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Chapter I
Some might say that my earliest memories
are horrifying, scarring even. I label them only tragic and sad.
They are stamped upon my memory like the indelible scar of a knife-wound.
Everything is etched in perfect detail: sights, sounds, smells; the exact
intonation of my mother's voice as well as the precise smell of the roast
spitted over the fire in our cabin.
The newly-built cabin stood in the middle of the dense and unexplored
Black Forest. It was one of a dozen which composed a new logging
settlement, a number of which were forging their way deeper and deeper
into the forest as the wild elves retreated and disappeared. But
this settlement was then on the very edge of the explored wilderness and
those who lived there were viewed as the bravest souls ever born in the
kingdom of Stephen. I was born in this little villa of rugged men
and spent the first five years of my life playing in the deep forest and
learning the family trade under the tutelage of my father.
With the mere mention of
the word "father" I sneer, even to this day. I hated my father.
I still hate my father. His heavy hand was always ready for the inevitable
mistake, and I learned early to steel myself against his strikes.
The man was empty of compassion or love, or even empathy; he deserved nothing
but contempt and hate. But, being young, I did not understand this
and strove diligently and always to the impossible task of pleasing him.
My mother strove harder than I, which to this day perplexes me. Had
she never lost that innocent veneer that disappears with the coming of
adulthood? Or was it simply her blind love that kept her from seeing
the monster that my father truly was? Or have I never come to grips
with the fact that my mother, like many, many people, was simply not strong
enough to see the truth and accept it?
My father drank.
Heavily, and often. And if his mood and temperament were poor when
he was sober, the man drunk was a beast even Adventurers would not care
to encounter. How often I would seen him stumble into the cabin,
long after dark, reeking of homemade spirits! If I were to run to
him, I would be shoved aside with a grunt. Each time Mother would
try to ignore it, praying under her breath that this night, this one night,
he would simply retire to bed. Her prayers were consistently in vain.
I would huddle in
a corner, trying in some way to protect myself from the brutality and violence
that would inevitably erupt as my father took my mother and beat her until
he was too tired to swing his fists anymore. Often Mother would lie
unmoving upon the hard wooden floor, not stirring even to my plaintive
entreaties. I would fall asleep beside her upon the cold floor, and
awake the next morning to find myself in bed, the beast that was my father
gone, and Mother going about the morning chores as if nothing had happened.
It would puzzle me for a moment, but then the calming regime of the day
would quickly numb my churning thoughts.
All of this I can
remember with perfect clarity, each detail burned into my memory.
And yet it all still seems like some distant and alien dream, like some
other person had lived that life there in the forest. It is the day
which I left home that is at the same time the most clear and the most
dream-like of these first few years.
A small child enters
through the open door of his log cabin home, the warmth inside inviting
him in from the crisp, almost cold, autumn evening. He fairly bounds
into the cabin, but halts hardly a pace beyond the threshold.
A wild beast of
a man is upon its knees atop the child's mother. Its fists are flying
rapidly and leave welts and bruises upon the woman that swell and turn
a putrid shade of beep blue. The man does not curse or even yell.
Nor does the mother cry out, though blood has covered her face in blotches
and dried upon her collar. The brutal scene is punctuated only by
the rapid tempo of fists striking flesh and the heavy breathing of the
man and woman. They seem to be only acting some part in a play, though
the audience is far from amused.
The child stands
in shock at this sight of inhuman brutality, his jaw gaping wide and his
limbs dangling limply at his sides. It is not an uncommon sight to
the child, but for all its familiarity it still sends horrible shots of
revulsion and fear through him.
Suddenly the child
feels his body move, as if something deep inside is controlling him.
He knows that it is no outer force, but he knows, too, that it is not truly
him who walks to where his father's crossbow hangs upon the wall; it is
not truly him who takes it from the usual, worn peg; and it is not truly
him who stands only a few paces away from the beast of a man and aims the
crossbow.
"Father," the child
whispers.
The wild beast
pays no heed. It continues at its silent brutality.
"Father," the child
says louder. He is not shaking, only a smooth and alien confidence
fills him now.
The wild beast
still continues. The woman beneath him no longer even seems to give
the slightest reaction to the violence of his rising and falling fists.
Now her head only moves limply to one side when struck, and now to the
other when struck again.
"Get off of her!!"
the child screams at the top of his small lungs. The sound of his
pitched and desperate voice fills the cabin like a clap of angry thunder.
The wild beast
stops, and looks up at the child. Slowly, ever so slowly, it becomes
a man again: the redness drains from its flushed cheeks, the angry and
primitive gleam in its eyes softens, and the muscles, tensed with violence,
relax with aching slowness.
The small child
steels himself from the sudden violence of action that is expected, but
is bewildered when all that comes from his father is laughter.
The man laughs
mockingly as he stands from his knees. "What's this, boy?" he sneers.
"Are you really gettin' the nerve to face your old man?"
There is a pause
filled only with silence. The child says nothing, but keeps the crossbow
trained upon the beast that is his father.
"Jus' what are
you gonna do, boy?" the man taunts. "Really gonna kill me?
You got the backbone?" He laughs again. "It don't matter no
more, boy, ain't nothin' matters no more. You see that?" He
points at the unmoving woman upon the floor. Her face is covered
with blood and fist-sized welts, her hair mangled and dripping with blood.
"She's gone, boy, dead." The man reaches down, takes a lock of long,
dark, blood-stained hair in his fist and lifts her head shoulders from
the floor. His grip is released and the body falls back to the floor
with a dull, unliving thud. "Your momma's dead, boy. Whatcha
gonna do?"
The child stares
at the beaten corpse of his beloved mother and tears begin to fill its
eyes, bitter tears that tear the soul apart. He looks from his mother
to his father, who is mocking him with haughty laughter, and then back
to his mother's dead figure. His father's mocking laughter fills
his ears, his mind, his being. It begins to blot the pain of his
torn soul, the pain that he is clinging to in order to convince himself
that this is still real. The laughter threatens everything.
With an ear-splitting
scream the child looks to his father, aims the crossbow, and squeezes the
trigger with all his strength. The quarrel sails straight and true,
and the man's mocking laughter is cut short in a sudden instant.
He falls to the floor with a dull, unliving thud.
A dead silence
follows in the wake of the child's scream. He stands within the warm
cabin, staring at two corpses, one deeply loved, the other as deeply reviled.
The crossbow dangles loosely in his grasp for a few eternal moments and
then falls to the floor with a clatter. Again silence fills the air
of the cabin, a repressive, mournful silence that turns light into dark
and sureness into doubt.
The boy turns,
finally unable to bear the terrible silence, and flees into the night,
into the forest. Away, by the gods, away!
It is my flight that I find
more horrifying and scarring than my childhood. Trees rushed passed
as streaked grey blurs in the evening light and the crispness of the autumn
air bit at my young skin. I ran as fast as my young but spry legs
would carry me, filled with a horrible yet unnamed fear. All I knew
was that something black and cold had gripped me tight by my chest and
that I could only think of running in order to get away from it.
The trees whisked passed for what seemed a dull and dim eternity.
I took no heed in what direction I fled, I simply ran.
Finally my weary lungs
threatened to burst, and my legs would carry me no further. I collapsed
to the leaf-strewn forest floor, tumbling a few paces and finally coming
to rest in a clearing no larger than a small house. I lay upon my
back, chest heaving, heart pounding, and brain swirling with a million
thoughts and wild images. The sight of my mother's bloody corpse
haunted me like some indelible stain, and the scream I had given as I had
murdered my father still sounded again and again somewhere in the back
of my addled mind. So much for one so young!
I lay there for a
long time, my eyes closed tightly, trying futilely to clear my mind of
the myriad dark thoughts and aching feelings that filled me. My soul
had been torn, even at the tender age of five I could feel that, and I
could feel it bleeding within me.
Finally I flung my
weary eyes open, and Luna filled my sight. Bright, serene, calming,
she seemed to reach down from the sky and soothe my tortured being.
The stars clustered about her, shining kindly upon me, and I felt the pain
ebb. Bit by aching bit their brilliant and pure light calmed the
turmoil in my head, and patched the wound within my soul. The wind
whistled quietly and in the peaceful darkness of the night I found comfort.
The sudden explosion
of a cracking twig filled the air. Fear wrapped its dark cloak about
me once more and panic fluttered in my stomach, shattering the peaceful
comfort I had just found. I leaped to my feet, no longer conscious
of the great fatigue that pulled at me, and swiftly turned my heel to run
back into the forest. With a wild look in my eye and my heart racing,
I left the serene and loving Luna behind.
Paranoia had now filled
me - the fear now had a name and a face, I was no longer running from some
unknown. But that made it no less horrible, or my flight no less
panicked. The fear was greater even, for now I could wildly conjure
images of whatever was behind me in the darkness of the forest. Some
unknown wild beast, some terrible thing.
My father. An unliving creature risen from the dead through
pure hate and blackness. The thought fueled my flight, and the trees,
a brilliant shade of silver in the moonlight, whisked past even faster.
Once again I ran for an eternity, the fear fueling my weary bones.
A sharp, stabbing
point of light pierced the twilight and struck my eyes. I winced,
but through sheer inertia continued to run. The light was directly
before me and soon I could discern that it was a fire. Still not
thinking, I continued to run towards it, stumbling occasionally in an awkward
attempt to slow myself. Soon I was close enough to see that it was
a huge bonfire, roaring and crackling in the center of a large clearing.
Several figures in dark robes stood in a circle about the fire, chanting
in some bizarre-sounding tongue. It sounded more like raspy cracking
noises than a real language. I managed to come to a stop just before
reaching the edge of the clearing. The thought of the horrible creature
behind me was pushed aside by curiosity and caution as I carefully hid
myself in a bush.
I looked to the sky,
but did not see the moon, or any of her children stars. Nuin-covl
was as black as pitch, as black as the robes of the figures about the circle.
The lack of Luna and even her children unnerved me profoundly, and with
wide and frightened eyes I returned my gaze to the chanting figures in
the clearing. They had their arms raised now, and their rasping chant
had become a low, rattling hum. I felt a chill run through me and
wrapped my arms about myself.
The bonfire began to grow, and its color shifted from white flames
to angry red tongues - as if some dragon had been buried centuries ago
and was now unleashing its torrent of anger. The figures in robes
continued to chant, finding a rhythm that rocked back and forth as a mother
rocks a child, but faster.
Suddenly
I could see patches of shadow moving and weaving within the flames.
A stark horror swept over me like a huge wave, but still my gaze remained
fixed upon the ever-growing fire, which now had acquired an unearthly glow
that seemed to make the dark of the sky seem even deeper. The black
shapes within the flames moved more swiftly now, following the quickening
tempo of the figures' chant.
I felt something move
within me. Something within the dark recesses of my soul began to
crawl into my consciousness as I gazed at the blazing red flames.
As the dark creature within my soul moved further and further from its
recess my heart began to beat in time with that chant, and I felt every
fiber of my being tense with wild, inhuman intensity.
The sight of my dead
mother came before my eyes, as if spit out to me from the glowing fire.
I felt no fear, no revulsion, only a morbid curiosity, as if I had just
stumbled upon it, or that I was looking at it now with new eyes, with a
new appreciation for the dead, for the killing, for the killer....
The sight of my father laughing mockingly filled me and I bristled with
anger. I felt the crossbow in my hands again, heavy and awkward for
a child of five, yet I was sure and steady. I felt the trigger almost
squeeze itself and a great, morbid satisfaction filled me as my father
feel dead to the cabin floor.
A low, spine-tingling
moan filled the air and snapped me back to the unreal reality of the moment.
The black shadows within the flames were screaming now, giving a sound
that could never come from a world of mortals. They moved about with
dark and liquid grace now, no longer confined to the flames, flitting among
the robed figures. Slowly, as I watched in transfixed horror, they
congregated above the flame, forming a darkly glowing figure in the shape
of a man. A single brilliant red light appeared in the center of
the man of shadows, and grew steadily. It was a richer red than the
flames and so bright it was hard to look at.
And then there came
a brilliant flash of light. I threw an arm before my face to protect
my eyes and looked away from the clearing for the briefest of moments,
but immediately my attention was yanked back. The red light was spreading
in slow waves across the shadow-man, and with each consecutive wave the
man's features became more definite. I watched in utter horror as
my father's face was defined inch by laborious inch. A wave of shock,
and then fear rushed over me, and I felt ever muscle in body tense.
"No!!" I screamed,
somehow finding the strength to leap from my squatting position in the
bush. "No! Stop!" I screamed as I rushed into the clearing,
careening head-long toward the shadow-man of my father. Toward the
glowing bonfire. Its heat pressed upon me the moment I stepped into
the clearing, and the air felt heavy and oppressive. It tasted of
death and blood and violence. But I paid none of this any heed.
A strong grip found
my arm and I was suddenly halted. I turned just long enough to see
that the hand holding my arm with a vice-like grip was attached to one
of the robed figures. With a scream I took the figure's arm in both
of my hands and threw the figure to the ground. In a moment I was
running again for the fire.
I had already killed
my father once. He was not coming back to haunt me. I hated
my father, and I was going to keep him dead.
I reached the edge
of the enormous fire and stared up at the shadow-man. It looked down
at me, and I detected an evil grin parting its lips. "No!!" I screamed
once again, and flung myself into the fire. It was the only thing
I could think of to do. Incredible heat surrounded me, engulfed me, filled
me. I bellowed in pain as I felt the flames lick my tender young
flesh and chew at my bones. But with the heat came a terrible, deep
blackness that after a moment overtook the pain. I felt the presence
of the patches of shadow disperse before me and then attack. Their
darkness overpowered me, invaded my mind. I tried to scream, but
nothing. I tried to look about me, to move, to blink, but found myself
unable to do anything but feel the oppressive blackness. I could
feel someone, something in the blackness with me.
A terrible voice
resounded in the void: "YOU DARE!" It echoed for what
seemed forever, creating a cacophony that was an unbelievable pain.
"YOU DARE DISRUPT THIS RITE!" the voice bellowed again.
I felt something reach inside me, and screamed with pain as the tear in
my soul was opened again, and the blood flowed inside. "IT
HURTS," the voice mused, once again resounding to eternity.
"IT WILL HURT MORE. AND THEN IT WILL NEVER HURT AGAIN!"
Suddenly the blackness
was gone, and the flames were gone, though the voice still resounded in
my head. I opened my eyes to find myself in the middle of a clearing, the
sky still pitch black, and the robed figures still in a circle about me.
From under their hoods I could see red coals of unhuman eyes glaring at
me with menace. I shivered, and crumpled to the ground, tears streaming
down my eyes for the first time that night.
I continued to sob
when I felt myself lifted from the ground and the deep shadows and glowing
eyes of a man's face was shoved into mine. "Does this child realize
what it has done?!" the man roared. There was a heavy silence as
his gaze remained locked with mine. He blinked, and a grimace contorted
his lips. "I see this child has been touched." He raised me
high above his head with one arm and shook me like some rag doll.
"Touched!" he declared to the others. Swiftly his face was shoved
into mine again. "Touched," he whispered, his obvious repugnance
at the idea showing in his sneer. "Bah!" I was thrown to the
ground like he was discarding a letter with bad news. "All these
years!" he growled. He turned toward me again, leaning down to gaze
directly into my eyes again. My tears had dried, but I still shook
violently. "Years, child! Wasted! And now more years
to wait! Like this!" He tore his hood from his head and I screamed
as I looked upon a hideous and almost demonic creature: grayish skin, sunken
eyes, only a few wisps of hair clinging to a bald and wrinkled head; as
he held up his fist I noticed that his fingernails were more like claws
and his fingers were little more than skin and bone. His red coal
eyes bore into me and frightened the very core of my being. He pulled
away abruptly and recomposed himself, though a sneer still twisted his
lips. "You shall pay for this, child. Beyond Kraz's punishment
there will be mine to pay."
I could stand it no
longer. Once again I leapt to my feet and fled into the thick forest.
Trees whisked by as deep silver blurs, their shadows long and terrifying
in the night. I ran and ran and ran, as far away as I could from
the darkness, from the flames, from that hideous... man back in the clearing.
I ran as far away from everything that I could. Shortly before dawn
I collapsed upon the forest floor, exhausted and terrified; a five year-old
child alone in the world.
But solitude even in
the forest is merely an illusion. I was stirred to consciousness
by a gentle shaking and a deep, warm voice calling: "Do wake up,
child. Do wake up." My eyes fluttered open and I stared into
pools of soft grey. The face about them radiated warmth and kindness,
but a reserved sagacity. There were a few wrinkles upon his brow,
but the smile which spread his lips wide made him look very young.
"Ah, well, you are
awake," he said. His voice was calm and smooth - peaceful, really.
While it pushed away
the driving fear of the night before, his voice lulled me to wakefulness.
I sat up slowly, every muscle aching from the previous night's flight.
I grimaced in pain.
"Do not move, child,"
the man said, putting his hand to my chest and slowly but firmly pushing
me back to the ground. A slight panic fluttered in my stomach for
a moment, but then I allowed myself to lay back down; I was too tired to
fight any longer. The man smiled at me, and I felt his gentle gaze
move up and down me, as if perhaps he was assessing me. "You are
one of the woodsmen's children, are you not?"
I nodded slightly.
"Then why are you
so far away from you village?" he asked. "The nearest one that I
know of is a two days' walk from here."
A two days' walk!
The thought thundered in my mind. How had I come so far? A
barrage of images and sensations from the night before assaulted me; I
felt a hundred different things in a few moments' time, and felt drained
and weary afterwards.
A concerned look crossed
the man's face. "What is it, child? Is there something the
matter?"
With a wild shake
of my head I shoved the myriad dark thoughts aside.
There was a silence
as he awaited my answer. As he stood patiently, looking at me with
those gentle and ageless eyes, I finally took a chance to look at him.
He was dressed in a plain grey robe, and a held a staff in his right hand
that looked as if it were simply a stripped branch, though it was worn
and polished with age. The lowered hood of his robe showed that he
had short brown hair with the occasional streaks of grey. He seemed
to almost glow with a reserved sort of peace. I felt at once attracted
to and suspicious of him.
"Are you frightened?
he asked at last. "There is nothing to be afraid of." Again
another silence came, filled only with the occasional morning song of birds
hidden by the lush forest about us. I found myself not unwilling,
but strangely unable to speak. He waited patiently for a few moments,
and then extended his hand. "Very well, then, you need not speak
if you do not wish to. But come with me, you are far too young to
simply leave you out here."
I didn't move, left
his extended hand waiting.
"I swear to you in
the names of Gaia and Sol and Luna, no harm shall come to you," the man
said. Something about his tone of voice made me very sure that he
was not lying, that he would do anything to keep me from harm. For
a brief moment, the memory of Luna and her daughter stars staring down
at me, comforting and calming me, flashed before my eyes. The man
had sworn by Luna; I could trust him. I stood, and took his hand.
The man smiled.
"Very good. Now, come, my home is not far from here."
He led me away into
the forest, and with him I began my walk further and further from the life
I had known. Rendered alone in the universe by the chaos that is
life, he was the first to find me. But certainly not the last.
Camir, he called himself,
a name that had been given to him after his rites of initiation.
He said that he was a druid, a man who venerates and worships the spirits
of Gaia, Sol, and Luna, the earth, the sun, and the moon. He moved
swiftly through the dense forest on our walk to his home, and he made no
sound. I felt clumsy and cacophonous beside him. We reached
his "home" in a few minutes. I remember walking into a small clearing
that was dominated by an enormous tree on the southern edge. There
was a small wooden hut facing the tree on the northern edge of the clearing,
and Camir led me straight to it.
"That's your home?"
I blurted, finally managing to break my forced silence with the thought
that permeated my mind.
Camir only nodded
and led me inside. Though the hut appeared small on the outside,
the inside looked fairly spacious. A stone hearth took up most of
the west wall, and two cots stood beside the north and south walls.
The walls were bare and stark. The feeling of simple grandness filled
the hut.
There were two stools
before the hearth, where a morning fire was still burning. Camir
sat upon one of them, and motioned me to the other. "Would you like
some tea?" he asked.
I nodded absently,
still rather absorbed in my surroundings. As a warm mug of strong-smelling
tea was put into my hand, I suddenly became aware of the growling of my
empty stomach. After a few silent moments in which we both took a
few sips of tea, I opened my mouth to speak again, sounding shy and peevish:
"Do you have any..."
"Food?" Camir offered.
"Yes, of course. You must be famished after such a long journey."
Neither he nor I could have recognized the ironic truth in those words.
He quickly set to preparing a simple meal of gruel for himself and me,
moving gracefully, but without a single wasted action. I watched
him, almost entranced. He offered me a bowl of steaming gruel with
a gracious smile and we ate in silence. My eyes fluttered nervously
about the hut, while he seemed absorbed in his own thoughts.
Finally he finished,
sat his bowl before the hearth, and turned toward me. "Tell me, child,
why are you so far away from home?"
The inevitable question
had finally been asked, and my mind was suddenly filled with dark and churning
images and feelings. I closed my eyes and grimaced. He waited
patiently for my answer and I felt that I owed him something for his hospitality.
"I was running," I said at last, eyes still closed in a futile attempt
to keep the memories of the previous night from flooding over me.
"Running from what?" Camir
asked. I heard genuine concern in his voice.
Tears began to sting
my cheeks. "From..." I could not find the words, but forced
myself to answer. "From... from everything! Father and mother,
and the flames, and that... that man."
Camir took my head
in his large but gentle hands and I found myself once again staring into
his eyes of deep, wise grey. His stare lasted only a few moments,
but felt like a dim eternity. Finally he sighed and looked away.
"I am sorry, my child," he said. "There is nothing that I can do."
He returned to his stool and sat as though he had just been defeated, as
though some hope of his had just been dashed.
I looked at him with
questioning eyes, unable once more to speak. A silence filled the
tiny hut, and I felt a slight chill fill the air despite the heat of the
fire in the hearth.
Finally he looked up to
me and shook his head. For the first time he seemed old and sad,
very old and very sad. "I am sorry, but you have been touched."
Touched? I thought.
He said it, too. But what did it mean: touched? I wished to
ask this Camir a thousand questions that floated within my mind, my little
five year-old mind. They would surface only briefly, like the spring
winds that live and die in a single breath. I shook my head to try
and clear it, but the chaos within me would not die.
"You may stay here
only a little while," Camir said as he stood and began taking things from
a shelf above one of the cots. "No more than a fortnight. Then
you must leave."
Leave? I thought.
I just got here. Why do I have to leave? I have done enough
leaving already.
"Do not ask questions
that I cannot answer you," the druid said as he turned to me. "But
there is no reason that I cannot enjoy your company while you stay."
He stuffed a number of things into a pouch that hung at his side.
"Come, there is much to be done this morning." He opened the door,
and with nothing else to do, I followed him outside.
I remember going into
the forest every morning that I stayed with Camir. He led the way,
moving silently and with a grace that never ceased to amaze and entrance
me. I followed behind him, trying to mimic his movements and actions
as best I could. He seemed to blend with the dense green forest about
him, as if it were his true element. There were times during our
walks when I would look at him and swear that the lines which distinguished
him from a tree he was standing before would dim and fade.
He was an excellent
and eager teacher, usually giving an answer before I could ask my question.
His ability puzzled me for years before I discerned its source. With
an amazing patience he taught me the names of all the different plants
and animals we encountered on our morning walks. I learned how to
stalk small animals, and how to tell whether a plant could be poisonous.
I learned so much in a fortnight's time, more than I had ever learned from
years under my father's tutelage.
It was Camir's kindness
that taught me so well, of course. He never raised a hand to strike,
he did not even scold. If I was wrong, he would merely shake his
head, being at once grave and understanding. A few days it took hours
before I arrived at the correct answer, but Camir would stand beside me
the entire time, shaking his head. I felt genuinely proud of myself
when I did something right, not that I had merely avoided the inevitable
strike from an iron fist.
There was still much
that I did not understand. Camir disappeared into the forest late
every afternoon and did not return until just after dusk. But finally
I began to become comfortable in the place where I had found myself.
During the time when Camir was not there I practiced whatever he had taught
me that day. Often I would be hard at work, intent in that childish
way upon achieving the impossibility of perfection, when Camir would enter
the clearing directly before me, silent and nearly invisible. I would
not even notice his presence until he touched me.
Camir's touch, like
his voice, was something that I shall never forget: warm and firm, yet
gentle. It commanded obedience not out of fear, but out of respect
and love. The very demeanor of the druid inspired respect.
I came to love him as most children love their father.
But my place was not
to be with Camir. He had known that the very day he had found me
alone and deathly frightened in the forest. He had told me so a number
of times, but like most do with the unexplained or unexplainable, I ignored
it.
One night, I slept
restlessly. Dark shadows would creep into my consciousness as I drifted
to sleep, driving me back to wakefulness. I tossed and turned, unable
to become truly comfortable upon my cot. Eventually I gave up trying
to fall asleep, and turned to call Camir. He did not reply, and I
gazed through the darkness to see that he was not on his cot across the
hut.
I sat up in bed quickly,
fear brushing my mind for a brief instant. Where was Camir?
Heart pounding heavily in my ears, I tried to listen as he had taught me
to listen for game moving in the forest. A low murmur came from outside
the hut, and I cautiously made my way to the door. Slowly, as I were
hunting some swift and timid creature, I opened the door a small crack
and peered into the night.
A small fire burned
upon an altar at the base of the great tree across the clearing.
Camir was kneeling before it, his arms outstretched in placation of the
heavens. Slowly, feeling guilty as a child would for disobeying his
parents, I eased myself out the door to watch. If he had noticed
me, Camir gave no recognition of my presence, but continued chanting to
his gods. Following his extended arms, I looked
up to the heavens. With Camir's rhythmic and soft-sounding chant
still humming in the background of my mind, I stared at Luna, waning in
the sky. There was little left but a thin sliver of brilliant white.
The stars seemed to grow not brighter in comparison, but more dimly, as
if they were mourning the loss of their mother.
The universe shrank
swiftly to merely myself and Luna once again. I felt her cool and
calming light wash over me, and I closed my eyes to revel in the sensation.
And then, suddenly,
my entire universe crashed apart. I opened my eyes to see that Luna
had disappeared, and her delicate children along with her! With a
chilling sense of deja-vu, I gasped for breath and suppressed a scream
that clawed at my throat for freedom. With a stifled shriek I dashed
back into the hut and flung myself upon the bed.
When Camir entered
the hut, bitter-hot tears were streaking down my face. I felt confused
and frightened, unsure of everything and anything anymore. The sensation
would grow old and stale over the years, but it was fresh and horrible
to me then. I felt the druid's calm and caring hand upon my shoulder,
and soothing words came from him, but neither did anything to stop my tears.
Finally the rivulets
of grief died upon their own accord, and I rolled over on my cot to see
Camir looking at me with the same patient and sage grey eyes that I had
come to love. "You see now that you cannot stay, child," he said.
I had never been able to tell him my name, nor had he ever asked it.
I was "child" and somehow that pleased us both - or at least it sufficed.
"You have been touched. This is not the place for you." He
turned to the shelf above his cot that seemed to hold everything one could
ever need. In a moment he turned and shoved a large sack full of
things into my hands. "Here, you will need these for your trip."
Trip? Where
was I going? Where was there to go?
"I do not know where
it is that you need to go," Camir said, as if somehow reading my mind.
"But I know that you cannot stay here, you do not belong here."
I wiped a tear from
my cheek and nodded. Somehow, something within me understood what
the druid was saying: as much as I wished to stay here with him, this was
not my place; I did not belong here in the forest.
The weight of revealed
things felt heavy upon my young shoulders and I fell quickly to sleep then,
hugging the sack that Camir had given to me close to my chest. My
sleep was deep and dreamless: perfectly restful.
I awoke just a little
while before the dawn, and was surprised to see that Camir was still sleeping.
Somehow, asleep he seemed to be much more and much less than a man.
He looked mortal and helpless, but at the same time infinitely wise and
benevolent. I looked at him in silence for few moments, then leaned
over and kissed him gently upon the cheek. Then, unable to bear the
terrible tension that had been building in the hut, I dashed out the door
and into the forest. Something in me would not allow me grief; I did not
feel mournful or even sad at this parting. This was proper and inevitable.
It is useless to mourn fate.
Camir had shown me,
almost non-chalantly, the swiftest way out of the forest a few days before.
I headed southwest at the swiftest pace I could manage while still being
quiet. The silence of the morning in the vast forest impressed itself
upon me, and I swiftly felt lost and alone once again. But still,
I pressed on, in search of something.
As all of us are,
I was in search of the inevitable. I did not know it, nor do most,
but that would be revealed to me only much later.
The uneventful times
in my memory always seem to be the longest when I reflect upon them.
Though I knew that my trek out of the forest and across some flat, fertile
plains to the road north of Near Capital had only taken me a day and a
half, it feels as if I wandered for months in that open and uninhabited
expanse. The kingdom of Stephen was much smaller then, not only in
terms of land, but in people, too.
Towards noon of the
second day I reached the road Camir had, again almost non-chalantly, described
to me. It was old and well-traveled even then, though I saw no one
upon it for almost half the afternoon. I had decided to stop where
I had found the road and wait for the next person who happened along to
give me a ride. To where? I did not know or even care.
I had no place to go, really; if it was south to the enormous city of Near
Capital, or north to the Mountains of the Unknown and beyond, it did not
matter to me. I was young and romantic, though already grim and scarred,
if only slightly.
My heart leaped as
the sound of the squeaky wheels of a carriage screeched to me across the
plain. My head swiftly turned to the north and with wide and expectant
eyes I watched as a battered and wobbly carriage approached. A single
figure sat upon the coach, driving two old and well-used horses.
The carriage moved at an incredibly slow rate, at least so it seemed to
me, and I waited impatiently for it to reach me. I stood and signalled
the driver, who from twenty paces I could make out to be an old man dressed
in a tattered brown robe. A cleric perhaps, I thought, but more likely
a pilgrim. A few pilgrims had visited my village deep in the woods,
searching for some deep inner truth deep in the heart of the unknown.
I saw very few of them emerge from the forest after they left.
But my doubts of these
people's gods were put swiftly aside as I jumped up and dawn and waved
frantically to gain the driver's attention. He stopped to my great
relief and elation, and looked down at me with eyes that at once unnerved
me and spoke of enormous calm. Perhaps it was the calm and wisdom
that those pure blue pools that unnerved. Camir's gaze had been much
the same, but the druid's eyes were tainted somehow in comparison with
the driver's. The pilgrim's eyes were filled a deep and undefinable
wisdom that seemed to be absolute. The gaze was not human.
"Hello, little
one," he said, his voice deep and grandfather-like. I noticed for
the first time that he had a pure white beard that hung almost to his waist,
and his face seemed very old, yet was unwrinkled. "Where are you
going?" His question did not seem odd
to me. Why would he ask why I was alone upon this road, a child of
only five years? To me, the answer was obvious, and I knew - in that
childish way of knowing - that the answer was obvious to him, too.
I shrugged in answer to his question, and held my hands palms up to show
that I had no idea, nor did I truly care.
"I am going to Nyr
Kohpitol," the driver said. "And it is most fortunate that we should
meet now. You need to come with me."
Now the oddness
of this man struck me. He said everything with a total sureness that
I found... disturbing. I looked at him silently for a few moments,
my head cocked to one side, my eyes questioning.
"Well," he said at
last, "if you don't wish to ride with me, I am sure that you can walk as
far." He paused and looked south down the road. Near Capital
lay well beyond the horizon. "But perhaps the walk will do you good."
He raised the reigns in his hands to signal the horses to begin again.
"No!" I yelled.
"Wait!" I quickly scrambled into the seat beside the old man.
"It's good to see
that you have some sense already," the man said, his smile warm, but still
unnerving with the wisdom and knowledge that beamed from behind it.
"You're going to need it."
I looked at
him questioningly again. His sureness perplexed me. How did
he know so much? How was he so sure about everything?
"My name is Stëpan,"
he said, as if somehow that would answer my questions. "What is yours?"
I looked at him silently
for a few moments more, and then suddenly remembered my manners.
"Kae," I said. I knew there was more than just 'Kae.' I'd had
a family name, that of my father. But it escaped me.
"Just 'Kae'?" the
man asked, though it was really more like a statement. "Good.
Just Kae."
"Don't you have a
family name?" I asked.
"The little one questions!"
he remarked. "That is very good. Ask many questions, that is
how you will survive. But be careful that they are the right ones.
The wrong one could get you killed."
I looked at him with
questioning and perplexed eyes, and noticed just how small he was.
This old man was not much larger than me, a child of only five years!
"Don't you have a family name?" I asked again.
"My mother was born
to the family of Kyie," he said as he looked forward down the road.
He stated it should be stated: merely a fact.
"But what about your
father?" I asked. Like many, I thought I knew the right question
to ask. The family name came from the father, at least that's they
way it was in Stephen. I did not think about if this man was not
from my kingdom. I did not even suspect that I already had the answer
and had no need to ask that question.
"Like you, I did not
have a father," Stëpan said.
"But I do -"
I cut myself short, a gush of bitter memories overcoming me while I fought
back the tears. I had done all the mourning that I would ever do
for my parents many days ago, but still tears of shock would assail me
- like most children - whenever the memories surfaced.
"You had nothing,
Kae," Stephen said, looking at me. His stare unnerved me to an extreme.
The blue eyes that bore into mine were glassy with the absolute of truth.
I knew, somewhere deep inside, that he spoke the truth, and perhaps that
was what unnerved me more than his stare. He sighed and smiled lightly,
and I felt my nervousness lighten. "But perhaps that will change."
I barely heard him mutter under his breath: "And perhaps not."
The rest of the day's
ride was made in relative silence. I remained by myself with my own thoughts,
or wisps of thoughts. Too many things assaulted my mind at once to
make any sense. Questions assailed me. What was I going to
do in Nyr Kohpitol? Why, by the gods, was I even here upon this road?
Faced by the unknowable, or memories too painful to allow them to answer,
I did not come to any conclusions, but let my attention drift. It
seemed to pass the time well.
Toward evening we
finally caught sight of the city of Nyr Kohpitol. I gasped as we
rounded the top of a hill that became the edge of a plateau. The
towering, untouchable grey of the city walls spanned nearly half the horizon.
The city appeared to me a huge, sleeping giant that could at any moment
come to life and walk from one side of the kingdom to the other in a couple
of strides. I was struck by the sheer enormity of the thing before
me. The forest had been vast, but I had seen it only from the inside,
and had no idea the size of it compared to anything else, especially myself.
But there the great city stood. It was a place both of fate and chaos,
law and criminals, good and evil. There was embodied, in the lives
of hundreds of thousands of people, life and existence itself. And
like a cave dweller would to the sun, I stood before it, marveling at its
size and grandeur.
"There," Stëpan
said to me, his first words since dusk. "There lies your destination."
He has always had a gift for giving the obvious many, many layers.
I shook my head in
disbelief of the city's size, gawking and gaping at it as we approached.
I felt the grey stone walls towering above me like gods as we passed through
the Northern gate, and was struck gain by the multitudes of people found
just inside. Sights and scents and sounds assailed me from every
direction.
Stëpan stopped
the carriage, and I sat there simply allowing the city to permeate me.
"Here is where we part," he said. A note of totality carried in his
voice; I could not have disobeyed if I had tried. With a nod of acceptance,
I took the sack that Camir had given me and jumped to the ground.
Stëpan leaned over so that I could see him. "I wish you good
luck," he said. "For there is such a thing. And I shall be
seeing you soon." With that he cracked his reigns and his horses
pulled him away, people in streets parting like a sea before him.
I immediately felt
myself swallowed by the mass of people, and felt their press begin to erase
my individuality. No longer was I a small boy alone in the forest.
I was just another street urchin now: homeless, parentless, nameless to
everyone about me. It felt good to disappear for once; I had been
the subject of too much attention these past few days.
A growl in my stomach
reminded me that it was meal time. I reached into my sack to find
the evening's meal. I noticed that I had only a few more meals left.
What would I do after that?
"Thief!" cried someone
in the crowd, and a huge, dark-colored blur rushed passed me, knocking
me to the ground with its fury of motion. I sat, stunned, staring
after the fleeing man. Though I was too young to appreciate it then,
chance had a terrible sense of irony.