, and they ask for more next time.”
“Nice things are nice.”
Nodding quietly, I respond “nice people are that in the same way, Miss Rissa.”
She looks down with the comment, hiding a bit of a blush. Doing so she sees the scar left on my arm from a demon’s blade. “This looks like it cut you deep.”
Nodding slowly, I reply “Aye, deeper then any blade can.”
“Who did this to you?”
Shaking my head, I say in passing, “a demon. There are some that … well, there are nice people and … there are ones who prey on others.”
She smiles as her eyes continue to look to my arms. Her hand moves slowly upward, stroking at the tattoos I carry. “What are these, they do not rub off.”
Filling her cup as well I say quietly. “Tis permanent. Tis ink under my skin, from the days I was with southern tribesmen hunting fish as big as a boat.”
She traced the lines turning her head slightly as if in disbelief. “There is much out there beyond End Rock, is there not?”
Looking towards the door with a smile, nodding slightly, “the greatest things I could ever imagine as a boy, I see things beyond that daily; and I thank the gods for the experience that it gives me.”
She smiles a little, “many different than children of Koehlbae then?”
Nodding quietly, “aye.”
“The gods,” she says almost with an urge of curiosity, “they listen to you out past End Rock?”
Smiling to her, I can not help to shrug “I find things that make me happier out past End Rock then as I ever was here, so I have to think they do.”
She has stopped tracing the tattoo and looks up at me with a small smile. “Then a child of Koehlbae would stand out in the world past End Rock.”
I give a slight chuckle and I shake my head, “Beyond End Rock there is a world where there are so many that are different from all else. Females who have fins for feet. Women who are more cat than human. And Elves that are the most stubborn and vengeful and …” smirking slightly with a smile I pause “… sweet … at least as any human one can imagine.” She looks up at me as I speak and I can’t help to speak with a gentle calmness, “Beyond End Rock, there is so much different, so much life … one never stands out, because all stand out.”
Turning her head slightly, her eyes opening with a bit of envy. “Bah”, she says softly, “I am sure you stand out, you were one that always stood out.”
Scoffing at this, “Aye, because I twas the only one without white hair, or pale skin, or was thin.”
Shaking her head with a smile, “nay, you stood out.”
Pursing my lips slightly, I look down.
She pressed to hear more, and slowly I obliged. She didn’t speak much, my guess was she did not know what to say. But she was genuinely curious of things. Someone once told me, ones rarely hate a one, they hate folk. Tis nothing new for me to say I hate the folk that is here in Koehlbae, here in my homeland – but tis not new for me to remember that I do not hate this one.
She begins to stir her tea, it is a new drink to these lands, not much tea grew in this cold land but I found a market for it when they tried it. “There is a female in your life?”
Shaking my head slowly, and then shrugging a bit. “Not in how you ask.”
“None you have had eyes for?”
Sighing slightly, I say “My eyes fall onto those that tis best I do not court – ones that … well … tis just different than I. I guess one can say it is a trait I have gained from my father, can you not?”
The woman purses her lips; but doesn’t speak. She appears to avoid the subject. For our ways, it would be improper to talk about something that had always been considered a great embarrassment on my father’s family. My father bared a child out of wedlock and with an outsider. The only reason why one would comment on the subject is if there was something of great importance could be gained from pressing it. Miss Rissa would push the matter if she knew my desire to know more about my mother was what was keeping Jakko from the elder seat.
I lean back in my chair and I realize why she does not push this matter.
My Grandmother has not told her of this demand.
Miss Rissa is now only a pawn.
“You must think me foolish,” I say, turning things towards the business at hand, “me standing in the way of my Grandmother’s decision. The elders are uncomfortable with a child outside of the bloodline of elders taking such a position.”
She smirks at me, a habit that I now realize I gained from her, as some in Ravenscraig seemed to pick up on do with great frequency. “I am sure it comes to no great surprise that the elders hide things from the people.”
My eyebrows knot at this statement, as she smiles a little looking down.
“There is a bloodline,” she says.
I blink, an odd reaction I get from being around too many confusing elves.
Miss Rissa explained. She began to speak of elders, brothers, and out casts. Confusing elves is one thing, but even as she explained the bloodlines I lost myself a number of times in the connections that are there. It took this one another cup of tea to understand it all, but what was clear was that Jakko did have an ancestral right to the elder chair – something that my Grandna neglected to tell me; something she felt wasn’t something that would allow me to move ahead.
She was honest with me in her understanding that the connection is vague, but I needed to be honest as well.
“I will not lie to you Miss Rissa, I carry a motive against Grandna. But in all honesty, I hold nary a grudge against Jakko; but carry nary a positive reason for this move either. All I can promise is to find him this day and speak to him of his plans.”
Her eyes jump and she begins to blink, “Oh, he does not know of this.”
Turning my head, again feeling like I was speaking to an elf, “why … why not?”
Smiling a little, she shrugs, “he has duties on the farm he must tend to, what he does not know does not distract him.”
Chewing my lip and watching her I say, “but would be foolish of me to not understand what any decision I make will do. Tis like the fishermen, tis it not? They knew not what laid beyond End Rock, and … we know what happened. I think I still need to speak with him, it will not be today as I have business to attend to, but tomorrow for sure, and I promise when I speak to him of Koehlbae I will … just not … speak of why.”
Miss Rissa looks at me, relieving a big sigh considering the statement, and then nods slowly.
------
One can not spend the day drinking tea and eating short bread. So, I wandered down to the docks to check on the cargo. By mid-morning, the whole of the cargo was offloaded from the hull, all of the goods promised or bought. This is a good thing for any port I sail too, much so for this one.
Saul, the old captain notice as much, “Good coins you got on this.” We were shaving slices from hunks of dried ham
I nodded quietly, sitting on an empty barrel at the bottom of the gang way, a piece of ham hanging from my mouth.
“Wouldn’t have expected that,” he said, his shakey hand cutting at the block of meat in his hand.
I looked at Saul and gave a bit of a smirk, “I have sailed with you for season, and you doubt my salesmanship?”
There was a little wag to his head as he flipped a bit of meat towards the cats that seemed to recognize a free meal was to be had. “Just this village, wouldn’t have thought that they would buy anything when I saw them the first time.”
I chewed on a bit harder of the ham and spoke through bites, “they are like any other, they have needs.”
His dusty coat hung on him like a parent’s coat over a child. Only his sea worn face said otherwise. “Everyone has needs, just not all pay for it.”
I shake my head, “It is no question that what really brings a profit to this village. I mean … the winters are very long, and while they have the food for it, tis just not … high variety. It is,” holding up the ham, “dried meat or preserved vegetables. You bring hard breads and cheeses, ales, sausages, and even fruits … they will buy it, and you will do very well. They are surprised by what I bring, many are concerned for what it is I bring; but as reluctant as they tend to be, they still buy.”
“Reluctant, lad, does not make good profits,” he said.
“Good demand means good profit. The demand is there, you just not see it when you see their surface. This is my homeland, but this is business.”
Looking towards the boat, “Where do they get the coin to pay you, no other boat ever comes here it seems.”
Chuckling quietly, looking down. “From me. Tis what we will be loading for the next few days. I will leave with less coin in my pocket then I arrived, but the furniture and cloth will make me a great coin south of here.”
Chewing on the ham he looks at me, “How did they get coins before you came along.”
I shrugged, “there were coins here, but not much worth. Most was traded from folk to folk. One could not just come to this land and expect the coins to jump from pockets,” shaking my head I said, “no, there was nothing of worth to an outsider.”
Sliding his knife back into his belt and throwing the last bit of ham to the cats, the old captain stands slowly and looks down the docks. “You must love this place then.”
I nearly laughed out a bit of ham. “Bloody do not, Saul.”
Rubbing his back stiffly he says, “you not?”
“There are reasons why I left this place long ago,” I said taking his lead and tossing the last of my ham to the cats, who seemed to recognized that the free lunch was over and ran off towards the land.
“Family trouble?” he asked.
I tilt my head with a shrug, but I didn’t respond. I knew this captain, but this day I did not feel he was one worthy. “Why do you think I would love this place?”
The captain reached down and picked up a walking stick. “Extra day’s voyage to this village costs you a good coin compared to some near here that will pay you the same rate. And come to find out that the whole coins economy up here .. its your doing. You want to bring good things, fine things. That is business, but there is other ways of doing business.”
I could feel the heat to my face, and my teeth gritting a bit, but did not know why this was bothering me. “I hire you to carry my goods, not judge the way I do business.”
The captain stared blankly at me. “No judging Arturos. But maybe you need to look at why you do what you do.”
“I do what I want Captain Saul.” I spat, still not sure where this came from.
“Aye, lad. You do what you want. And you come here.”
With that, he walked towards the village, leaving me to wallow in my denial.
PART 3
“Who knew a sailor boy could swing a fork,” Jakko laughed.
Twas a contest between us as most things turned out between us, and I was pitching hay like a champion in my fine leather boots. “Tis not so removed from farm life as you think, this one is.”
Shaking his head with the flying straw from his own efforts, he states between puffs of air, “Bah! You stay away too long, and keep too much from your friends.”
Throwing the last bit of hay into the old mare’s stall, I close the gate quickly, and turn to him seeing he is still unfinished. “Done!”
“Bah!” he says throwing his fork down with a laugh. “What is now, thirty-two for you, fifty-eight for me?”
“BAH!! Fifty-two, do not cut me short,” I say with a laugh and move over to help him finish up his work. Our little contest never have anything wagered to the winner, only count of who has won more. Jakko and I were never far apart in this count, but we still tried to make it sound as such.
“I am just surprised you let these nice jackets and pants get messy with us old farmer types,” Jakko laughs, then gives me a slap on the back of friendship. It’s these glimpses of humanity that sets him apart in this village, he was one that was never too afraid to show an emotion; and probably is why he was my closest friend as a boy.
Shrugging I turn to him, and lean up against the rake. “Many get the wrong opinion of me in Koehlbae, tis just nice to prove one or two wrong.”
Jakko chuckles and leans back his tall frame against the wall. If the story of the fishermen was true, Jakko would be a descendent of them. He stood over many in this land, his shoulders more broad, and his arms firmer. His skin still paled next to mine, but he looked as there was more blood in his cheeks than any child of Koehbae that ever lived. Even his white hair seemed full compared to the straggly thin look of the rest. “You proved nothing more that you can fork hay,” he jabbed with a smile.
Shaking my head, I wipe a bit of sweat from my brow. The winter here still fought to keep its hold, but this hard work was enough to get the blood going. “So … Your mother tells you I was coming, so you decided to put me to work?”
“She told me you spoke on and on yesterday morning of demons, elves, fisherman … of all that is strange in your world. I just thought all that talk was going to make you soft” he said trying to prod me a bit.
“Bah!” I laughed in reply.
“What is it that brings you here?” Jakko asked.
“Can a man not visit his old friend?” I answered, trying to hide a bit of concern that my motives would be found out.
He smirked, something like myself, he picked up from his mother. “Not what I meant, I mean, what brings you back to Koehlbae.”
I let a bit of a laugh, and begin brushing off the hay from my pants. “Ahh … well, tis the elders. They sent to negotiate the trade goods built up over the cold months; wanting me to give them a fair price and start sending gold in return.”
“And did you give them a fair price?”
Chuckling, I nod; “I am far more fair with them than I should.”
Jakko nods, and moves down the barn, stopping to look in each empty stall checking to see what needed to be cleaned as the animals were out in the pasture. “That is more than what one could say if any other merchant comes to this land.”
“One can not blame the old men sitting behind the bench for that. Tis generations of elders whom never learned the art of trade. They so what they can to know what they can.”
Jakko shrugs and smiles. “You are too kind to them. If a scoundrel would come to this land those fools would never know what hit them.”
“Aye,” I said, giving a shrug. “I guess that is the boy in me, knowing if I do not say something kind of the elders it would mean a strap on my hide.”
Jakko turns and looks at me with a bit of seriousness, “you are an odd one Arturos.”
Chuckling I look down, “that is something I am reminded of often, but I assume you have a reason to say so yourself.”
Taking his fork he begins to pitch a little more hay into a far stall. “You do not notice the clues you give. You give the elders a fair price. You defend them of their lack of business knowhow. Yet you nearly curse the one elder that is of your blood.” Finishing the work, he closes the stall door and puts the fork against the wall. Brushing his hands off he continues to speak, “You hate your grandfather, but you cast no negative towards the chair he sat in.”
“In this case, I have more respect for wood that makes the chair, then the man who sat it.”
“Nay,” he says shaking his head with a bit of a smile, “You plan on sitting in it yourself … just as the rumors said.”
I knit my eyebrows, curling my lip slightly. The thought of taking that seat make me clench painfully, the further thought that I may suggest by my actions that it is what I wish is just as uncomfortable. “What rumors are those?”
Jakko smirks, he answers with the tone of humoring me, as if he is just letting me know what I face when I make my return for the seat. “Gunter, the elder, wants both his sons to sit. There are some that say he is playing for that; even my mother mentioned as such once. He seems to act more quick this winter, as if there is one who has decided to make claim to the chair. ”
“Tis a right of an elder, if a seat is vacant.”
Shrugging, Jakko says, “tis laws I do not know, do not care to know. But tis not right for one elder to put two sons forth.”
“Well,” I say moving over to the wide barn doorway and leaning against it looking outside towards the snow covered mountain, “I am sure there would be many who speak that would choose an elder’s son over some bastard child of outsider woman.”
I guess you could say I was stunned a bit by Jakko’s slow response. When one spits out such comments, one assumes someone will return in defense of your character. Jakko did not, at least not right away. “Aye, there would be many concerned with such things.”
I turned and looked at the man, trying to hide a bit of the hurt from his words. “You support me leaving the seat be filled by others.”
Shaking his head, “I agreed with your statement, nothing more. I would rather you sit in the chair more than any other. But, Aye, there would be many concerned that you are born to an outsider. Many that would be concerned that an elder went out past End Rock and returned unharmed; and even do so on one’s free will.” He walks to the doorway himself, leaning on the opposite frame from me.
“I can not change who I am, Jakko, you can not ask me that.”
“Tis not the point, Arturos.” I look at him hard, my frustration growing in my eyes. “You do not see it, because you do not hear what is said when you are gone,” he continued. “You go forth, out beyond end rock, and you return with stories and scars and … and …” points to the tattoos on my arms. “And you come in to do business, and you give us fair prices, but we do not know what that means; we do not know what brings scars. You speak of demons but we do not know what they are – and you nearly gutted by one. You speak of elves, and … well … I do not even know what a bloody elf is or what they can bloody well do to me.”
I look at him, listening as he seems to grow in a bit of passion of the kind rare in this land.
He points up to the mountains, waving his hand around; “look at this place, Arturos. The gods gave us this land where we are protected, where we are safe. There is no way a dragon can get over those peaks; no way a demon can dig under it.”
I intended to correct the man on his assumptions of those creatures but let him continue.
“But people … bad people … they can … they can just sail right in the docks. You proven that … I mean, not that you bad, but sometimes those people on the boat with you … sometimes they do …” shaking his head he turns to look at me, pursing his lips. “Am sorry, I do not mean to suggest you do anything ill. Tis just …”
I am looking at him, I am concerned for something he must bear that seems not able to say. “We are friends here Jakko, say what you will and I promise to carry no ill will against your opinion of me.”
Shaking his head he speaks sadly, “tis the point. Tis not you Arturos. Tis the people that come from beyond End Rock. Tis those that … “ he shakes his head again. “I am just saying, tis the elder’s job to protect this village, to make it so that the people can be happy … to live happy. What you do when you come here is that you make that possible with what you bring. But if you are not the one bringing those good things, that if it is someone else … that if it is someone bad … there is nothing our elders can do to stop it. Nothing they can do to protect us.”
Kicking the ground a little, “you make it sound, tis better elders in this village than any that have gone beyond End Rock.”
“I would not know one,” he says shaking his head and turning to me. “I not know any that would do the job you would, but know you would hate to be here, and there are better things for you if you follow the path of the fishermen. If not, the godless ones will come here and we will lose ourself; regardless of what you can do.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “This village needs you to be our means to the outside world .. but it needs you to be our only means, Arturos.”
Looking at Jakko now, pursing my lips, watching him pour out this statement from him; I started realizing what I am doing in this place. “Tis many that speak like this … that think it is best for me to be …” my voice trails off, pathetically unsure if what is being said is nearly a rejection of my person from this village.
He sighs a bit, turns to move inside the barn, “I … I do not know … was my thought … I only mentioned it to my mother … but I think your Grandmother overheard from the next room.”
For much of the time since I met with Miss Rissa, I wondered what caused my Grandmother to trigger her to make such a decision to choose Jakko. This was it, my Grandmother would rather I not be in this village at all. Sighing quietly, I spoke of my own thoughts, but surely to Jakko it seemed I changed the direction, “I envy you, Jakko, to be one that has a mother that is kind and is there to listen to you. I do not even remember my own mother’s face.”
He turned and looked at me. We at one time were as close as brothers, now seemingly worlds apart. Kinfolk across the ages and across bloodlines. Looking to each other and sharing what we are. His response was very much the child of Koehlbae’s but also the brother of Arturos.
“Bah!”
-----
The elders found me the next day at the home of Selma and her son Kehl. Selma, the lovely widow of Helver, loved to torment me when we were children; but as we grew our conversations became much more friendly. Kehl, I had only known for a year, and was enchanted with how the boy seemed to come alive like no child of Koehlbae does; but only when he was in the presence of his constant companion. And if any shall ask … twas really the companion what I would tell those why I came up the hill to this home, as twas improper for an unmarried male to visit the home of a widow. When the elders arrived, they found me with this companion. I was on the ground, scratching behind the ears of a big, white maned, shaggy beast of a dog that I once called my own. I enjoyed the company of both Selma & Kehl, but I missed the only female that would ever do what I asked, and Snausy, yelping and bouncing on me in joy, Snausy seemed to miss me too.
The elder Gunder was the first to show displeasure, his skewed mouth frothing slightly, “Bah! You called us all the way up this bloody hill when all you do is act like a child?”
I try to speak, but its made nearly impossible as the dog’s wide tounge laps at my face, “Oh .. tis good too see you gentlemen … I wanted to ..” I try to push the dog away, but am overridden by a yap, “tis good of place as any …” I get my arms around the dog and push myself to my feet with her large body wriggling around in my arms.
Mastiv speaks with a foreboding tone of superiority, “tis that the dog that soils the village square?”
Giggling slightly, Kehl stands, his and gives a grand bow like a court fool to a king, “Tis the very one, your eldership.” Kehl is growing now to a strong young lad, looking nearly a teen and 2 or 3 years beyond his actual age, and it seems the spunk of having a dog around has brought out a bit of rebellion in him. “I am ever so sorry for such natural actions of a harmless beast, I will do much better to clean her leavings.”
Both elders looked aghast by his speech, before they could speak Selma spat, “Son!!” The boy turned to his mother, his face growing pale at her word. She stood at the top of the stairway to her house, a towering position, with her arms crossed, and her eyebrows stitched together in a harsh scowl. “That is nary a way to speak to your elders. Apologize this instant or be swatted until tears in public.”
The boy turned slowly to the elders, something made a bit more difficult now that Snausy seemed to want to dance circles around him. Kehl’s face lowered to the ground, in penance and respect. “Excuse my tone, elders. Twas a fool to speak to you such a way, I ask you forgive my poor actions as tis will be the last.”
Gunder was about to speak, but Mastiv, always the one to stand firmer in emotional debates spoke first, “Know thy place, lad. As your whole life there will be elders in your presence, and only with great admiration and respect given to us will we pass along the gifts of the gods to protect you from the world’s evils.”
Grabbing the scruff of Snausy’s neck, thus bringing the dog to a dutiful heel at his side, Kehl nods. “Aye sir, wise words that I will remember; and I will do what I can to make sure my dog keeps the village from being spoiled.”
Gunder tried to speak again, still gasping from the climb up the hill, he seemed itching to speak bad words to the boy; but twas his mother who spoke first. “Inside with you until I have decided your punishment.”
The elders nodded their approval at her actions, something that the rest of us did not seem to think was all that necessary; however, we were not the ones that called ourselves elders.
The boy moved with the dog towards the house. I watched the three of them, mother, son, dog, as they approached one another. As Kehl looked to his mother in passing, I noticed the slightest of winks from the woman to him. Once inside she gave a deep sigh and turned to the males on her lawn, the elders standing sweaty from a hill climb that only lazy old men would tire from, and me still layed out on the grass in my fine grass-stained leathers. “May I offer you gentlemen tea,” she said more towards the elders, “Arturos brings it from someplace east he says.”
Gunder raises an eyebrow and looks towards me, “you bring the widow tea?”
“We only came to speak briefly to Arturos and we will be on our way, no time for tea.” Mastiv said seeming like he ignores his companion’s question.
“Very well then,” she says and turns into the house. As a host to this strange meeting between the elders and myself, her departing would be strangely odd. But there was a familiar way to how she left us to our business, like a woman allowing her mate to complete what he needs to. Something that didn’t go unnoticed to me, and may have caused me to make sure that the wrong thing is thought.
“I … umm … do apologize for Kehl’s dog. Tis used to be mine … and … well … in my presence the dog has become somewhat independent.” Scratching my head a little, I say looking in towards town, “tis why I visit by the way, since I can no longer keep the dog Kehl watches it for me … and I … I make sure Miss Selma has the means to buy its food.”
Sneering through his skewed face, Gunder says, “That does not explain the tea, Arturos.”
I should yell at this man. I should not take his assumptions. In the ways our people do, he has suggests the impropriety of what I do, and that of Miss Selma. Such simple words to tarnish my character. Well … tis time to test his.
“I assume you came to find me based on my letter?”
The elders nod dutifully, silently.
“I asked to meet you as to tell you per our agreement, that I have spoken to my Grandmother and request you give me what I asked for such a duty.”
Gunder’s face lightens up, though again tis hard to tell on his near winking face. “She has agreed to let my boy sit in Lars’ chair?”
Turning my head, somewhat sarcastically, “tis no time to change the subject Gunder, I simply stated that I asked for the information you promised me.”
“Bah … quit speaking like a fool and tell me what she agreed to.”
I say back very clearly, “Our arrangement was that if one talks to my Grandmother, the information of the outsider tribe known to the elders be passed to me. There was nothing in our agreement specifying what she was to agree to.”
Gunder hrumphs at this, “tis not my memory, tis that you were to talk her into …”
I interrupt him this time, “I do remember specifically saying that tis no small feat to talk that woman into anything.”
“BAH! You bloody child, tell me what she said. I demand it.”
I move to my feet, doing so and standing on an incline to the men makes me stand over them. “You lose your temper, sir. Such emotion is more childish than my desire for you to uphold our agreement.”
Stomping the ground, “Fool, you have no …”
“Arturos”, Mastiv interrupts drawing the rant from Gunder to a halt. “I will mediate in this, and as I remember you were to speak to your grandmother and report to us. You are to do so …” Mastiv draws out his words, in stately rhythm, with great purpose, “… as proclaimed … by the desk … of the elders.”
Gunder smiles wide, looking at me triumphantly. Such a statement is not given frequently, and is an order that failure to head is punishable by law.
Tis laws I long since stopped caring for, but there was something in me that made me choose to respect it. I nodded to them and said quietly, “She is stubborn, she has agreed to nothing.”
Gunder scowls angrily at me. He turns and looks up at the mountain to the west. Mastiv waits and lets his equal take the next move. With some thought, Gunder turns back to me and says with a bit of a sneer, “Then, my boy, there is nothing to give in return.”
I blink at the comment, “We had an agreement.” I look to Mastiv, “You know this, there was an agreement.”
Gunder begins a slow chuckle, “Aye, but there is nothing to give in return.”
In an instant, my face turns blood red. “You bloody … fool, how dare you invoke law and spit in the agreement we made.”
Mastiv shakes his head and raises his hand. “Tis not what you think, Arturos. You asked for all the information the elders have on the tribe, but your grandfather burnt those documents before his death. The elders have nothing to give you.”
I could feel the anger grow in me. “You … You bargained … with nothing? You know what I ask, you know what this information is to my … my … And you dangle it like a toy in front of a lion?”
Gunder continues the chuckle then speaks in slow, “You lose your temper, sir.” He repeats the words I just spoke with as much of a smile as he can muster. “Such emotion is more childish than my willingness to help your cause. I would say … tis like the nature of the dirty godless things that grazed the lake so many summers before … but since there is no record, I wouldn’t know anything about that, or the whore that bored a bastard child.”
I remember once seeing a man, the lycan-man, I thought took the one my heart was meant to be tied to, and losing all feeling sense of myself. I remember the one time the Raven woman appeared to me, taunting the prisoner that was the Romani girl, and fighting every bit of my being to destroy her. I remember the demon who just bled me, who began ushering in what we thought would be a doom, and wanting to gut it if I had a blade to do so. Those were times when I can only see the hate, the anger and I never really know what consumed me to lose all senses. Or why in the end something stopped me as well.
As I pulled my blade, presented its tip, and layed it the smallest distance from Gunder’s throat; I know not what made me draw this weapon, nor what made me stop.
Gunder’s eyes were wide, his hands up in protection, his breath caught in his throat.
“You mind your words old man, I am no weak child.” I growled, on the edge of piercing him through.
Gunder swallowed hard, he closed his eyes and tensed, as his mouth started moving his words were coming in quiet whispers. He was recounting his life, preparing to die; something I have done myself, something that when I realized he was doing so, I knew I could not complete that work.
Mastiv spoke, through it all he stood calm and stately. “Put the blade away, Arturos. You of all should now the penalty for killing an elder.”
Aye, I knew. It was the crime of my father, it was that brought about them putting him to death. I took the blade away from the old man and slid it into the sheath.
Gunder took an extended breath, his mouth opened, his lips were dry. “And … And now … I wish you … to leave this village … to never return.”
“Your wishes are meaningless, Gunder.” I spat.
“He is right, Gunder,” Mastiv said, still standing proudly. Gunder turned quickly to his equal and looked on the verge of objection. “Arturos is still heir to the chair, and none can stand in his way from claiming it.” Mastiv’s stoic calmness brought a level of respect for the old man, was still a very low level, but a level none the less.
Gunder still try to stumble out “For threatening my life I should …”
“You should put the laws above all else, Gunder. As you are an Elder.”
Gunder’s anger was evident, turning back and forth between the two of us. “Bah … soon enough he will not have a claim to the chair.” Throwing his hands up he begins to waddle down the hill, Mastiv slowly behind them.
I choose this time to speak, one last statement, I must. “Do not be so sure,” I spit, and the words come faster than I can think, “I intend to claim the chair tomorrow.” In this moment, I am not sure what I speak of.
“WHAT!” Gunder exclaims as he turns quickly to me.
I breathe deep and say calmly, “You not want Jakko as an elder, you say it is because he is not elder bloodline you say this is not our way, this is not our laws. But in the same right, giving two sons of an elder seats is not our way either, tis not our laws. What is only right is that the true heir of an elder take the seat.” I cross my arms and look to Mastiv, his face beginning to look a bit gloomy. “Let it be know that … as per custom … I will declare at high noon tomorrow in the square I have taken the seat of the elders. I will be an Elder.”
Gunder’s eyes were wide, and he turned to Mastiv. Mastiv’s face was hardened and cold. He stared at me with grave anger and indignity. But Mastiv is one above all else who respected and honored the laws and the ways of Koehlbae. Whether or not I went past End Rock, this was my right. So with that, he nodded slowly. “There is much to prepare, if you will excuse us.” With that, he walked down the hill, and one could hear Gunder argue back to the other the whole route.
“Tis true?” I hear behind me. Standing at the door is Selma, leaning against the door. “You return now? To be an elder?” Her face is stoic as well, but with a flare of curiosity.
I did not intend to let anyone else hear such a thing. I look down, my face beginning to blush slightly, and I kick the ground. “I hate those men, Miss Selma. I hate what they try to do to this village. I must do what I think is right.”
She looks at me, and nods. Her face suggests that it wasn’t an answer she wanted to hear, maybe it was, maybe it just was not the reasoning for the answer. “Come inside, there is stew and tea.” She does not mention it the remainder of the evening. It would not be proper for such things.
PART 4
Koehlbae is a village surrounded by high mountains, as if the stone and granite make a fierce, towering wall. To many, there is only one way in and out of this land, a narrow passageway to the south where the water leads from the bay to the close fishing grounds where one can catch cod, salmon, or halibut; to End Rock where the mythical fishermen ventured past, met a with the Lost Cod, and thus were doomed; and to the Great Northern Sea, the world of the outsiders, and the sea passage sending me home.
To a noble few, there is known of a second route. One can not see it from the village. There are two great peaks to the east that overlap. If one follows the gravel landfall and oppose the leaning of the trees through where the peaks over lap, through the hills that hide one another and hide one’s assent to the peaks; they will come across a grand pasture that flourished heavily with sweet smelling grass. Tis there a fresh mountain lake, clear and filled with summer bred fish. Beyond that lake leads to a passage through the mountain peaks to the hills leading onward and overland. But this path also leads to the world of the outsiders.
Only a noble few know of this path, as the elders have done what they can to keep this from the children of Koehlbae. The outsiders were always dangerous, they were always feared. Tis the same reason the fishermen were slew out past End Rock, the gods do not protect anyone who go beyond our village. The path through the mountains will lead to where the Children of Koehlbae will be unprotected, but more dangerously, it will awaken the evil outsiders to the way to Koehlbae, and a way to our own doom. The outsiders would surely come to our lands, prey on the pretty chosen ones of Koehlbae. If the Children of Koehlbae knew that such an easy path existed over land to our home, all of them would be panicked, and all is lost.
The elders were successful for the most part to keep the pasture and lake kept from the people. Besides, twas easy to keep quiet as there was never a known outsider attack into the village through this way.
It was only until one elder, who knew how grand the pasture was and who wanted only the best for his grazing sheep, sent his flock to summer in that pasture with his son to watch over them. Sometime there after, it was whispered that an outsider tribe of folk that live in tents brought their animals to camp there as well. The most dangerous whispers talked of one outsider who actually entered the village from that tribe of outsiders. She was nothing but a wild woman, baring a child that the loving arms of the village welcomed in freely and happily without judgment or ill behavior towards the woman, nor the child.
The elders did not stop this whispering. Twas mostly harmless, because there is no way a young mother could endanger the mighty Children of Koehlbae. Besides, twas not like a story about fisherman and a talking cod. In the village was proof that the mother existed, that a child was born to an outsider mother within our mountains. The child remains as proof; living, breathing, heir to the chair of the elders proof.
---
That proof was now on a floor, knife in hand, digging at the pegs that hold the wood down; trying to free them to get to this board.
I was eager to do something, anything to take my mind off of this plan of mine to step up for the elder chair. I know it is not what I wanted. But what started as a small rock escaping from my mind some days ago now seems like a landslide, building strength, building speed, and seems nearly to pull me under and keep me in this bloody place. Worse yet, keep me from Ravenscraig, from Karamoon, from the lands that in as much pain it brings me – the place where I found peace.
There are no hiding noises in this house. Besides the scrape of wood on the blade, the only other one could hear was the dripping of water as the ice melt from the roof found its way into droplets towards the bucket in the corner. In honesty, the water was a welcoming sound to me, lying in this room all those years ago on the nights when my grandfather and grandmother were already in bed. That dripping reminded me that the days were warming and soon spring would arrive.
Since my father was put to death, my grandmother was never very welcoming to my prattling around alone. One finds it safe to assume tis because the home is all she has; but one may also assume tis because she has lost trust that her boy has told her grandson more than her grandson needs to know. Besides, tis not what I want her to catch me in the act of. That is why I waited until I knew she was with Miss Rissa on a walk around the town.
I keep digging at the floor with my blade. I hurry now, as I feel I waited too long after they left the house. I keep chipping bits of wood out of the peg holes, keep wedging the blade along the edge of the board, keep scraping at seasons of dirt driven into the crevices. I cut, I dig, I pull – trying desperately to get into the material. Thinking I had enough of the peg gone and enough of the seam open, I pound at the crevice between boards with the knife – sticking it hard into the wood. Gripping the handle I start yanking at it to pull it from the floor, struggling to free it.
It appears I am wrong that no noises could be hidden, as they can be hidden behind the noise of a fool cutting at a wood floor.
It appears that I was correct to think I waited to long.
It appears that I can be surprised by one coming to the door, as I am only alerted by a yelp at the door of the room.
Standing there is Miss Rissa, in her arms a heavy blanket, a woolen throw. She wears similar around her shoulders, so what she carries is for another – for my grandmother. Miss Rissa’s hand is on her chest, her eyes wide, and she is catching her breath. “Arturos, I … you scared me …” she says a small smile coming to her face.
I look up at here, caught, started myself, my blade still stuck in the wood. Stunned in the moment of seeing the motherly woman I … I just have nothing I can say.
She almost starts to laugh, something you never hear in this hand, her hand still pressed on her chest. “Whatever are you doing down there, boy?”
I open my mouth, eyes wide to her and start to stammer, “I … I am … trying to …”
Giving me a warming smile, she shakes her head and moves into the room towards me. “Seems like no position the next elder should be found in, fumbling around on the floor in nice linens.”
I look down at my clothes almost on instinct to her comment. They were nice for Koehlbae, but not to many other places. I would wear these woolen slacks and shirt cleaning the barn in the winter. Shaking my head, I look to her “Tis just what I have on, I guess, and …” that is when I realized what she said, “Next elder, you have heard?”
She turned her head slightly with a smile, like one showing approval and pride to a good boy’s deeds.
I look at her slightly confused, “I … I can not believe … they would make that more public. The elders I mean … tis something I just told them.”
Walking over to the bed, she lies the blanket and woolen throw onto it. “No … twas Selma who mentioned it this morn. Your grandmother and I saw her this morn, with her boy and that dog of yours. Good girl Selma is, though not one that can keep a secret.”
Looking back down at the knife, I try to pull at it to get it out of the floor, and it begins to move. I am looking more at the knife so I do not have to look at her when I say what I must now say. “You are upset that I did not just let Jakko be selected.”
“Bah,” she says lightly. “You are to be an elder, and if the gods believe you to have such a gift, then this decision is not one to make one upset.”
I stop in place and turn my head to look at her. “Surely you are not saying that an elder’s decisions are to be unquestioned. Surely an elder’s decision on anything while must be respected, is always up for question.”
She smiles a little bit at me, “I am not saying an elder should not be questioned – just who the elders are. Elders are not chosen, they are blessed upon us. If that is meant to be you,” smiles a little, her face showing no wavering, no doubt to her words, “then tis the best for all of us.”
I know not how to respond. I feel I am used to the wrangling on the elder chair. From the elders, who want to choose who is there; to my grandmother who seems to have her own plans; to even Jakko who has judgement on what is best for me. But here is one, one who has much to gain with a decision, and she blindly accepts. I know not how to respond, because I expected to argue my side – but she gives no argument.
With a sweet smile, she looks to the knife and makes a change in the subject to my grandmother, “She is in the privy, and will be here soon, best get that out of the floor and tell me what you are up to.”
I nod, moving quickly … perhaps a bit too quickly. I yank the knife and it comes free. As it does it swings up and nicks my finger slightly. I grumble a quick curse and put the finger to my mouth. The light metallic taste of blood is there on my finger and try to speak. “I was … just trying to free a board. To take with me.”
“Take with you,” she asks, moving by my side and taking my cut hand in hers to examine it.
“There is business to attend to, whether I leave these lands as an elder or not, I must sail this eve on the tide.”
She rubs at the cut, just barely edging into the flesh, and with a little work the bleeding stops. “And you need the board to sail with?”
Chuckling slightly, I shake my head “I just … would like .. a bit of …“ I trail off a bit, not wanting to answer.
“A bit of the house,” she finishes.
I shake my head, “I bit of her.”
She smiles a bit on this, still looking to the cut and nodding happy the cut has stopped its bleeding. “So you have made amends with your Grandmother, that is very honorable of you.”
“No,” I say maybe a bit too quickly. “I mean … no I haven’t … and … twas not the ‘her’ I meant.”
She looks up at me, her hands curling around mine. Her old, caring eyes smiling at me. “Your mother?”
I can feel a bit of a blush, confirming her answer. “This was her room too, you know,” I confess, no longer wanting to hide things from her. The landslide of the elder chair seeming to quiet as she looks to me, holds my hand; and it seems that peace is what leads me to speak easier of this secret I kept from all. “She lived here, was kept in here when I was still nursing. I used to think … that is … I … I mean … I used to hope …”
She stood listening, no look of judgment on her face, no look of despair.
I knew I had nothing to keep from her, she knew what my boyhood was like. And finally, I felt I need to say what I normally would feel improper to say. I swallowed hard and began, “Sometimes, on those nights when my grandfather said something hateful about either of my parents, I would crawl down onto this floor and lay my head on the wood. I had heard once … I do not know where … but … I used to think that one effects all that they touch. As if … if they walked on some wood … they always leave a bit of themselves behind. I used to think that one’s presence remains where they are, where they lived.” Shaking my head a little, I crack a bit of a smile, “A fools delight, this was the only place I thought such things. But those nights, I laid my head on this floor … I felt that I was touching her, and … felt like … she touched me back.”
She looks at me, and a warm smile came to her face. “Do you have anything else of hers?”
I am reluctant to say it first, stopping my own breath. She would be the only one living in this village that would know. But I just confessed to the woman of my grandfather’s cruelty, there is no stopping now. “There is a bracelet. Gold, spinning around one’s wrist like a snake. Tis too small for me, and I normally keep it. But I gave it to one …” chewing on my lip a little and looking down, “… as a promise that I would return from this trip.” I look down a bit, “I guess I never intended to say I would never leave this village again.”
She continues to look into my eyes. Her emotion there was with depth, was with meaning. I wondered if it was understanding even rather than just motherly pity. Miss Rissa carried something in her, and almost as confirmation of that sighed heavily and began to open her mouth to say something.
The front door of the house interrupted her as it creaked open, interlaced with the cursing & muttering of my grandmother. “Bloody spring is coming, that privy smells like the winter’s shat melts,” she grumbles as her feet can be heard shuffling into the house.
Miss Rissa gives a quick smile, and take my hand moving me towards the door; “We have a guest. Your grandson cut his finger and came for a bit of care,” she stated happily coming around the corner to pull me into view of the old woman.
It appears the fresh air and coming spring sun did nothing to improve my grandmother’s appearance. She skin was ashen and dull, and even as the blood was rushing to her face apparently unhappy to see me here, she still seemed sickly and pale. What was noticeably different, different from the last time I saw her at least, is that her eyes were wide and standing in shock. I had no reason why she would look at me this way – as if someone coming across a ghost or a demon for the first time. One could say it would be like seeing her son, or husband, returned from the dead – but even if the woman was senile, she would never mistake me for them.
What one could say is that I would likely be as pale as she was. Unsure of what to say, unsure of what to react. This … this elder thing … this was more standing my ground against the old elders … and now I feel this landslide is running again, forcing me to do what I do not want; not just in defiance of those old men, but this old woman as well. As she stood in the door, she was there figuratively and literally in my way.
“Tis true?” she finally spit out, her arms resting on canes in either hand, her body beginning to shake slightly from fatigue.
Nodding slowly I state with a bit of obliviousness, “Aye, I cut my finger.”
This seemed to bring my grandmother to her senses as she climbed into the house and hobbled to her chair by the fire. “Stupid boy,” she cursed, “I meant the elder chair.”
“I can warm some cereal or eggs if you wish to stay, Arturos; or some nice tea that you brought,” Miss Rissa said in an attempt to change the subject. She left my side and moved quickly over to my grandmother. Miss Rissa eased the feeble old woman into her chair by the fire and pulling a blanket for my grandmother to cover up. Miss Rissa moved not as a friend to my Grandmother to me, but as her servant.
I shook my head stepping back attempting to reject the offer, as I stepped towards my room and grabbing a jacket I had left, “tis no need, Ginni makes a fine breakfast, and there is much to do today.”
“Aye,” Grandmother spat between coughs. Her arms were waving a bit angerly, seeming now to get back a bit of her spunk, “like spit on your ancestor’s graves and curse this village to doom like the bloody foolish, spoiled child that you are.”
I turn sharply back at her, “I follow the laws of this village – nothing more. Have you turned on them as well now?”
“Turn on the laws? Never. Not like a bloody child running off with outsiders.”
I turn my head, feeling myself open up my arms to that damn bloody landslide of this duty, “I follow the laws!”
“Laws mean nothing you, you bloody fool.”
My voice raises, “This is my Right! Do you question the Gods’ Judgement!”
Her voice raises in return, “You Are FOOLISH AND SPOILED! The Gods Ignore you, the Gods care bloody nothing for you.”
“HELGA!” Miss Rissa cries looking to my grandmother. She used my grandmother’s name. She used it like a curse. In her hands was a large spoon, clinched in her hand as if she was to use it as a weapon. “He is your own bloody Grandson.”
I was a bit shocked. I have never heard Miss Rissa curse, rarely heard her raise her voice.
My grandmother’s brow rolls, it curls, her cheeks pressing upwards. Her eyes slim looking at her caregiver from across the room. Her chin begins to slide around, her lips pursing. Her face contorts in anger, but waits as she carefully chooses her words. My grandmother appears as if she prepares to ignite the fury of the gods on Miss Rissa – but I can not tell if it is because she intervenes into something that it is improper to intervene into, or if Miss Rissa states something that my grandmother feels is the furthest from the truth.
My grandmother’s reaction is great enough to pull me from my shock, as this is a nerve that has always left me with questions of her. Now was the time for me to find some truth. Looking towards Miss Rissa, I state sternly, “No Worries, Miss Rissa. My Grandmother only says what is well know, does she not? I have sailed beyond End Rock, have I not? The gods do not protect us beyond there.” Turning to the frail old woman in the chair I say with a bit of spite to my words, “or did you mean it as the gods turned their backs on me the day father fell in love with … what did you call her?” I tilted my head, the anger clearly evident in my eyes as I answered for her, “A Freak!”
The old woman’s chin began jutting in defiance towards me, an edge of superiority; confirming my suspicions. Confirming why this old hag has treated me the way she has since the day I was born.
I couldn’t keep my disdain from her, and the words came before I could even control them. “You were bloody worse than Grandfather, were you not. At least he had no ability to hide his judgment. It was clear that I was nothing to him – but to think I spent my childhood thinking that someone …” I flicked my head angrily at Grandmother, “… that you gave anything for me. Say what you will old woman, but the gods seem to care a bloody well more than you EVER did. You are worse than the bloody demons that live outside of this place.”
“ARTUROS” Miss Rissa yelled. She threw the spoon angrily on the floor, its wood handle shattering and spitting across the room. “That is ENOUGH!”
The noise turns me toward Miss Rissa. My teeth clenched, fighting the urge to ignore her and continue into the target for my hatred. My grandmother decided to speak at this time. “This is no place for you, you foolish boy. Leave this village and never come back.”
I hear my grandmother, but I do not look at her. I nod slowly to Miss Rissa and move towards the door. The nod was my only goodbye to the only woman I respected in the room. To the other I only said, “The offer still stand, I asked something from you, and if you give it to me I will honor your wishes.”
Haste to the door would understate the speed I wished to leave this place. There is shifting about the house as I do. The door behind me muffles the voices, as they are no longer raised. As I wander down the path to the road I know that a curtain will not rise to see me go. On the surface there will be no evidence of what has taken place at the homestead by the time I have reached the next farm to anyone outside of that house. That is the way she prefers it. That is the way this people live. What is seen must remain harden, cold, dry – like the granite that rise up to make the mountains that protect this place.
-------
Twas just before noon when I arrived in the village square and it was quite full of people. Miss Rissa had been right about Miss Selma’s ability to keep this quiet. Midday, the people of Koehlbae usually have much to tend to, whether it be chores to be completed, meals that need cooking, or the basic necessities of life. In the warm part of the day, milling about the village square does not be what the entire village would normally do … but today it is.
After leaving my grandmother’s home, I did what I could to remain busy – to ignore how foolish of a thing I must have committed myself to do. I returned to the Inn to pack my belongings for my departure, bathe & clean myself, and dress in the fine red jacket, grey vest, and black pants edged in gold and silver – the suit I wore daily as the Governor of Tarrund. This outfit was of fine cut, it was clean and bright, it was sharp, dignified, and smart; and I wore it to make me feel the same. But since it has been seasons since I was the Governor, standing now in the village square amongst the Children of Koehlbae, it was also ill-fitting.
The square was filled with all I could think of from this town, each with their own small purpose to be here. Miss Ginni the innkeeper’s wife strolled along the cobblestones, her basket full of bread for the night’s meal – but also in company with the baker as well. Saul, the captain of my boat, stood out in the crowd, his blue sailor’s jacket, fair skin, and dark hair clashing with the paleness of the toe-headed citizens. He was near Toki, the harbor master, who’s son Gaud, nary the same age as I was when I left this land, stood by Toki as the harbor master laid into the young man for something that was not worth the angry words. Miss Selma, the perpetuator of the news that brought most here, smiled and pointed my way when talking to the other young mothers of the village. Young Kel teaching Snausy to sit up on his haunches at Selma’s feet.
As many in the square caught sight of me entering it, the rumble of conversation began to quiet; eyes were moving my way. Conversations were changing to say the least, most sounded darker, more harsher, more disgruntled; and most definitely unhappy. I had to fight my natural urge to look towards the ground, to chew my lip, even to smirk. This landslide had come, and if I was going to step towards the center and take on the chair, I better be able to look at each of them in the eye.
“Your plan is still to proceed with your proclamation?” came a slow dark voice next to me. I turned and the elder Mastiv stood straight and tall near enough that he can keep his voice low to me. He was in the long, tailored black coat, the village crest on the breast, he had order from me the year before for grand occasions. He dress seemed to respect the action I said I would take.
“Aye, your eldership,” I said attempting to show respect in return, and in doing so pulling back my own urge to throw this all away now.
Mastiv nodded slowly, “Tradition requires that the proclamation occur when the sun is highest. That is soon.”
I nodded kindly to him, what I didn’t need was more time to regret this decision, so in some ways his words were welcoming. “It seems all of the village is here, but I do not see Gunder.”
“He has stricken ill this morning, and will not arise,” Mastiv responded.
I smirk slightly, “is it a true illness, or does he just not respect this result.”
Mastiv take a long sigh then looks to the crowd, “when you are an elder, you do not always believe things are decided by the gods; and it makes one harden to belief that a man makes decisions you would not make.” Mastiv nodded his head and looked back at me, “I am sure you understand … some things take time.”
Through the crowd my eyes fall onto a cart on which my grandmother sits, a blanket covering her shoulders, her cane held in both her palms. Her eyes were locked on me, cold and stony. There is nothing left to speak to her about, and I can tell there will be no information from her, not now, not never. “Aye,” I respond to the elder looking towards my grandmother still, “but time runs out as well.”
“Aye,” he responds, “for you as well. The sun is at its highest point.” With that I turn to look at him, his hand is offered to me. He wasn’t the same stiff, angry man that tried to haggle for cotton prices or tobacco just four days earlier. He looked not at me like some outsider, or some child. As I shook his hand, it felt like I was different in his eyes – and our manners have now changed. “Speak well, Arturos, and these people will listen.”
I nod to him, and turn towards a stone stage erected to one side of the square. This is where every proclamation had been made in the town since it was founded, legend has it. This is where news was given. This is where laws were established.
This was even where my father was hung for his crimes.
I make my way through the crowd towards the stage. As I do the murmuring seems to quiet even more, the conversations ending, and the questions ready to be answered. My way is left open to precede, but congregation of the village clearly positioned themselves around the stage for what they had found their way here to see. I can not help but to look at the faces of the crowd that turn to me. These are Children of Koehlbae. They are pale, cold, and to those of us who spend much of out time elsewhere, sickly. But all of this is more so today. So many lips turned towards the soil. So many sunken eyes, darken, or slit. Maybe the elder is right, maybe they will listen to me as an elder; but this village seems like they prepare themselves to hear words they wish were not spoken.
Just as I near the stage, Jakko came out from the crowd. On his face is a smile as wide as his broad shoulders. His hands reached out to me welcomingly, one heading for my own hand, the other for my shoulder. “Glorious Day Arturos. You look as grand as the day deserves.”
Caught up in his unlikely burst of emotion, I return the handshake happily saying, “Tis, isn’t it? Quite a crowd here?”
Jakko’s infectious smile locked on mine. “Of course, who would miss such a day. You could have not picked a better day for such an event, the gods obviously smile down to bless us at this time.” As he spoke a few men started circling around him, their eyes wide and smiling as well. They looked at me almost as if I was some legendary man, but seemed to carry much of the energy that is so rare for this village, but flowed from Jakko today. “Am sure none other wanted to miss such a rare thing regardless. I myself have never seen an elder claim the chair.”
I looked to each of the men that stood by the friendliest child of Koehlbae, and they all wore smiles like Jakko. But I couldn’t help to realize what Jakko just said and replied, “I nary seen one take the chair myself; not even sure what a bloody elder has to say at these things.”
Jakko laughed amused, and quickly the other men joined in. “You are the wisest I know Arturos, and the gods bless you. Whatever you can not think to say, they will guide you the rest of the way.” He kept shaking my hand, kept patting my arm. Above all else, he kept smiling. I remember something Miss Rissa said just the other day. His smile makes him stand out in this crowd, with so many faces showing the a gloom of the coming information. But even now as Jakko stands with his friends close around him he stands out as well. Tis not because he smiles that makes Jakko stand out, Jakko stands out, because Jakko stands out. But I still believe that I only stand out in this crowd for the darkness I may bring.
“I do not know that Jakko.” I shake my head with a smile, “I try to convince myself what I do is right, but many times …” shrugging a little.
Jakko speaks up, turning to the men around him, “What did I tell you, not a more modest man you ever met.” Looking back at me he says loudly, almost as if he wanted the whole of the village to hear, “A true child of Koehlbae this one is, and one we all should thank the gods for.” Jakko’s words are near blasphemy in my mind. I am the only person to go past End Rock and even suggested as much. I can not help but to look to the ground, kicking a bit at the dirt. The men around Jakko, the braver ones start speaking, a “he’s right Arturos” or a “right right” or “Jakko, yes, true words”. The voices seem not as much chorused with agreement, but parroted dutifully. That alone gives me enough doubt in the trueness of it.
I shrug it off, and I look up at Jakko, “Thank you old friend. All I could hope that you would be here, to not be here alone with this.”
He smiles wide, his eyes warm like that of his mother, Miss Rissa’s. But he chuckles slightly and says, “Bah … get on with it then.”
Laughing, I nod, and turn quickly. I jump the step or two to arrive on the stage and turn towards the crowd.
This is it. This is the moment. As a child I was taught by my grandfather the importance of this chair. He taught me what it meant to be an elder. He told me of the rights of the bloodlines. He showed me that it was more than leadership, it was more than glory, it was necessity to stand here. All those years ago he instilled within me the drive to be here where I am at this time, to stand before family, to stand before the people who I must care for, and make the proclamation I am about to take. But as a boy, I saw the glamour, but can you blame a child for that? I was the wishful boy back then, dreaming of the game that was the elder; all of the responsibility, dignity, and power that comes from it.
But years ago, when I jumped the passing whaling ship, escaped this town, left it for seasons. I do so knowing that this moment would never come. I did not want it, I did not want to have the same moniker, the same title, or for that matter the same anything that was my grandfather, the same anything of what I thought of my father. I was the rebellious lad who wanted nothing more to break loose of all this hate and anger to what I was and become something else.
I can not help to think that I have reached this great battle point, where the wishful boy fights the rebellious lad. I thought once that neither the two shall win – but that is foolishness. You must either stay in Koehlbae, or go past End Rock. Once you go out past End Rock, nothing can take that away from you – that is who you are.
I see that know, I see what this has brought me to.
So I look out at the crowd. My eyes first going to my grandmother, her gaze is still angry and cold. She fidgits with Miss Rissa by her side like one that feels she is made to sit in cowstink.
I turn my head away and look to the rest of the village, feeling a bit of the anger at her coming back, and trying to find something in the crowd to give me calmness, to give me strength. They now stand with wide eyes, bright smiles, a sense of hope. But there is a restlessness, the anticipation, the hopefulness, it is eating at them. The mood has changed though, from when I first entered the square until now; noticing this, now noticing this was the way since I have seen Jakko, since he spoke to me; I see that the smile on the friend’s face has passed to each in the crowd.
I have been standing here for a bit longer than I should, and a grumble of questions rumbles across the people. The noise grows. Jakko, standing at the edge of the stage, front and center, quickly looks back at the villager, waving his arms palms out and facing the ground, saying “quiet quiet, he is about to speak” and the crowd does so.
Looking down at the old friend, I give him a warm smile. I should have listened to him like this crowd seems to. I know now what the gods want from me. I know now what I should do. My grandmother was right, I was foolish and spoiled. But Jakko is right as well, I am a child of Koehlbae. I look up at the crowd and begin, “My Name is Arturos, Son of Gustaf. My bloodlines give me the right to claim the chair of the elders; unchallenged by the elder themselves. On this day, at high noon, in accordance with the laws of Koehlbae, before the Village of Koehlbae, and the hope and guidance of the gods themselves … I hearby proclaim myself, Arturos – Elder of Koehlbae!”
There is silence from the crowd, acceptance, realization, completion. No more questions to be asked of the empty chair, the void of leadership was filled. It was like no one spoke, as they were too busy exhaling. The relief has come.
Before they have a chance to breathe in, I continue …
PART 5 <== The Previously Unpublished Part 5
“My Name is Arturos, Son of Gustaf. My bloodlines give me the right to claim the chair of the elders; unchallenged by the elder themselves. On this day, at high noon, in accordance with the laws of Koehlbae, before the Village of Koehlbae, and the hope and guidance of the gods themselves … I hereby proclaim myself, Arturos – Elder of Koehlbae!”
There is silence from the crowd, acceptance, realization, completion. No more questions to be asked of the empty chair, the void of leadership was filled. It was like no one spoke, as they were too busy exhaling. The relief has come.
Before they have a chance to breathe in, I continue. “As many of you know, I have not been one to follow the rules of Koehlbae. I have shunned this chair since the death of my grandfather.” Looking around the crowd I cross my arms over my chest. “Many of you say that I followed the ways of the foolish fishermen of the past, and sailed beyond End Rock; doing so many times pointing out my disregard to the gods.” I look directly towards my grandmother, her eyes just a stiff and angry as when I began speaking. “Some of you called me spoiled. Some of you called me foolish. Some of you even said I was a curse, spitting on my ancestors. Tis our way though. We do not know what the gods expect of us, we do not know what the gods want from us. We do what we think is right, and while we question the actions of those around us, we ultimately accept them as what is best. It was an old friend who seemed be the kindest to me, to give me the most confidence in what I need to do, and to actually do what is … well … what is clearly the right thing to do.” As I finish these words I am looking directly at Jakko.
He smiles, and he responds, speaking as if we are just in a conversation, just the two of us, and he says to me “Well, you will make a good elder, I know that in my heart. All I said is that we should thank the gods for you.”
Smiling to him I say, “Tis not the words I meant, old friend. You said something far different the other day, in your barn. You told me tis the job of the elder to protect this village, to make it so that people can be happy, to live happy. I believe that is the right task of the elder as well.” Looking down at the floor of the stage, my foot kicks at it slightly, “but you also stated that tis best for this village, the best way to make it happy, and the best way to keep it safe – tis to be the only means to the outsider world. To be its means for trade. That is a skill I can no do from these shores, and as well all know, the fishermen who sailed forth beyond End Rock – they were cast aside by the gods, slaughtered, and whether I believe that story to be true or not …” looking up at the crowd, “I can not ignore the threat to all of you of it being true.”
Looking down at Jakko, my lip now sliding between my teeth and chewing on it. Jakko looks confused, shaking his head still, and tries to speak with some heir of confidence. “You are an elder, Arturos. You can not help to protect this village. Do not take my words with any wisdom, I am just a simple man, and my words come from a simple man’s mouth.”
I give a bit of a smirk. I look over towards my stony faced grandmother, and the gentle Miss Rissa smiling stoically next to her. “But he is not just a simple man, is he?” I say towards Miss Rissa.
Miss Rissa, turns her head slightly looking to me.
“Saying you are a simple man, Jakko,” I say, still looking towards Miss Rissa. “one never knows what one’s heritage could really say about your wisdom.”
My words are more of a question to Miss Rissa. She sees this now, and there is a realization in her eye of what I ask. Miss Rissa is wise as well. At this point, she becomes the only one in this square that sees the meaning in my words. She sees my plans. She sees what I am about to do, with that she gives a quiet nod to me.
I begin simply, “Jakko, Son of Hedrik. You are wise, but do not look at your bloodlines as any evidence. In fact you share the bloodlines of the elders.”
It should not be a surprise that there is a gasp amongst the crowd. There were no known bloodlines to the elders outside of ones that are elders. Hedrik was no elder. Many of the crowd turned to Miss Rissa, Jakko included.
“Your mother, Miss Rissa is the granddaughter of Koeleed. Who was the daughter of Koeld, the second son of the great founder of our land. Koehlbae himself. Koeleed was destined to wed Gunt, the ancestor to our own elder Gunder. But she had chosen to wed from love. A commoner. Named Jakko. The man your mother had you named after.” The crowd turns its gaze back to me now, Jakko included, I speak softer looking to him, “You may not be the son of an Elder, Jakko, but the blood of the god who founded our land runs through your veins.”
Jakko’s eyes seem be conflicted. He seems to be unsure of himself now, unsure of everything of who he is. “No … there is nothing … I mean … we all had to read out ancestors … in school,” turning back towards Miss Rissa, “mother? This is … this is true?”
Miss Rissa speaks, she raises her voice to be heard over the crowd, “there is nothing written, was … was kept only in spoken history … but … is what I have been told.”
A voice raises from the crowd, “if it is not written, then it is not true.” The crowd jumps on this statement, and there is words of discontent shouted and called out.
I wave my hand to quiet the crowd, “I do not find reason to not believe Miss Rissa. When she told me it was with no gain for herself. Besides does anyone think her to be a liar?”
The crowd is turning back to me, but there is still some disgruntled talk.
“Does anyone question Jakko enough to see him not to be of wise stock? Or question his motives?”
The talk quiets and becomes more of a murmur at that point. None called out anything against Miss Rissa.
I look down to Jakko, his face contorted still with confusion. “Ask yourself, old friend,” I say. “Is there anything that makes you believe that this isn’t true? I see how when you speak the people listen. I see how your friends follow your lead. Can you tell me that this is not the way those around this village should look to anyone who should be elder one day?”
He looks to me, a bit of a smile coming to his face.
“Then in that case, it is true. And I will as my first act as an Elder, make is so. Jakko, Son of Hedrik, has bloodlines that would make him eligible to be heir to the elder chair,” smiling and looking to Mastiv the eldest of the elders, and using the words that the position ensures “as proclaimed by the desk of the elders.”
Mastiv looked confused, looked stern; but he is a man of discipline to the laws of Koehlbae, and with this comment I have created one. He turned his head slightly and said in a slow tone, “Forgive my forwardness, Arturos, but what is the purpose of this discussion.”
Jakko still confused, nearly stunned turned to look at Mastiv and nodded in agreement “Aye. I mean … forgive me to question your actions, but of all things to make your first proclaimation? I am … that is … I am not worthy of such a thing. What does this …” his voice trailed off, as he looked up at me. His mind now at work, and seeing a connection in my words. “You are leaving us,” he exclaimes, “you are leaving us … based on my words. That is what you saying. Leaving us without an elder because you think I speak on the blood of some ancestor?”
Across the square then comes a gravelly voice, angry, and spiteful. “You Cannot Be Elder if you Sail Past End Rock.” It was my grandmother, standing now, resting her palms on her cane. The crowd turns slowly to her, respectfully to her. “The laws state that any elder who sails past End Rock is no Elder. You would leave this village without a successor because of your selfishness and your failure to find a good mate.”
“Aye, Grandna,” I reply trying to make my voice sound respectful and warm as one would do to a grandmother one actually loves. “I mean, Aye, one could read the laws to state that one who passes End Rock gives up their eldership – but is it not clear? I will not leave this village without a good a capable successor.”
Looking out to the crowd, the air of uncertainty looming, I am somewhat taken aback that my decision was not so obvious to them.
I smile and speak calmly, almost as if having a conversation with each in this mass. “The laws state that an elder shall name a successor. The laws state that the one who is to inherit the chair must be from the blood of elders, and I will agree to that. But the laws do not require it to be my heir, that is tradition, and I will not uphold that tradition. I name Jakko, Son of Hedrik my successor to the chair.”
“Bloodyhell,” Jakko spat from the crowd, his mouth open slightly looking to me, but there was a bit of a smile under the realization to how it all seemed to come together for him.
I looked down to his words, a wide smirk on my face; “Surely, you would not object to this, do you?”
He blinked a little, and stuttered, “I … you can not think that … surely you do not.”
I turned my head, seeing a few faces aimed at Jakko, their smiles growing a bit. “Look about you, old friend. Do you see faces of those who do not think of you well? When you speak to your fellow villager, do they not listen?”
Shaking his head, he looks down at the ground a little, “Boah.” He struggles with this surely, likely to not accept what I am about to offer, I could tell the modesty that I always admired in him coming to the top. This does not sit well, this sits uncomfortably. This all would only work if he accepts what I am about to say.
“I can not stay in this land, while this was once my home – and I know this will not be understood – but tis not my home now, tis not where my destiny lies.”
I give a sigh, I slide my hands into my pocket, face skyward, and I feel a frustration from all the arguments and secrets – the one good thing I try seems to be failing. So, I speak of it to the whole crowd, “When I arrived in these lands a few days ago, I had no intention of standing here now. Twas my intention to sail to my new home, to meet the new day with new vigor leaving this land behind me once again. Sometimes I curse coming to this land – because wherever I turn there is politics and … well … there is the past that is well known of my family. Since my return it seemed like there was quite a lot of work being put into who is to be the next elder, some things said, some things done. Most of it foolish, and I was not the exception. To be honest, I stand here now because I … well … I did not get what I wanted, so I thought I should punish those who stood in my way.”
I shake my head and look down to the ground, kicking at the stage a bit. “I guess, I realized too late that being an elder because of my own selfishness is downright the most foolish thing one could do.
“The thing is,” I continued, “most of what work was afoot was around you, Jakko. There were many that wanted you to take this chair, many that wanted to prevent the both of us from taking it.” Jakko scowled a bit from this still struggling with much of the idea. “Jakko, through all the madness that I have been a part of, you were honest, you were loyal, and you were kind. Not just to me, to all of us. That is why this village listens to you. That is why they would stand with you. That is why you will be a great elder.”
Jakko’s face turned to me, a bit of a smile on his face, but not so much that he was truly convinced. “This … I think I want … I want to think about this.”
Hopping from the stage, I move to him and pat him on the back, “This chair laid vacant for over a year old friend, it can stay vacant until your ready. Besides – there is fresh rum in the tavern, you will need at least the night to drink it to celebrate this day.”
A man behind Jakko cried, “and a week to recover, eh?” The crowd laughed, many of them moving forward to pat him on the back. Shortly the whole of the village surrounded Jakko to congratulate him, as I moved towards the edge of the village and away from the festivities. Sure I was the one who proclaimed the chair as mine this day, but this was Jakko’s day; and in time he will see how welcoming this village will be with him proclaiming the chair himself.
---
“Do not be thinking this gets you back into good graces with me.” The old woman’s voice sneered behind me while I prepared my things in the Inn. I intentionally left the last of my packing before I sailed, so I would have reason to be undisturbed following the announcement, and could busy myself. My Grandmother had other intentions. She arrived shortly after I did and by this time had already belittled me on every word mentioned, all while Miss Rissa stood in the hallway listening to it all. I was hoping that if I continued stuffing my satchels Grandna will realize I nary had the time for her troubling me; but she did not care. “If you would have listened to me from the beginning you could have saved yourself the breath of those awful things you said to me. This is no way to make up for disrespecting your ancestors.”
“There is no disrespect to this at all, Grandna, quite the opposite.”
“Tis no tradition to name the heir, tis the law – all ways of your ancestor is law.”
“Laws are written, not assumed.” I and shoving paper into scrolls, written full of calculations and ledgers.
“Foolish ideas. Foolish Decision.”
“Was it not your idea to name Jakko from the beginning? Was that not what you wanted?” I responded.
She pauses for a moment, her head shaking. “BAH! Leaving this village without an elder, that is what you do. Endanger us.”
I force a smile and sigh heavily, “today’s not the day for such talk, Grandna. One of your own blood accepted the chair of the elders. And you closest friend will share the same soon. This should be a day of joy.”
She gives tightens her eyes and peers at me, berating me for a bit longer. When it was clear I was ignoring her arguments she gave up. “Bah, I go to the privy.” She turns and waddles down the stairs of the Inn.
Miss Rissa stayed behind, though. When I turn to her she reaches for my hand and cups it, silently – my packing can wait now. Miss Rissa’s smile is warmer than her norm; beaming with pride. Her eyes have a slight sparkle to them, almost as if she is near the edge of tears. The extended time we stood like that helps to calm any fears I have for my own decision, as just this one quiet sense of gratitude to one who had always cared for me seems to assure that it was the right thing to do.
“I hope …” I struggle to say quietly, “that … I did not cause you … that is, I hope my slowness to this decision made you … that you would not think ill of me.”
She gives me a wide smile, turning her head slightly dismissing the comment. “Of the request for your mother – the one that she said you requested in return for naming Jakko Elder.”
I chewed my lip for a moment, the foolishness of such demands seems meaningless now. “Aye?”
“This was your own decision, tis it not” she said factually, “I could tell by your Grandmother’s anger – but can you not get what you were bargaining with her for?”
I am not sure how to answer this. I wanted the information I sought, but now that last bargaining chip was gone and I will never have the means to barter with the old woman again. But Miss Rissa did not know that, and I was torn between letting her feel saddened of what I missed or obligated to what I sought. I sighed pretty heavy and just told her, “As you said, this was my own decision. A bargain for this decision was not the right act for an elder.”
“May I ask … what you asked for?” she questioned.
I passed her an innocent lie. “Twas selfish … there is gold my father inherited, I wanted that.”
She looked into my eyes, the same sparkle is there, the same kindness, but maybe a bit of doubt. She nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer. “Then … let me give you something so you do not think this decision a total loss.” She reached for her sack of goods beside her and started digging around inside of it.
Sure now that I have brought her to dip into her own coins, I spoke quickly. “No … No … tis selfish of me, you owe me nothing,” I try to say to stop her.
“Nonsense,” she responds pulling a blanket from the bag. It is heavy wool, and aged. It is tartan, dark blue with red, yellow, and green stripes patterned plaid & meticulously across the stitching. “Does this look familiar?” she asked.
“It does,” I say immediately, “I remember it from … from your house? Was this not Jakko’s?”
She nods with a smile urging the blanket into my hands. “Aye, it was what he was wrapped in as a toddler. Tis yours now.”
I felt the cloth, now like a merchant more than anything. The weaving was tight, with only a few flaws in the strands. The wool was of mediocre quality, but was spun tight and strong. As it was tartan, the pattern was fairly unique and not one I recognized; so I asked about it, “these are made by highlanders. Each design stands for a clan … a family so to speak. But … how would this come to Koehlbae, I do not know. Who gave this to you? I mean … sometimes they are produced by non-clan members, but tis rare to find one willing to buy a tartan that is not of their own clan. I only assume …”
“Your mother,” she interrupted.
I look up at her with a start, surely my mouth was open, my eyes wide, my shock so evident even the blind could see.
Miss Rissa smiled at my reaction and began stroking the cloth. “After you and Jakko were born, your Grandmother brought me over to her home quite often when Henrik was in the fields so you two could play. I knew there was someone in the room your mother was kept, and the latch on the outside kept her in there. The whole village knew there was an outsider kept at the elder house, but nary saw a glimpse of her. Rumor was she snuck out at night and wandered the village looking into windows, watching us. But there was no sign of such. One day as your grandmother was out collecting wood I heard your mother coughing in the room. It was a dry cough, sickly … almost … almost desperate. I was … well … it was dangerously foolish, but I quickly retrieved a tankard of water. When I unlatched the door and entered the room, she looked scared of me. But as I gave it to her, she first looked slowly at what I offered then drank it down swiftly, her eyes never leaving mine. I thought at first that she drank quick because … well, I guess later … I realized she drank quick to protect me, to send me on my way before your Grandmother returned.” Her eyes go to the cloth again, running a fingernail along one of the lines in the fabric. “I could see that the woman was making these blankets there, with a small loom and a spinning wheel, and bags of wool she used for a bed. She said not a word to me, she gave me the sweetest of smiles. From that day on, when your Grandmother was not aware, I would bring her water.”
Turning her head back to give me a soft smile she continued, “One morning I woke and found this blanket on the doorstep. I figured she could hear I had Jakko with me when I visited, so she thought maybe it was a good gift for him. I meant to thank her … but … I found out that day the outsider was no longer at the elder’s house.”
I looked at the woman stunned. My throat choked slightly as my eyes dropped to the blanket. “What … what was she like?”
She pauses, she is gauging her words. Not out of fear for my grandmother now, more out of calming this boy she speaks to. “Young, full of life. Even towards the end, she was full of color. I mean … no one can mistake you for one of this land, but you are surely more like your father than your mother. But I can see what he saw in her.”
I chew my lip, holding back a wide smile, but unable to speak.
“That is all I can remember, Arturos. It was a long time ago. I wish I could give you more.”
I fight back a bit of a tear. This was a grand gift indeed. Not just for hearing these words, but seeing this blanket. Miss Rissa surely would not understand the significance. My mother made this tartan pattern as it was what she knew how to make. One only does that if they are making these tartans for a clan to buy, or if they are in that clan. I find the clan, I may find my mother. “You could not be more generous, Miss Rissa. Not only you give me this piece of her. But you were kind to her. She surely thought of you more high then I could ever.”
Just a light touch of red covered her cheeks as she drops her head modestly. “I do not know about all that, Arturos. I only knew she was thirsty.”
---
The sun had moved between the high peaks of the mountains to the west as the ship left the docks. I stood forward of the masts to smell the salt as it snapped from the sails. We departed late, the mountain winds doing us no favors at the beginning of the tides, but now as the night were coming the boat moved slowly already past the great stone reefs, approaching the Isle of Buen, and moving towards the End Rock – quite literally beyond where eyes can see at the docks. Since the short days I last seen these landmarks, I have outcast myself to my last blood tie, brought out the curses of the elders, proclaimed the chair of the eldership myself, commit myself to many more returns to this god awful place, and once I past the End Rock leave a vacant elder chair once more. After all the politics and arguing, I looked forward to the peace and tranquility of the demon curses and plagues of Ravenscraig.
But I know these wandering feet will keep me going. Now I have a purpose, I have a key to my mother. This means my days to come will see more on the sea then at home. Which is fine I guess, Ravenscraig seemed more doomed with me in it then without me. But I do miss the lands, I miss the elves, I miss what made me happy there. For now, the sea is coming through the stone waterways our ship sail through; and I welcome the smell of it like a hungry man to a baker.
“Arturos, there is something I must speak with you about,” comes a voice behind me. I turn and there is the good captain Saul. Beside him is a boy no more than 16 years. His pale skin, his white hair, is sickly appearance make it clear this is a child of Koehlabe. He carries a hat in front of him in both hands, seemingly removed out of respect. I believe I know him.
“What is this?” I say, “Gaud? Son of Toki?”
The boy nods slowly confirming him as the child of Koehlbae’s harbormaster, a look of fear on his face, his lip between his teeth.
“What are you doing here, this ship sails for the sea.”
Saul spoke for him. “It seems the boy signed on with the mate, I thought you should know.”
The boy looked down at the deck, his hands playing with the brim of the hat, still held in front of him. Speaking sheepishly Gaud said, “I … I wanted to see the world. I … did not … want to be like … like my father.”
I sigh, frustrated. “This is not the way of Children of Koehlbae, is it not? You understand your actions? If not I will make the good captain turn around right now.”
Gaud nods, his eyes still cast to the deck before my feet.
“Look me in the eye and tell me you understand what this means.”
The boy looks up at me dutifully, “Aye, I understand what I do.”
“What makes you think you can leave Koehlbae? No one leaves Koehlbae.”
The boy chews his lip slightly, his hands moving along the rim of hat sending it in a slow circle. Gaud has to noticeably fight keeping his eyes towards me, keeping them off the deck. “I saw you the square today, sir. You proclaimed the chair. I have always heard of the places you been through my father – the stories you tell him. I thought … well … if someone can leave the village … and … ummm …” His voice trails off to nothing more than a mumble.
“Speak up, lad,” Saul said.
The boy made a quick look to the captain, then back to me, then back to the deck at my feet. “If one can be an outsider, and still be an elder … maybe the gods will watch out for me too.”
There’s heaviness in my sigh, disappointed with the boy. I knew not where my disappointment came from. “What do you know of me, boy? What do you know of why I left this place?”
His eyes moved up to mine, “N-nothing, sir. I know you left is all, and you are an elder.”
“I am an outsider as well, or did you …” I reach up and shake my red hair, “… not notice that I am different than you?”
“Aye,” he says, “I mean, I noticed … noticed you are.” He sways his hand over his own head, but does not vocalize what he means. “But you are a child of Koehlbae -- that is what they say. Are you not?”
I chew on my lip, my hands slide across my arms and gauge the boy. He fidgets. I wonder what makes this boy desire to leave the village. I wonder what he thinks he will do with his life. I wonder what I must do to convince him that I am a fool, the way our village has always done. Then that thought lingers in my head – the way out village has always done. For as long as I lived in village of Koehlbae, I was taught to not be a fool, to do what is expected, to follow this and go there. All those lessons were made to let others tell me the way the world was, to tell me what to expect. Staring at this boy, I felt the need as an elder to do the same thing. But instead I asked him, “You know the story of the fishermen and the lost cod, do you not?”
“Aye,” the boy answered.
“Tell me it … for the good captain’s sake,” I say nodding towards Saul, part just to urge the boy to speak.
The boy looks down, his hand working the hat still. The version he gives is far from the most eloquent, but still spoken as that was is true rather than myth. “Fishermen they were, strong and bold. They went after the riches of the sea – a school of cod. They sailed past End Rock. Out past End Rock the gods no longer protect us. When they did they were only able to catch the one fish, the Lost Cod. The evil ones spoke through the fish, and cursed them. All but one died.”
I nod, “and End Rock? What does the story say of it?”
The boy looks up at me, eyes wide, “and awful thing, jutting straight up from the see. You can not see it from the village, but you can not miss it as it approaches.
“What does it look like, lad?”
“It is shaped like a dragon, tall, angry, black as night. Some say it glows red against the dying of the light at sundown. Stands as high as the fisherman’s mast.”
Saul is chuckling, he waits to see how I react, but is most amused by this.
I give a nod to Saul, giving him a bit of reassurance about the boy, suggesting the new crew member will be fine. Turning back to the boy, I say: “Come, there is something you must see.”
I walk forward of the boat to the rail, the boy joins me at my side. We have reached the mouth of the bay. The boat snaked through the high mountain fjords that protect the village’s harbor, and stands now at the edge of the vast sea. We are already making good time now that the open air of the offshore winds cause the waves to brake along the hull with greater velocity.
The boy gasps audibly next to me. When I turn to look to him, his amazement and awe are evident. His face smiles from excitement. He may have spent his time working the docks of Koelhbae, but it was more than clear he has never even approached the mouth of the bay. Now that he for the first time sees the open sea, its clear that it surpasses his imagination. I know this, because I remember the first time I saw this view as well. There is no fear in this boy of the outside world, there is only the hope of youth, the love of seeing something new. I remember that time in my own mind, in my own life, and I can not help to smile myself.
I look back to the water and see it, immediately pointing a short distance forward of the boat to a place where something dark just edges above the sea. It approaches off of our starboard side, but far enough that we will not hit it. “Look there, boy, see that?”
He looks down at the water and squints a bit. “Tis a turtle?”
I shake my head.
“Oh, a large fish then, like in your stories of those whales?”
“Watch close, lad, do you see it move?”
He stares at it for a bit, and then shakes his head. “It is just stones then?”
“Aye. One stone. A Piece of granite from a small underwater breaker. The captain here knows to sail around it, as we hit it with the boat it may puncture the hull; but only on the way in, tis smooth on this side and the boat would likely slide right around it.”
The boy’s eyebrows knit, and reluctantly say, “tis good to know, if I …umm … ever bring a boat of my own back here.”
“No,” I reply, “Tis good to know, as … That is End Rock.”
The boy watches the rock, leans over the edge slightly as the ship passes it rapidly, uneventfully. “What … what happened to it? Where is the … the dragon?”
I fend off a chuckle, “twas never a dragon ... at least it only existed in the stories. Sometimes it does glow a nice red, but … well … tis just a rock.”
“It was not true, none of it? Not even the fishermen?”
“Oh, there is some truth to it. I am sure there was fisherman, and it would not surprise me that if only one returned from that voyage. But I have seen much that I would never believe could talk, and cod is not one of them. There has always been some truth to what we have been told, Gaud. In every story there is truth, if even just a sliver. I mean, there is a End Rock, tis there not?”
The boy nods, the rock now moving behind the boat and with that he turns to me.
I look to him and say, “We were protected in the village, but much of it was the elders telling us of what is foolish or what is not. Out here, to protect ourselves, we are our own fools, and we are the ones that define what foolishness is. We can not rely on stories of fishermen … we ARE the fishermen.”
“How do we do that?” the boy asks.
Smirking a bit, with a laugh. “You really do not know, do you?” I chew on my lip, turn to the sea; and I think of a blanket lying on my bed in my cabin, with a tartan pattern and a whole new quest ahead of me within it. “We open our minds to what this world still holds for us. We ask our own questions, we look for our own answers.”
“But … what if no answers come?” he asked, seemingly challenging his own bravery now that he has set out to sea.
“But,” I respond, “what if they do?”
He paused for a minute and turned back towards where the entrance to the bay started to become hidden against the rocky shore, and End Rock stood against the water as the tide exposed it a bit more. “You are no longer elder,” he said.
I nodded, “not since we passed End Rock.”
“If it is proper, I still may wish to ask you questions; even if you are not an elder. Tis alright?”
In the days to come, the boy would learn of knots & sails. He will strain long hours hauling gear and moving ballast. In the days to come, I will go from port to port examining cloth and goods. I will strain long hours with questions of clans and tartans. There will come a time soon when I will be a lost memory to this boy, and he one of mine as well. I doubt we were ever the first to leave Koehlbae, and I doubt we will ever be the last. But this day, we left our home together. No, I did not answer the boy’s question. I just patted him on the shoulder and sent him off to get to work on his new job. There was much ahead of both of us, and it was best to not spend that time with words anymore. It was time to see what the gods bring out past End Rock.
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