Entry #483146, added on 02-22-07 @ 11:03 am EST
Entry Access Restriction: None.
| Chapter Eight - A Bard Prey's Night | Entry #483146 |
Elkwater's King
  | ID: 998876 (Rated: ASR)
Elkwater's King 
Two brothers follow a wary white German Shepherd to search for the King of a secret realm.
by Basilides   |
Chapter Eight - A Bard Prey's Night
Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another, "What! You too? I thought I was the only one!"
~CS Lewis
*********************************************************
Uncle Martin trudged ahead of us with his great strides. We had to jog to keep up with him. Loner scouted ahead, slipping with ease between the stalks of corn at the side of the path.
We were headed to Uncle Frank's farm to have a talk with Ned.
Aunt Eva didn't really trust old Ned and that's why Uncle Martin was heading up the expedition. I asked Uncle Martin if Ned was an ex-con or something, and he laughed and said something unintelligible. Uncle Martin's thick drawl became especially hard to understand when answering certain questions, such as when he may not have known the answer or was uncomfortable giving it.
We came around a bend in the path.
"Hey," Michael said, "what happened to the big walnut tree?"
"It's probably around the next bend,", I said.
Uncle Martin turned around.
"What you boy's talkin' about? There's never been a walnut tree along this trail."
Michael and I looked at each other.
Come to think of it, I didn't remember exactly when I'd seen a walnut tree on the path, but I was pretty sure I did.
"I thought for sure I saw one here, one time," Michael said, his brows furrowed.
"Nope," said Uncle Martin. "The only walnut tree around here was by the old saw mill past the creek there." He pointed beyond the pasture. "But that got cut down years ago."
Something about the tree's fate bothered me. "Why did it get cut down?" I asked.
"That's what sawmills are for," answered Uncle Martin. "But the man who ran that mill couldn't pay his lease after a while, so he left it. He paid his last month in trade by cuttin' down that big walnut and sawin' straight planks for me out of it."
"Did you sell them?" Mike asked.
"Naw. I laid 'em down on the floor of the old barn. They're still just settin' there."
Suddenly I very much wanted to change the subject. For a good reason.
"How far is Frank's farm?" I asked.
"Might as well be on the moon unless we get movin'," said my Uncle, saving the day.
We knew we were on Uncle Frank's property when Loner and another dog started barking at each other. I don't know what complicated branch of the family tree made Frank our uncle, and in fact I don't remember ever meeting him. Sometimes we'd see his grandkids running around. They were a little older than me and Michael. But today no one was around except some workers fixing a tractor engine, a Collie who was barking up a storm at Loner (from a safe distance), and an old man sitting on a tree stump, whittling at a piece of wood. Or at least he'd been previously whittling. At that moment he was encouraging the Collie to take Loner on.
"Don't be a sissy!" he yelled. "Go get 'im! Go get that dog!"
But as loner crashed through the cornfield and advanced, the Collie backed up, nearly falling backwards into a ditch.
"Stupid dog!" the old man yelled, and threw the piece of wood at the Collie. It barely touched her, but she yipped and ran into the nearest barn.
I decided I did not like this man.
"Worthless animal," muttered the old man. He began to look around for a new piece of wood when he noticed us walking up for the first time. Loner, now quiet since he had finished intimidating his rival, trotted up alongside Uncle Martin.
"Hello Ned," said my uncle. "Been gettin' along?"
"About like common," said Ned, and he squinted at me and my brother. He was wrinkled like a prune, his face pink and peeling, his wispy white hair overgrown and moving with the breeze. Even though he was sitting, I could tell he was short - short and round. A smirk was permanently chiseled onto his face.
"Them's your grandkids?" he asked.
"Nearly. Grandnephews. They've got a mystery for you."
"They do, huh? Well, there ain't no such things as mysteries. There's an explanation fer ever'thin'. But let's hear it." Ned put his thumbs behind his overall straps, lifted his nose in the air, and looked down his cheekbones at me. I glanced at Uncle Martin
Meanwhile, Michael marched over to Ned with the old photograph and handed it to him.
"Is this you when you were a kid?" Michael asked.
Ned took one look and laughed a long, wheezy laugh, slapping his leg.
"Well this solves your 'mystery'! Yep, that's me. Not as handsome as now, but almost as smart. Where's you get this?"
"In an old trunk," Michael said. "But do you know who the boy is standing next to you in the photograph?"
Ned laughed again, and kept laughing as he said, "Looks like Mr. Blob by the looks of his face! Nah, even if I could see his face, I wouldn't know. Hundreds of them boys came through that vacation farm over there, and I was hired to be an 'authentic' local. Took pictures with nearly all of 'em."
"It was 1908," said my brother helpfully.
Ned laughed until his face got red and he started coughing. "Ah! Oh that helps! 1908, yes, now I remember. The boys' name is Nordlebert Stinklemeier. Brings it all back. Oh stop, it hurts!" It looked as if Ned were going to fall off his stump.
"His name was Perry," I said.
Ned's laughter stopped as suddenly as if a door had been slammed on it. He turned his eyes on me with what looked like hatred.
Ned looked away, reached into his pocket, and took out a tin of chewing tobacco. He pinched off a bit, stuck it in his mouth, and chewed while he put the tin back in his pocket.
He picked a stick up off the ground and started whittling.
He turned his head and spit.
"Never knew no Perry," he said softly, looking at his whittling.
"But it says 'Perry and Ned' right there on the photo," I said. "You had to have met him at least once."
Ned stopped whittling and looked at me with such fury that I think if Uncle Martin were not there, he would have tried to whittle me. And there was something else in his eyes, something more frightening than the fury.
There was something in his eyes that reminded me of myself.
"I said, never knew no Perry," he whispered, and Ned would say no more.
**************************************************
You'd think that after Morning-Tamer and Mountain-chaser had heard what happened to the stile, that Michael would have their attention for a while. But, displeased as they were, they acted as if Michael's misdeed were just an unwelcome distraction to their real mission. Michael had done the one thing we were absolutely warned against (losing his stile), and yet I could not believe how quickly the Knights turned their attention to me.
"Well, what is done is done," said Mountain-Chaser. "This only makes it more important that Kingfinder Tim choose a reliable guide. You need an extra pair of arms for protection, eyes for watchfulness, and a strong back to lighten your load."
To be honest, I couldn't wait to pick a guide. Especially when he mentioned the "lighten the load" part. I was sick of carrying all my own stuff, and Cloud-Warrior was no help at all. I was still kind of annoyed at Morning-Tamer. Maybe I'd pick Mountain-Chaser.
"All you need to do is touch your stile to one of our shoulders, say 'meros', and your way will be easier.
"O.K.," I said, tired and wanting to get this over with. I took the stile out of my pocket and began to walk towards Mountain-Chaser. They each knelt before me and bowed their heads.
Then, something occurred to me.
"So," I said, "You two traveled all this way ahead of us just so I could pick one of you as guide?"
"We traveled far and swiftly," answered Mountain-Chaser.
"But how were you to know that I wouldn't find a guide on the way? That I would not have chosen one already?"
Morning-Tamer moved his head slightly to look at Mountain-Chaser, who didn't budge.
"I'll tell you how you knew," I continued. "You knew because the King ordered this stupid dog to keep us from meeting anyone, and then arranged for everyone to get our of our way. So that would guarantee that I would not have the chance to pick anyone but one of his lackeys."
I looked at Cloud-Warrior, who was staring back at me inscrutably. "Quiet and reflection my butt," I said to him.
"Tim..." Michael began.
"I'll bet you were in on it, too. Weren't you, Mike?"
"Not...entirely--"
"Well, the Hickory King can go smoke pork," I yelled, my anger rising. "It's my choice, not his! I choose neither of you!"
I put the stile back in my pocket.
Both Knights rose and drew their swords. Loner closed the door behind me. Michael stepped off to the side. I drew my blackmetal blade and slowly backed up until I had my back to a wall. My eyes kept darting from one of them to another.
"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice breaking.
"If you will not choose a guide," said Mountain-Chaser, then we will forcibly remove your stile and give it to Kingfinder Michael. And we will take you along the rest of the journey bound and gagged, if necessary, as your 'porters'."
"Do the rules say you can do that?" I asked. My palms were sweaty. I wondered if the sword would slip out of my hand.
"It's a new rule, passed by the Pepperwood Council and decreed by the King over two weeks ago," said Mountain-Chaser.
"Tim," said Morning-Tamer, gently but firmly, "none of this is necessary. Choose one of us now, and things will be as before, only better. And you can keep the stile."
Mountain-Chaser shot Morn a glance when he said that, but Morning-Tamer held steady.
I lowered my sword, then dropped it to the carpet.
"Okay, okay," I sighed, "You win. I'll choose. I'm sorry. It just felt like I was being manipulated."
"Oh and how did that feel?" Michael asked from the other side of the room. Mountain-Chaser put up a hand to quiet him.
"Can you just let me sleep on it?" I asked. "I'd like to choose in the morning."
Mountain-Chaser scowled, but Morn nodded. "Very well, Kingfinder Tim. You will be secure until morning. It will be the morning of meros." Then they put their swords away.
Yeah, we were one big happy family again.
Considering that I was almost skewered and mauled to death by three nutso Knights of the Hidden Stream, the rest of the evening was pretty nice. Michael was the first one to check out the bathroom, of course. He reported that it had a flushing toilet nearly as nice as Pepperwood Manor, tile floors, soft towels, and a nice big window opening to a small terrace overlooking the city. Mike had always been a kind of bathroom connoisseur. He rated this one a "9". But for once, his little report was valuable to me. I checked it out myself shortly afterward and confirmed what was useful to me.
The stew Morning-Tamer brought up from downstairs nearly put me to sleep and ruined all my plans, but the hot bath refreshed me. As expected, Morn parked himself right by my bedroom door to sleep, but I had access to the bathroom right from my room. So did Michael - from his room on the other side - but he would fall asleep quickly. I lay there for a solid two hours just in case, pinching myself to stay awake.
Finally I got up, already dressed, and slipped on my shoes - the new ones from the king, not the more comfortable sneakers. I wanted to blend in. I took a little money from my pouch. Not too much, just a couple of silver coins they called 'Lunas'. At the last minute I decided to bring my sword too.
You know, just in case.
I went into the bathroom and stepped over the tub to the large window. I climbed out it onto the small terrace. The sword on my back scraped against the top of the window frame, and I stepped onto a potted plant, breaking the pot. I froze and listened to be sure no one heard me. All was quiet.
I looked below and judged the distance to the public terrace one floor below. I'd found it during my investigations when I took my bath, but it seemed a lot further down than it did then. I climbed over my own small terrace and dangled by my hands. Eight feet, from my toes to the floor?
I let go.
I planned on rolling, but it didn't work out. My right ankle hurt an awful lot. I just sort of lay there on the floor of the terrace, squirming and huffing. But it subsided in a couple of minutes, and so I hobbled to the inside of the third floor of the Inn.
The hall was empty, so I made my way to the stairs.
On the way down, a fair-haired servant-kid nearly ran into me with a food tray. I was startled, but he was a lot more startled than me. He dropped his tray, then started blubbering and apologizing.
No meros for you. I thought.
"Not a problem," I said, and flipped him one of the Lunas. His eyes just about popped out of his head when he saw it.
"Just stay quiet about this," I said.
He nodded, his eyes still on the silver coin.
A big crowd of people were milling around on the first floor. I saw a man dressed like a Knight of the Hidden Stream standing by the front door, but a big group was coming in and someone mistook him for a porter. The Knight left his place in pursuit of the receding form of the guest (probably to throw his luggage in his face), and I saw my chance. I confidently strode through the crowd of incoming residents, made a quick right once I'd gotten outside, and in moments was well down a side street.
All I had to do now was find me a guide.
My idea was to escape the room and put the stile on the shoulder on the first person I saw. Obviously, the scared serving kid wouldn't do. And somehow it didn't seem very elegant to randomly pick someone out of a crowd of travelers. Now that I was outside with no one on my trail, I decided I could get just a little choosy.
But where should I go?
A few blocks down the road, an absolutely perfect place to find a royal guide presented itself.
A saloon.
The music coming from within was strange, but when I saw a couple of guys stumble out into an alley, I figured out what the place must be. I wondered if kids were allowed in. Probably not.
I decided to give it a try anyway. Maybe I could meros the bouncer.
I walked up to the entrance and stepped inside.
Sure enough, a big Native-American-looking dude was standing right there, and he put his hand on my chest, stopping me in my tracks.
"Whoa there. No beggars. Get out," he said.
"I'm not a beggar," I said. I'm here for a...for a drink."
"Sure you are," said Bouncy. "Get out."
I opened my palm to show my remaining Luna. "I'm a paying customer.
Bouncy's eyes got real wide. It occurred to me that maybe I should have been paying attention when they told me how much money one of those things represented. Oh well.
He looked my clothes over, and then took his hand away from my chest. "My apologies, little sir. Please step right in."
"Thanks," I said, and headed to an empty spot at the bar. I glanced back to see Bouncy scratching his head at me.
I sat on a stool and waited for a while. The Bartender was busy. I looked around.
I noticed some seedy-looking guys at one table, but they were not looking at me. They had their eyes on a guy sitting by himself at another table. He seemed to be finishing up mug number two of something. He looked odd compared to everyone else, like he didn't quite fit in. Or more like he was trying too hard to fit in. He was tall, fair, with jet black hair and a "what-are-you-looking-at?" expression. He must have been in his late twenties or so, dressed in green, and a traveler's pack sat by his chair. A big walking stick was also leaning on his table.
When a serving wench walked by (I'd heard that's what they were called later), the man stopped him. I tried to pay attention to what was said.
"Another ale, will you?" said the man.
"Sure thing," said the wench, and turned away.
"And a bowl of potato soup," continued the man.
"Right," said the wench.
"And a nice thick slice of sputum, if you would. With butter."
The wench stopped in her tracks. I saw the seedy-looking guys at the other table look at each other.
"You want what?" asked the wench.
"Sputum, with butter. What's the matter?" answered the man. Heads were starting to turn in his direction.
"Do you mean 'bread'?" asked the wench, a disgusted look on her face.
"That's what I said, yes. Are you deaf?"
"I'm not deaf. You said 'sputum'."
"Just get me a slice, extra thick, if you want a tip."
The serving wench just shook her head and headed off. The man noticed several people looking at him. He threw up his hands and said, "What?" Everyone looked away.
Except the jokers in the corner.
I wondered what had just happened. In the Elkwater language, 'sputum' and 'bread' did sound similar, but you would only get them confused if you were just learning the language. And since everyone in Elkwater was a native (except Kingfinders, who know languages anyway, and the Golden People diplomatic team, which didn't look at all like this guy), then who would be having a problem with those words? No one was allowed in, no one allowed out.
Could it be...a spy?
"What's your problem, kid? No charity tonight. Beat it!"
The Bartender's shout made me jump.
"No, no...I want a drink," I said, and handed him my coin.
The Bartender looked at my hand, then reached out and closed it.
"Don't go showing off money like that," he said. "That's a good way to get knocked in the head when you leave. See those guys over there?" He pointed at the seedy-looking group.
"Yeah," I said.
"If they saw what you just showed me you'd be one Luna poorer tonight, I'd warrant. But they have their sights set on other prey." He nodded at the strange man at the other table.
"Tell you what," said the Bartender, "one drink on the house and then you go home, all right? What about a glass of milk? Or some nice hot riga? Just got some in today."
"No, I'll have...a...a...beer," I said, wanting to fit in.
The Bartender scowled at me. "Beer?" he repeated. What are you, seven years old?"
"I'm nine!" I said, a little too loudly.
"Shush. Right. Beer for a nine-year-old. Oughtta be a law against it."
But he served me one.
I looked around, tried to act casual, and took a sip.
Um, beer is disgusting. At least that one was. The Bartender was watching me, smiling.
I took another sip, but ended up coughing into the mug, sending foam and spray several feet in all directions. One patron was a little annoyed, and it took a free drink from the Bartender to calm him down.
The Bartender took my mug away. "That's two drinks you've cost me, and one glass of milk (which he gave me). Now drink up and get our of here."
I decided the Bartender was not the guide for this adventure.
I looked back over to the table where the strange man sat, but he was gone. So were the seedy-looking guys. Seemed like Mr. Spy was going to be in for a rough night.
Halfway through my milk I decided I was looking in the wrong place for a guide, after all. I left with little commotion and only a glance from Bouncy, and took a side-street. I sort of remembered how to get back. In fact, after a few blocks, I decided that going back was probably the best course.
I had just turned around and was trying to figure out how to get back in the room without my Knights realizing I'd left, when the sounds of the fighting reached my ears. It sounded like it was coming from an alleyway just to my right. I wanted to run away. I should have run away.
I have no idea why I was feeling so feisty that night.
I climbed on the roof of a low building and crept in the direction of the sounds. I peeked over the ledge of the building, and sure enough there was a fight going on. A mugging, actually, only the mugee wasn't cooperating. He was holding off four attackers with a big stick, swinging it around like three weapons instead of one. One of the attackers was already off to the side, nursing his leg. The others were circling warily, long daggers in their hands. One of them had a bloody nose.
It was the Spy vs. the seedy gang. And the Spy was winning.
"Give it up, stick-man," one of the attackers said. "It's only a matter of time. Throw your purse here and we'll let you off alive."
"Come and get it," said the Spy, "and I promise you'll feel the end of my procupine."
The three standing attackers looked at one another.
"Your what?" said one of the attackers.
"You heard me," said the Spy.
"Wood" and "Porcupine" sound similar in the language of Elkwater.
The attacker shrugged and closed in. The Spy smacked the bloody-nose guy right in the same spot, and he crumpled to the ground groaning.
And then there were two.
But I watched as the guy with the broken leg carefully crawled behind the Spy and took out his dagger. The stick-wielding man wouldn't know what hit him. It would be all over in a moment.
I decided I liked that guy who couldn't get his words right. I decided that this would not be the night that he died.
I drew my sword from its sheath on my back, and dropped to the ground right behind the crawling attacker. My ankle exploded in agony. The attacker turned to see me, but not in time.
I ran my sword right through his chest.
He screamed, and Mr. Spy turned around. In an instant he got the picture, but that was almost the instant that cost him his life. One of the remaining two lunged, but the stick-wielder spun and caught him in the gut with the end of his staff just in time. The other attacker was staring at the man I'd just impaled.
"Jaris?" he said.
The man I'd stabbed let out another scream. It jarred me to the bone. My sword was still in him.
The Spy came beside me and took my sword-hand, pulling my blade out. The man named Jaris slumped to the ground.
"What are you doing?" asked the Spy.
I wanted to say, "Saving your life", but my teeth were chattering too much. I kept staring at Jaris.
The three attackers stood, even the bloody nose guy, and got ready to attack again, their postures confident.
"No more games," the leader said.
I wasn't going to be much help. My legs were shaking badly.
Suddenly, they were upon us.
The leader came at my new stick-weilding friend high, his knifepoint flashing in the moonlight. The man who was still recovering from a gut-swat came in low, trying to cut the legs out from under my ally. A groan from Jaris nearly made me fall to my knees. He weakly called out some woman's name. Meanwhile, bloody-nose guy threw a fistful of sand in my face and rushed me as I tried to keep my sword in front of me, scratching my corneas with sand crystals with every furious blink.
Thus I did not see how the Spy reacted to all this. But I heard the staff whirling near me and then three grunts. An instant later my sword was wrested out of my hand and I felt someone lift me up, flinging me over a shoulder. I hoped it was Spy-guy and not one of the muggers.
After several minutes of running (or rather, being carried by a runner) through various alleyways and sidestreets, my ride set me down on my feet. I fell down. My right ankle hurt more than ever.
I was able to blink enough sand out of my eyes to see that my kidnapper was indeed the fellow whose life I'd saved. He was peering down an alleyway to make sure we were not being pursued. He was holding my sword.
"May I have my sword back?" I asked through chattering teeth. I kept remembering how it felt to run the metal through Jaris' body. I felt sick.
"Sure, as soon as I find something to clean it with," said the Spy. "Thanks for that, by the way, but I had it under control. I really didn't want to kill any of them, you know. The local authorities get annoyed when people leave dead bodies lying around."
I felt dizzy. "But maybe he won't die," I said. "He was still talking when we left."
The stranger laughed, and in the darkness I could see him cock his head at me, quizzically. "Not die? Listen, kid, obviously by the way you handled your sword you've been in some kind of battle before, but you've been reading too many stories and listening to too many Bards' tales..."
Then, under his breath, and in a language I'd never heard before, the stranger muttered, "...at least tales told by most Bards..."
He cleared his throat and continued, "...but you don't just stick someone with a sword and expect them to memorize down dead..."
"Do you mean 'fall down dead'?" I interrupted.
"That's what I said."
"You said 'memorize down dead'," I helpfully disagreed. I mostly did this to change the subject. I didn't want to talk about this any more.
"I know that's what I said. What is wrong with all you people? Anyway, it takes hours for a person to die, sometimes days, unless of course you chop off their head or hit an artery or stab them through the heart. The way you did it, he might linger for days until infection--"
I got sick.
Immediately the stranger came over and patted me on the back until it was over.
"Hey kid, are you hurt or something?"
"No, I---"
Suddenly it dawned on the stranger. "That was your first kill, wasn't it? You've never killed someone before! Oh hey, I'm really sorry. In reality, it was very brave what you did, trying to help me out and all. And you did it with a toy sword to boot! But maybe you can tell me why you did it. Why did you risk your life to help a perfect footprint?"
I decided not to correct him that time. I also decided not to answer his question.
"It's not a toy sword," I said.
He laughed. "It's as light as a feather!"
"It's blackmetal," I said.
"Sure it is!" the stranger laughed, but then his laugh trailed off in the manner of someone who isn't so certain he should be laughing. He examined the sword more closely, ran his finger along the edge and winced at the cut. He then looked at me and my clothing as if for the first time.
"Gopher snot!" he shouted in the strange language. Then he switched back to Elkwater's tongue, dropping the sword and taking a few steps back. "You...you're one of those two kids everyone is supposed to avoid until tomorrow. One of those king-seekers or whatever."
"Kingfinders," I said.
"Right," the Stranger said, still backing away. "Listen, I'm just a simple fisherman from the isle of Gintrimp, a First Verser you know. This is my first time in the big city. I don't want any trouble, and I'm sure you have friends who can come get you, so I'll just be--"
"Strange dialect you speak in Gintrimp," I said in the language the Spy used when muttering under his breath. "Are all the fishermen of that island trained to fight off four attackers with a stick?"
The stranger froze. I couldn't see his expression.
"You speak Lowellian," he said flatly, in the same language.
"I can speak any language I hear," I said. "It is part of the magic of the stile."
"No magic can make a person speak a language - perfectly accented - after hearing a few words, and I don't believe in miracles. How did you get here from Lowellia?"
"How did you get here?" I asked. "That's supposed to be impossible."
"I asked first," the stranger said. I noticed he was still holding his staff. My sword was on the ground about halfway between us.
From behind me, I heard barking. I turned to see Cloud-Warrior running towards us, teeth bared.
"Gophersnot," cursed the stranger, and moved closer, waving his staff. "Go home, dog!" he shouted.
At that instant both Morning-Tamer and Mountain-Chaser dropped from the sky. They must have been on a roof. Morn swatted away the stranger's staff as if it were a toothpick, then got behind the surprised fellow in a choke-hold. Mountain-Chaser drew his sword and pointed it at my new acquaintance's chest. Cloud-Warrior trotted up beside Mountain-Chaser, teeth bared and growling, Loner-like.
Michael came up behind me, following Cloud-Warrior. He had his sword out, trying to appear important.
"Are you okay?" he asked, looking all concerned.
"Shut up," I answered.
Meanwhile, Mountain Chaser raised his sword to the stranger's eye level."You have chosen the wrong person to kidnap," he said.
"No!" I yelled. "He...he saved my life! He was getting mugged, and I tried to help him, but then the muggers attacked me, and he rescued me."
"Yeah, like he said," the stranger croaked, his hands impotently around Morn's arm, which was pressed against the stranger's larynx.
"What language were you speaking?" said Mountain-Chaser, undeterred.
"Just something I picked up from some traders in the First Verse. It's like a second reptile now."
"A what?" asked Mountain-Chaser.
"He means a second language," I chimed in.
"You are going to tell me the truth about who you are and how you got here, and tell me right now, or else I'll have the dog attack you. He usually begins with the groin area." I'd never heard Mountain-Chaser - or anyone else for that matter- speak in such a tone.
The stranger glanced at the white shepherd, and the fire seemed to go out of his eyes.
"Let me breathe first," he gasped.
Morn let go of his choke hold and drew his own sword. The stranger fell to his knees, coughing and rubbing his throat. His eyes were downcast.
"My name is Kwotik," he said after a moment. "I'm a Bard from the distant East, from the Kindred Lands. Since I was a child I longed to see Tuntuq-teague, the land of myths, the land of blue paper and the legendary source of blackmetal. When I was chosen to be a wordsmith by the recruiters of Hollenwain, I kept the dream alive by promising myself that once my adepthood was past, I'd make Tuntuq-teague - Elkwater - my chosen Hollenwaith. It took a long time just to get to the First Verse, and it was there that I learned your tongue. Blasted difficult language! But I could never make it to the mainland. Every time I made plans to cross, I'd strangely forget all about it. Some powerful spell--"
"The will of Shozer," said Morning-Tamer.
"Yeah, whatever you call it, was very effective. I almost gave up when the news got to me that the Shah Amassarian and his delegation from the Golden Lands were going through. By pure luck they happened to anchor offshore from the island I was on for the night. I swam to the ship and slipped aboard, then came here as a stowaway. Your Shnauser spell must have been suspended for that ship."
"Shozer's will is no spell," Mountain-Chaser said in a none-too-friendly tone. "It sets all things in motion."
Kwotik looked up, smirking. "Well, then, there you go. I'm here by the Will of Shozer, see? All praise to his celestial self!"
After judging by Mountain-Chaser's expression that his irreverence was not received well, Kwotik lifted his hands a little and affected a humble attitude. "C'mon," he said, "I really promise not to do any harm. I just want to take a look around. Sample the cuisine. Kiss a few girls. Write some poetry. I'll even write one for you...
Dark as night surrounding me
came the Knight confounding me,
his lightning sword, so blindingly
left me stricken, minding me
with a growl of thunder pealing
from a canine cloud revealing
the--"
"No poetry, no sightseeing," said Mountain-Chaser. "Your fate will be in the hands of the King, but the best you can hope for is to be sent away. In the meantime, I'm taking you to a nice, dark place where you can ponder your misdeeds."
"Gophersnot," said the Bard.
"I'll escort the Kingfinders back to the Inn," said Morning-Tamer, Bending down to pick up my sword. "But it looks like Cloud-warrior wants to go with you. Why don't we meet--"
"Tim!" Michael shouted.
The reason Michael shouted my name is that I had been inching towards Kwotik during his entire dialogue with Mountain-Chaser, my hand in my pocket. I'd decided I liked the Bard. He was a good fighter, entertaining, and best of all not loyal to the King. When I was only a few feet away I sprang on him, the stile in my hand. He reached up to block me, but the stile was on his shoulder in an instant.
"Meros!" I shouted, and I could see from his expression that he felt the electric surge course through his body, just as I felt it course through mine.
"No!" shouted Michael and Mountain-Chaser in unison. Cloud-Warrior barked in dismay. Morn just stood there silently, his sword in his right hand and mine in his left, whether in shock or contemplation I could not tell.
I had chosen my guide.
*********************************************
For the next several days, I was locked in my room, a guard posted at the door and another beneath the balcony. It was just as well. I'd really sprained my ankle, and for the next few days I really couldn't get out of bed anyway. I tried to imagine what debates and discussions were going on about the new and unusual developments in the quest, but my mind easily wandered to other things. The worst part of it all was that Michael was on the inside, involved in the discussions, and apparently giving advice. I was used to things being the other way around, back home.
Back home. A part of me wished that the Farm was home, and the way my nightly dreams of the Farm and this search for a boy named Perry got ever more vivid, it was easy to think of it as home. But it wasn't.
Home was a big two-story house in Florida. At least for the moment. We'd moved a lot in the last few years, and from the snippets of adult conversation I'd heard it sounded like another move was imminent. "Bills don't pay themselves," is what I heard over and over. Maybe it was a quote from the Bible. Mom was working now because 'somebody had to', and even though her job was teaching at the very school I attended, it did not make me a better student. It was so hard to stay awake in class when I hardly slept at night, and it was hard to sleep at night when the dark hours were filled with an angry voice and 'falling' furniture.
I loved my mom, loved her even more than the Farm, but I dreaded going home when the summer was over.
I was deep in thought about some of these things when I was summoned by a servant to a conference with all my enemies. I entered the room, surprised to see Kwotik there with with Morn, Mountain-Chaser, Cloud-Warrior, and Michael. Kwotik winked at me, and I felt hope.
"I have a message from the King," said Morning-Tamer. "It came by prela bird this morning. It reads:
"To Kingfinders Timothy and Michael, greetings. News of your loss and your new gain have reached my desk, and I must tell you that I am deeply disappointed by both. The lives of every person in Elkwater depend on the survival of the stiles, and one of these has already been lost. Now more than ever, it is imperative that a reliable second guide be chosen. And yet the second guide actually chosen has never set foot on the roads he must guide you through, and it is illegal for him to do so in the first place. My anxiety for the survival of the Kingdom is very great. Nevertheless, I have learned that when circumstances betray the best efforts of worldly kings, it is often because someone greater is working out a better plan. I have decided to trust in meros. Let the foreigner, Kwotik, be a guide under the watch of Cloud-Warrior. Let Michael still be called Kingfinder, though he will not be able to find a king without a stile. Let Timothy retain his stile. Let him be wise, fair, and guided by the Hound of Soranou as he finds the new King.
I regard you both with the hope that someday songs will be sung about this quest.
Long Live the Prince of Soranou!
~Warren~
The Hickory King, Steward of Elkwater, Warden of the Third Verse, Overseer of Waskindia, Defender of Silvas, Beholder of the Hidden Stream.
Morning-Tamer looked down at me. "The Bard named Kwotik has agreed to follow Cloud-Warrior's lead (with some reluctance)and promised to help you in this quest. We will stay here in Kurmanta for a few more days, and then you must begin your journey without either myself or Vis Mountain-Chaser. Please do not fail us."
One piece of business remained (aside from my ankle healing) before we could leave the city. I was anxious to explore, but Morn and company put me off with grave faces and whispers behind my back. Kwotik eventually let me in on the 'big secret'. We were in the apartment, eating a lunch of fish while everyone else but Cloud-Warrior were on some errand.
"It's about the killing," he said in his native tongue. "Even though the authorities here - such as they are - have determined you were justified, there still is some sort of hearing you have to attend."
"What kind of hearing?" I asked, the dark feeling in my stomach making a sudden reappearance.
Kwotik grimaced. "It is apparently some sort of law here that if you kill someone in Elkwater, even in self-defense or to prevent a murder, you have to sit with a relative and hear something nice about the person you killed. I know, it sucks. I'm sorry."
I wasn't hungry any more and pushed my plate away. "When?" I asked.
"It was supposed to be today," he said, "but there's been some trouble finding anyone to speak well of the poor lout. The mother is alive but disowned him years ago and refuses to speak of him. The father died before he was born, apparently. He has a brother, but he lives weeks away in the Fourteenth Verse. Morning-Tamer and Mountain-Chaser say the Quest can't wait for him to get here."
"So who's going to speak for him?" As I asked this, the memory of Jaris' groans of pain came to me unbidden."
"That's what the 'dour duet' are out working on today."
"With Michael?" I wished my brother were not involved in the matter at all.
"As your blood relative, I guess he has to approve everything." When he saw the look on my face, Kwotik quickly added, "Hey no big deal, just a formality. And maybe the whole thing won't be so bad."
The whole thing was so bad.
On the day of the hearing, I was brought to the center of town to a building near that huge horn-statue. The nearby square was filled with people, and many of them were obviously trying not to stare at me. The "Courthouse", which was really a multi-functional government building, was a sloping, pink single-story affair, but it was surrounded by decorative spires. There were words carved above the large doorway, but since I couldn't read them, I didn't bother with them much.
They'd managed to find an ex-girlfriend of Jaris' who would speak for him, and as Morning-Tamer and Kwotik escorted me into the hearing chamber my eyes went immediately to her. She sat at the far end of a large table, dressed in green and with a green shawl. She glanced up at me and for an instant I saw a beautiful face of olive complexion. Her piercing brown eyes seemed to size me up, softened slightly, and then her head was bowed again.
The "Judge" was a local cobbler, a short, fat man with a lot of sweat on his forehead. The judges in Elkwater, Michael told me, were shopkeepers and professionals who took turns after being appointed by the Governor and ratified by a popular vote. This particular judge was more intimidated by my presence than I was of his. I guess he was uncomfortable giving a Kingfinder what for, even indirectly.
When we were all seated, the Judge cleared his throat and said in a breaking voice, "Very well. Good. Now we can start. This shouldn't take long. Ahem. Shantis, you may begin."
I reeled when the Judge called the woman by name. "Shantis." It was the last word I heard from the lips of Jaris, like a plea or prayer.
When Shantis spoke, her voice was soft but bitter. "What good is there to say about such a man?" she asked. "Like I said before, you should speak to his brother, who could have kind words because of the kindness of his own heart. As for me, I have no room for kindness. Once I did, but that seems long ago, before Jaris fell in with those sons of Eels, that Orkop gang.
"Once, there was some good in Jaris. I knew him when we were both children. he was an unruly child and my parents forbade me to play with him, but I knew that he was unruly because of a dead father and a mother who might as well have been dead, for all the time she spent in the beds of her lovers. If it wasn't for his older brother, I doubt Jaris would have lived at all past age ten, and perhaps that would have been as well.
"When we were of age, he began to pursue me in ways more than just as a friend. But I resisted. Finally, because he would not leave me alone, I told him my secret: I could probably never have children, because...because of something terrible that happened to me as a child. I thought he would leave me alone then. But he didn't. Jaris promised to reform, and he said that if we proved a good couple, then perhaps Shozer would grant us a Trustling. He won my heart over with that. And Jaris did reform. Even my parents spoke of marriage after a year of his working hard in the mills and paying his debts. He gave me a ring--"
Shantis pulled a silver ring off her finger and put it on the table in front of her.
"But then his brother went away to work in the blackmetal foundries in the Fourteenth Verse, and one of Jaris' old friends descended upon his life to close the empty space in his heart. This 'friend' was part of that Orkop group, and before long filled Jaris' head with dreams of quick riches. I railed against it, even after Jaris showered me with expensive jewelry. I kept none of it. All of it was the result of theft or deception. I've only ever kept this silver ring, which he bought with the honest work of his own hands.
"Then, Jaris betrayed my love. I found him one night in the arms of another woman, a cheap hussie. That was over a year ago."
The woman had been looking at the table all this time, but now she looked directly at me. Her brown eyes were dry.
"If you killed him, young Kingfinder, you killed a stranger to me. He had become someone else, not the gentle Jaris I once knew."
She hated him. I could tell by the look in the Judge's eyes that she did not do what she was supposed to, did not say what the law required. But he was starting to clear his throat again to declare the hearing over anyway, I was sure. But it couldn't be over.
"He spoke a name, at the last," I said in barely more than a whisper.
Hope sprung into the lady's eyes. "Did-- did he call on Shozer, at the end?"
I heard Kwotik make a rude sound behind me. I ignored him.
"No," I said, "It was your name. He said, 'Shantis'."
We stared at each other for a few seconds, neither of us saying anything. And then, I'm ashamed to say, I began to cry. This was all too much for me, and the memory of his agony pressed on my heart. In a few seconds, I felt Shantis' arms around me, and she too was sobbing. Between them she would comfort me, and then she began to cry out his name, not in bitterness, but in loss. And then, I comforted her.
In the end, the tears spoke better of Jaris than any words could have. You might be thinking he deserved neither, but I don't care. That was how it was, and it felt right. For the first time since I arrived in Elkwater,it felt like I was doing something good.
*****************************
In the following days, everyone's mood was guarded, but more pleasant. With the two human Knights as our "city guards", we explored the Second Verse to our hearts' content. Michael was fascinated by the industry of the place - especially the papermaking -and we spent more time around bubbling vats and drying fields than was to my liking. My favorite place to visit was the seaside, or rather the "bayside". There was a fortified seawall near the docks where I could see several islands in the distance. Morning-Tamer was with me that day.
"How many islands are in Heron Bay?" I asked.
"Two hundred forty-four," he answered.
I was shocked. "Seriously?" I asked. "How come we can't go visit?"
"Traders from other lands are there," Morn answered, "traders who would be sorely tempted to steal a stile and sail where no citizen of Elkwater can follow. We must not risk that."
"What lies beyond those islands, I wonder?"
"You do not have to wonder," answered Morning-Tamer. Beyond the islands are miles of sea, and then the great country of Azadim - the Golden Lands. East of this are other countries, somewhere among them the "Kindred Lands" where your Bard hails from."
"That reminds me," I said, "how did things go with that meeting between the Shah and the King?"
Morn just looked out to the bay, and for a while I did not think he would answer me.
Finally, he said,"The meeting went poorly."
"Really? Why? The Shah seemed like a nice, wise old man."
"I think he is," answered the Knight. "But he expects our help in an impossible way. His Kingdom, mighty though it is, is gradually losing a war to the Dark Army. The forces of Halma will, he believes, eventually overrun Azadim. He wanted us to send an army to help him repel the invaders."
"And Elkwater can't do that because nobody is allowed to leave," I said.
"That is correct," answered Morn.
"Because of Shozer's decree," I said, a little dryly.
"Why do you say it like that?" asked Morn. "If you knew what terror we wreaked upon the world--"
"That was seven hundred years ago!" I interrupted. "Doesn't Shozer -whoever he is - think you have learned your lesson by now? Either way, you guys can't possibly be as bad as this "army of darkness". Besides, who's to say they won't go after you next?"
Morning-Tamer decided to ignore my questions. "When the Shah left, many hard words were spoken."
I let the matter go. After a few minutes, I asked, "So...how did they like Romber's bread, anyway?"
Morning-Tamer looked at me sharply. "Why do you ask?" he said, a little harshly. "Did you know about--"
And then a Morn's lips curled upward ever so slightly into a smile.
I gave him my most innocent look.
He laughed out loud, and after a while, so did I.
CHAPTER END
|
© Copyright 2007 Basilides (UN: basilides at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Basilides has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
|
Log In To Leave Feedback
Static Items
Books
Forums
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
