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DDDDD ZZZZZZ //
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D D AAAA RRR GGGG OOOO NN N Z I NN N EEEE ||
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D D A A R R G O O N N N Z I N N N E || Volume 10
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-=========================================================+<OOOOOOOOO>|)
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D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Number 5
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DDDDD A A R R GGGG OOOO N NN ZZZZZZ I N NN EEEE ||
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\\
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\
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========================================================================
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DargonZine Distributed: 08/02/1997
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Volume 10, Number 5 Circulation: 656
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========================================================================
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Contents
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Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
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Quadrille 1 Alan Lauderdale Janis - Sy, 1012
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Pudlong and the Beanstalk 1 Jim Owens Late Spring, 1016
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A Turn of Faith Mark A. Murray Naia, 1015
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========================================================================
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DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
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collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
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We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
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Please address all correspondance to <dargon@shore.net> or visit us
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on the World Wide Web at http://www.shore.net/~dargon. Back issues
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are available from ftp.shore.net in members/dargon/. Issues and
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public discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.
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DargonZine 10-5, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright August, 1997 by
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the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@shore.net>,
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Assistant Editor: Jon Evans <godling@mnsinc.com>. All rights reserved.
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All rights are reassigned to the individual contributors. Stories may
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not be reproduced or redistributed without the explicit permission of
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the author(s) involved, except in the case of freely reproducing entire
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issues for further distribution. Reproduction of issues or any portions
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thereof for profit is forbidden.
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========================================================================
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Editorial
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by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
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<ornoth@shore.net>
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Every few issues, it seems, I have to write an editorial in
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observance of some particular measurement of DargonZine's longevity.
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While this is going to be yet another of those occasions, I think this,
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like our 12th anniversary issue that we started 1997 with, is a major
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milestone that's well worth celebrating. But I should say "milestones",
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since in this issue we celebrate two separate but equally-significant
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achievements.
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The first event I want to draw your attention to is that this is
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our 100th issue. Doesn't sound like much? Well, consider that in order
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to get there we've averaged eight issues per year for the last twelve
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and a half years! That's several generations in Internet-years. In fact,
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we have writers on staff who were only three years old when FSFnet
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(DargonZine's predecessor magazine) was founded! There aren't many
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electronic magazines which can claim to have such a long history on the
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Internet -- in fact, there aren't any! We take great pride in the fact
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that we are by far the longest-running electronic magazine on the 'net.
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The second event we are celebrating today is the publication of our
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200th Dargon-specific story (bear in mind that much of the content in
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FSFnet wasn't Dargon stories at all, but reviews, critiques, and other
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non-Dargon material). The official 200th story is the first part of Jim
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Owens' three-part story "Pudlong and the Beanstalk". I think it's
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appropriate that this honor fall to Jim, since he was with the project
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back during its inception in 1984-5, and he provided some of the better
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stories during the early years of FSFnet.
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When I spoke to Jim about highlighting him in this editorial, his
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response was to talk about how he felt that his writing had matured
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through his participation in the project. He wrote:
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Here is an excerpt from "Ornate Love", FSFNet 8-1, July 1987:
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All night and most of the next day it rained. The
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river grew too high to use, and water cascaded down the
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cliff face where they had been digging lime. All there
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was to do was to sit inside and talk. They talked of
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steel, and how to make it, and of metal, and of wood, of
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rock, and gold, and commerce, and politics, and of as
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many topics as they could find to discuss. Levy found in
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Sarah a companion who was as interested in life as he
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was, and who, for a woman growing up in an isolated
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place, was surprisingly well versed in human nature.
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Here is an excerpt from "Pudlong and the Beanstalk", written
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July 1997:
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"My master has instructed me to build a fire in the
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hut for him tonight, so he might do some scrivening," he
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hesitated, "and to stay warm, of course." Levy glanced
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quickly at Bren. It had been blisteringly hot that
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afternoon, and the heat would last until morning. They
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said nothing as the youngster continued. "I wonder if I
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might have some coals to start it with."
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After a moment Levy nodded. "Of course. Take your
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wood inside. I'll get a potsherd to carry the coals in."
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The novice nodded and re-hefted his load, while Levy
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levered himself up and stepped over to the wagon. He
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returned a moment later with the potsherd and stooped by
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the fire.
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"Why should we care if the old man is scrivening?"
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Bren asked dourly.
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"I don't suppose it's any business of ours," Levy
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replied carefully. As he straightened, he and Bren
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exchanged a meaningful glance, then Levy slowly carried
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the coals to the hut.
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"So what does this show?" you may ask. In the first section,
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written when Dargon was young and I was less experienced, I created
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an excellent opportunity to show the character and personalities of
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the individuals in the story, by showing their emotions and
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expressions, their inflections and reactions. Instead I chose to
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"skip ahead" in the story by merely summarizing the character of
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Sarah. In the later story, written almost a decade later, I took the
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time to show the interactions, the interplay, the action-reaction
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that occurs in a relationship, even a casual one. By showing intent,
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attitude, and character instead of merely describing it, I produced
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a richer, more subtle story.
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The growth of the Dargon Project has also been one of
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relationship, of action-reaction. My skill level has improved, but
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'Pudlong' would not be the story it is today if it weren't for the
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reactions to it given by the other writers in the list. Their honest
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critiques and comments shaped and molded the story, changing it from
|
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a raw offering into a polished piece of prose. In the same way
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Dargon, through the constant, earnest interaction of the writers and
|
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editors, has grown and improved into the product you are reading
|
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today.
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Jim draws a parallel between the his growth as a writer and the
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growth of the community of writers who write for DargonZine. I
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definitely agree that we have learned a lot along the way, and today
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DargonZine is a much more mature and polished magazine than FSFnet ever
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was.
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Over the years the quality of our stories have ranged from puerile
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|
to professional, and throughout it all we've tried to learn from our
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mistakes. But the thing which really has helped us grow has been
|
|
continually increasing how much we communicate with one another. Dafydd,
|
|
during his tenure as editor, instituted a peer-review process which had
|
|
never existed in FSFnet. That enabled us to critique one anothers'
|
|
works-in-progress and provide more input and ideas during the fashioning
|
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of a story. We've discussed our stories and debated our opinions about
|
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what makes a story "good", and come to some noteworthy conclusions that
|
|
we have shared with one another. Our Web site has enabled us to share
|
|
ideas and information more readily, and recently we've started having
|
|
annual writers' Summits in order to exchange ideas face-to-face and get
|
|
to know one another better.
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|
Over the years, the writers have exploited new Internet-based
|
|
technologies to increase how much we communicate with one another, and
|
|
through that have established lasting friendships. These relationships,
|
|
and the productive learning about writing which has come from them, is
|
|
what has kept DargonZine alive for a dozen years, producing a hundred
|
|
issues and several hundreds of stories.
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|
With that kind of momentum, you can expect us to continue cranking
|
|
'em out for a good long time to come!
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========================================================================
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Quadrille
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Part I
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by Alan Lauderdale
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<lauderd@phadm1.cpmc.columbia.edu>
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Janis, 1012 - Sy 7, 1012
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Author's note: This story builds on material presented in Winds of
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Change (FSFnet 8-2), A Scent in the Air (FSFNet 11-1), and A Sudden
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Storm (FSFnet 11-2), by Becki Tants; it also references The Dream
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(FSFnet 6-3, FSFnet 6-4) by John White. It continues the adventures of
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Mouse Kervale, who's appeared in three previous mouse tales.
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I. An Ordinary, Quiet Life
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Mouse threw down her quill, making sure that it landed nowhere near
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her present manuscript. She kicked it off her writing desk, then jumped
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down to the floor after it. She climbed up to the windowsill and paced
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back and forth there several times. But it was cold there, even with the
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midwinter sun shining on her. She soon started to shiver, so she jumped
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down to the floor again and went over close to the fireplace. She
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drifted around there for a while, first warming her front, then her
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back, then her front again. Finally, she pushed over a poker with a
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satisfying clatter.
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Brother Muskrat looked up from his own calligraphy. His eye took
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several tries before it finally found Mouse standing by the fallen
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poker. But this was to be expected, actually. Mouse, as persons went,
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was tiny: no taller than the span from Brother Muskrat's fingertips to
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his elbow. Infant-sized, she looked more like a miniaturized adult or a
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doll or a puppet than like a child. She acted more like an adult than a
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child, too. Most of the time.
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Finally finding Mouse standing by the fallen poker, Brother Muskrat
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asked "Is it new?"
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"I'm a freak!" Mouse shouted. "I'm a freezing freak!"
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Brother Muskrat sighed. "It's not new," he muttered, reminding
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himself that there were also still times when Mouse acted like a child.
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He got up, picked up the poker and stirred the fire.
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"Mouse," he said, as a cloud of sparks flew up the chimney, "you've
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always been small -- "
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"Everyone starts small," Mouse responded impatiently. "Babies are
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small. Then they grow up. I'm not supposed to start small, get smaller
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and then stay that way."
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"Well, that's what happened -- "
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"I *know* that's what happened. I was there -- I'm here! This is me
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we're talking about. I am three hands high. I've been three hands high
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ever since I can remember. I weigh -- what? Twenty lousy mark? A lot
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more right now because I'm bundled up in these layers of scraps trying
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to keep warm -- and not succeeding very well. Babies weigh measures more
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than I do. Everything weighs measures more than I do. I'm ridiculous."
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"You're not ridiculous -- "
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"I am! Gerevin, I'm seventeen and a half years old now, right?
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That's what we figured from what I remember old Pfevver talking about. I
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slept for nearly five years under that altar and I was ten when *that*
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started. So I'm nearly eighteen!"
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Brother Muskrat sighed. Yes, perhaps calling her an adult was
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overstating the case. "Being eighteen doesn't make you ridiculous," he
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said.
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Whatever Mouse was about to say, she snapped her mouth shut
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instead. "Ha ha," she finally responded, without mirth. "That's not what
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I meant. What I meant was that I'm pretty much grown up and I'm not
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grown up at all. I'm grown small. Now, what am I supposed to do with a
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tiny life?"
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"Calligraphy can be very rewarding," Brother Muskrat suggested.
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Because he was a fairly honest man, he didn't suggest the thought with
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much conviction. Mouse was of course very skilled at the detailed work
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that could make pleasure out of reading, but Muskrat knew that
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calligraphy was not the answer she was looking for.
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Mouse knew it too. She glared at Muskrat, her temper not quite so
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tattered that she would shout a curt dismissal of the whole art. But she
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was a little annoyed that he would even bother suggesting it as a
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possible summary for her existence. "Very," she finally muttered.
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"Tiniest calligrapher in Baranur -- Oh, I'll be a real favorite with the
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minstrels for that."
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"Do you want to be a favorite of minstrels?" Muskrat asked. "I
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thought you already learned how dangerous a little attention can be."
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"I know *that*," Mouse replied, idly twirling herself before the
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fire.
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Muskrat watched her silent dance and smiled. Her small size, he
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thought, seemed to magnify her intrinsic grace and prettiness -- even
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were she normally sized, she'd be attractive -- into something
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wonderfully fey. Magical, he decided, though he knew she hated the word.
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He ignored the drying ink on his pen and simply enjoyed for a moment the
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sight of her. She was lovely, a pleasure simply to look at. He wondered
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if that was all that knight -- that Sir Ongis -- had thought when he'd
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taken Mouse and kept her in a birdcage. And that other man, who'd
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grabbed her on a riverbank. Had they simply wanted to capture and cage
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up beauty? It was a dark notion, possessing loveliness, close -- very
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close -- to jealousy. But jealousy was something any lover could
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understand, Muskrat mused. Understand, if not agree with.
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"I'm going to Dargon," Mouse suddenly announced, coming to a stop.
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"What for?" Brother Muskrat asked reflexively.
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"Well ..." Mouse's small voice trailed away into silence. She
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needed to think about what reason for going to Dargon she cared to say
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aloud to Muskrat.
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But Muskrat didn't worry about that. Mentally, he was kicking
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himself for asking. After all, that was the sort of question a jealous
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-- well, possessive -- man would ask a woman. Not that Muskrat cared to
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think that he was possessive of her. Rather, he was being protective.
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That was normal. That was appropriate for men. Men protected and women
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and children needed protection. And Mouse clearly required protection.
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Not so much as to require keeping her in a birdcage all the time, of
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course, but it was appropriate to offer some.
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"I've been very sheltered here," Mouse finally said.
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Muskrat put down his pen and stared at her.
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"Maybe I've been *too* sheltered here."
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"What -- ?"
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"I mean," Mouse quickly continued, "I'm grateful that you have all
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protected me from the world, while I've been here. It's been almost like
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home again, almost, since everyone here has mostly treated me like just
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a person. And you've taught me to read and given me work to do writing
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copies of manuscripts that you receive. I like drawing the illuminations
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and painting them -- and reading through the text to figure out what the
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subject of the picture should be ..."
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Muskrat half-heard her. He had to wonder, since she'd raised the
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question, could protection be imposed when it wasn't wanted? And if it
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were, did that mean that the imposition of protection was wrong, or that
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the beneficiary was simply incompetent to judge whether it was called
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for?
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"... And I enjoyed trying to master the occasional mathematical
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treatises that Terkan of Dargon sends along from time to time," Mouse
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smiled.
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"Math books? Oh, you and Brother Martren are probably the only ones
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who like those things," Muskrat remarked. "It's a good thing both of you
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have a clear hand."
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"Thank you. I've been happy here, mostly."
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"Mostly," Brother Muskrat repeated. Was the amount of protection
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Mouse had at Rockway House stifling? But didn't she need it? Hadn't the
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previous kidnapping experiences proved it?
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"I just don't think I want to stay here the rest of my life."
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"You could if you did want."
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"Yes, but ..." There was that pause again. She didn't want. Brother
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Muskrat sighed, the image of Rockway house as a very large birdcage
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flitting through his mind. Mouse was safe here. She was free to share
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her beauty and grace here, but only as long as she didn't want to leave.
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If she did want to leave, then even though he'd want to shield Mouse
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from the Sir Ongises and protect her from the harsh world beyond the
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House, he couldn't do that and remain different from the Ongises. One
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sometimes had to be wary of one's own good intentions.
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"I have a mission to complete," Mouse declared.
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"Mission?" Brother Muskrat picked up his pen and began writing.
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With a casualness that tore at him, he asked, "What mission?"
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"Sir Ongis Fishteller killed my parents. It can't be right that he
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can do that and not get punished for it."
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"I thought you did punish him," Brother Muskrat said calmly. "His
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wife recovered from a deadly illness and you asked her to hate him the
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rest of his life. I thought that was an awfully appropriate
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retribution."
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"Maybe, but I don't think it was very effective. And my sword of
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justice -- "
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"You've been reading too much of Brother Anthony's romances,"
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Brother Muskrat smiled. But the smile felt empty. If Mouse had been
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reading that stuff, then no wonder she was tiring of the calm ease of
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Rockway House.
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"They're very entertaining. Anyway, the hate's not happening. Ongis
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isn't suffering a bit. "
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"How do you know?"
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"Sir Ongis is at present without a wife," Mouse said dryly. "I
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don't know exactly what happened to her since eight years ago, but banns
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have been posted for Sir Ongis to get a new one."
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"I see. And you think you want to stop this?"
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"Yes."
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"Because you don't know what happened to the previous wife?"
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"Because the prospective one is marrying a murderous fiend who's
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probably never loved in his life -- "
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"This is a knight's marriage we're talking about," Brother Muskrat
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said dryly. "Love can come later, if it does at all."
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Mouse glared at him. "That's awful," she said. "She's not even
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supposed to love him?"
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"Why should she?" Muskrat asked. "She hardly knows him."
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"You can say that again. Well, I intend to make sure she does know
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him -- more about him, anyway."
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"How?"
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"Well, the marriage isn't scheduled until next Winter Court, so I
|
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have some time. But since he's a knight, I guess I have to go see Sir
|
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Ongis's lord and complain to him about Ongis being a disgusting dog who
|
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murders wives and parents.
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"That's *your* parents, not his."
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"He might've done both."
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"You don't know that. You don't even know how his previous wife
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died."
|
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"She was in perfect health when I left her."
|
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"She might have had an accident."
|
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"A fall from a horse? Brought about by tack that just happened to
|
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wear out when she was cantering along the cliff?"
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"You have been reading too much of Anthony's stuff, haven't you?"
|
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Brother Muskrat asked.
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"It does give a girl ideas. But Muskrat, the fact remains: Sir
|
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Ongis is unpunished for killing my parents and I must go ask the Duke of
|
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Dargon for justice."
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"Well." Brother Muskrat looked at Mouse. He saw a woman with a
|
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purpose, not that he cared especially for the nature of the purpose. Not
|
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when the purpose would carry her into what he considered to be a very
|
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dangerous town -- dangerous to anyone, male or female, small or large.
|
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He saw also a new adult who needed to be free, lest she decide that the
|
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house she was living in was confining her. He saw a girl who needed
|
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protection deciding that she didn't want it just now.
|
|
He was about to suggest that Mouse would want an escort when she
|
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said "Well what?"
|
|
Brother Muskrat looked again at Mouse. This time, he saw a woman
|
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with a purpose, *her* purpose. She was intent on it, he realized. He
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felt suddenly the fact that she *was* fey. She was small and everything
|
|
around her was gigantic. She lived in a world that he perhaps scarcely
|
|
knew. And her parents, ordinary peasants, were, because they were
|
|
ordinary peasants, one of the few things that might connect her to the
|
|
normal world. They mattered. Parents always mattered. And resolving for
|
|
oneself the deaths of one's parents always mattered. And it mattered
|
|
even more if you had some sort of role in those deaths. But for Mouse,
|
|
perhaps, it mattered even more than all that. Her parents were still a
|
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connection for her to the normal world. Brother Muskrat shivered. Here
|
|
was something important. Also, the room was cold.
|
|
"Well, there it is," he only said.
|
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In the succeeding months, as the snow gradually melted and became
|
|
mud, and the mud eventually dried, was tilled, and became furrows and
|
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seedlings, Mouse remained preoccupied with the idea of going to see the
|
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Duke of Dargon.
|
|
She thought about what, exactly, one should say to a Duke. She
|
|
wondered whether one should broach the subject cautiously: She was
|
|
accusing of being a cold-hearted, ruthless murderer someone who might be
|
|
an extremely good friend of the Duke. But perhaps the Duke scarcely knew
|
|
the knight and he was, Mouse was sure, a very busy man. Perhaps she
|
|
should come right to her point immediately after introducing herself to
|
|
him.
|
|
Mouse thought about how, precisely, one should phrase an indictment
|
|
of one of a duke's underlings for excessive killing. She'd copied a few
|
|
books of legal matters, so she knew that such a message was not
|
|
necessarily couched in straightforward language. But she did expect,
|
|
from seeing the legal records she'd copied, that a lot of this business
|
|
would probably need to get recorded on parchment, so she prepared a set
|
|
of nibs and quills and inkwells to take with her to Dargon.
|
|
She thought about how one finds a Duke: Did one just ask anyone
|
|
around the castle where Lord Clifton was working? (She imagined that the
|
|
Duke's keep was rather like Rockway House, only with thicker walls.) She
|
|
realized the Duke might be uncooperatively absent when she went looking
|
|
for him and she might have to wait for an opportune time to talk to him.
|
|
For all she knew, he might travel around his Duchy a lot. Brother
|
|
Muskrat helped her with this problem, though, writing for her a letter
|
|
of introduction to his colleague, Terkan the Mathematician, since Mouse
|
|
knew him only by the occasional treatises he sent for copying. Terkan
|
|
was a quiet, scholarly man who would likely not have any difficulty with
|
|
Mouse staying in a corner of his house for quite a while until she had
|
|
had her audience with the Duke.
|
|
Mostly, though, she thought about what she would wear.
|
|
This was not because she normally thought about what she would
|
|
wear. Indeed, she almost never thought about what she was wearing,
|
|
except whether there was enough of it to keep her from freezing when in
|
|
the cold. After all, she had just one habitual costume and she wore it
|
|
nearly all the time. There simply wasn't much to think about.
|
|
But one of the few books she had about the Duke spent a great many
|
|
words discussing what people wore when visiting him. And the great many
|
|
words boiled down to a simple concept: People wore special clothes,
|
|
fancy clothes, impressive clothes, when visiting the Duke. So Mouse
|
|
needed a special, fancy, impressive dress. She needed something that
|
|
would be suitable for appearing in the court of the Duke of Dargon and
|
|
that covered attractively her tiny self.
|
|
"At least, I think I want to look attractive," she told Sister
|
|
Anne, when she went to consult her on this topic. "Don't I? I mean, it
|
|
was pretty unpleasant the results I got the last time I dealt with
|
|
aristocrats or the like." She fingered a small rip in her chemise,
|
|
pulled her chaperon a little bit forward over her head and tightened
|
|
slightly the lacing of her sorquanie. "Maybe I should try to look
|
|
plain." She studied her scuffed shoes.
|
|
Sister Anne looked up from a close examination of some mushroom
|
|
spores, a subject she much preferred over nearly all forms of social
|
|
interaction. She squinted at Mouse and then shook her head.
|
|
"I don't think you can manage plain, dearie," Anne told her. "Not
|
|
with the size you are and the slender bones you have and all. Best for
|
|
you to try to look attractive. Everyone else at court will be -- they
|
|
don't have much else to do -- so it'll help you blend in."
|
|
Mouse nodded at this wisdom and went back to designing an
|
|
attractive dress to wear. She consulted Brothers who'd been to
|
|
fashionable towns, listened to their descriptions, and then hoped for
|
|
the best. It didn't seem too hard, not impossible, anyway. She wanted a
|
|
new chemise, one that would fit her more closely than her present one
|
|
did. Then, she wanted a cote and surcoat, also tight-fitting above the
|
|
waist and flowing attractively below it. All that careful measuring and
|
|
precise sewing. Not for the first time, Mouse cursed the Duke for
|
|
running such a demanding court.
|
|
And new shoes, of course -- Mouse remembered -- though those would
|
|
have to be left to Brother Gorim. And once she'd designed the thing,
|
|
Mouse had to acquire the materials and make the thing. This took time.
|
|
She encountered delays getting things and then she encountered delays
|
|
learning to sew well. Nobody in Rockway House knew more about sewing
|
|
than she did, which wasn't much. Most of the time, most of the people at
|
|
the House looked a little patched together, which was all right in the
|
|
community but not acceptable to Mouse if she was going to go talk to the
|
|
Duke. So she consulted the one text on the construction of clothing that
|
|
could be found in the House -- and discovered that it seemed to be more
|
|
loathe to yield its knowledge than any mathematical treatise she'd
|
|
encountered. She persevered though, and the number of times she had to
|
|
rip out her stitches and start over was not too terribly excessive. But
|
|
it wasn't zero either.
|
|
The cote was pale blue linen and the surcoat was dark purple.
|
|
Brother Anselm had made her wonder about the wisdom of that choice by
|
|
mentioning that he'd read somewhere that the color purple was reserved
|
|
for royalty. But everyone else at the House had said they'd seen a good
|
|
deal of purple in Dargon Town and of course the color wasn't reserved
|
|
for anyone. So Mouse had felt better until she started worrying whether
|
|
she'd even be noticed in purple.
|
|
And the surcoat was velvet. Though Brother Muskrat had said
|
|
something about the cost, Mouse had been pleased enough with the
|
|
material until a few hot days just before she left the House made her
|
|
worry that the outfit might have her sweating too much before the Duke.
|
|
But Brother Thibald had told her that Dargon Town was right by the ocean
|
|
and didn't get that hot, even in summer.
|
|
It all took longer than she hoped it would. When Melrin came, she
|
|
was still not quite ready. Instead, it was several weeks after that when
|
|
Mouse modelled her costume for Brother Muskrat for what she hoped was
|
|
the last time.
|
|
"Well?" she asked, tugging on her cote. Truth to tell, it hadn't
|
|
come out quite right.
|
|
He eyed disapprovingly the neckline. It wasn't especially close to
|
|
her neck. "You're sure that's appropriate?" he asked.
|
|
"You've asked me that every time I tried this on," Mouse said. "No,
|
|
I don't know, but everyone I've asked has said that this is how women
|
|
dress at the Duke's court. I've done the best I can."
|
|
"Yes," Muskrat agreed, "I regret to say that I can see no flaw or
|
|
omission in your work. You're lovely."
|
|
"Regret?" Mouse smiled.
|
|
"I've already told you several times that the Port of Dargon is a
|
|
dangerous place and that I don't think you should be going there by
|
|
yourself." Brother Muskrat had found several occasions to reverse his
|
|
initial, metaphysical response and attempt to bring rational analysis to
|
|
the issue.
|
|
"And I've already told you that it doesn't matter if you or any
|
|
other Brother or Sister is or isn't available to accompany me to the
|
|
city," Mouse replied, having on each occasion evidenced to him that his
|
|
reading of her firmness of will had been accurate. "I need to go, and
|
|
seeing the Duke is something I need to do myself. We've argued about
|
|
this before."
|
|
"Repeatedly, and Mouse, you are a very stubborn little woman."
|
|
"Why? Because I won't give in and say 'Yes, Brother Muskrat, please
|
|
carry me everywhere I need to go whenever it should happen that you're
|
|
willing to go to Dargon. Next year, next decade, next century.
|
|
Whatever's convenient for you will be fine with me'?"
|
|
"You know I do go up to the city from time to time -- "
|
|
"But not now."
|
|
"It's not a good time now -- "
|
|
"Now meaning this year."
|
|
Brother Muskrat shrugged.
|
|
"Well, now's the only time for me," Mouse insisted. "I want to see
|
|
Dargon. I want to see the Duke."
|
|
"But are you still sure that that's a good idea?" Muskrat asked.
|
|
"Who else is there?" Mouse asked back. "Sir Ongis is a knight. The
|
|
Duke's his commander."
|
|
"Yes, but are you still sure that it's a good idea asking anyone
|
|
for punishment upon Sir Ongis?"
|
|
Mouse gazed at Muskrat from the table she'd used for modeling. Then
|
|
she looked down at her skirts. She walked a slow circle deciding what to
|
|
say. She wasn't absolutely sure that this was the right thing to do. Her
|
|
memory of Sir Ongis was horrible and, occasionally, she had nightmares
|
|
that featured his heavy, mostly lupine visage. She knew that he would
|
|
react badly to her bringing up this old crime. As for the Duke, people
|
|
at the House had told her that he was said to be fair and just. So she
|
|
had a good character reference but it was at third hand. How he'd react
|
|
to this case she had no idea. How could she be sure that this was a good
|
|
idea?
|
|
But she was sure that she needed to do something. That much she
|
|
knew and, until she could think of a better something she could do to
|
|
bury her parents peacefully, what she had would have to do. She looked
|
|
up at Muskrat and said "Yes."
|
|
"All right," Brother Muskrat acceded, as he'd always done before.
|
|
"The good news is that your delays in the dressmaking mean that you want
|
|
to go up to town at the same time as our first shipment of rhubarb
|
|
relish. Could you stand traveling with several dozen quiet jars of
|
|
preserve?"
|
|
Mouse frowned. "You pack them in a barrel, don't you?" she asked.
|
|
"And ship the barrel down the river," Brother Muskrat agreed. "That
|
|
would, I think provide you with a fairly discreet entrance to the city."
|
|
"I have to pack," Mouse assented.
|
|
"Same goes for the barrel."
|
|
|
|
The barrels were never packed tightly with jars of rhubarb relish,
|
|
Brother Muskrat had assured her. There was always a fair amount of hay
|
|
-- rough and scratchy hay -- packed in to keep the jars separated. So it
|
|
was hardly going to trouble anyone if this shipment had a Mouse packed
|
|
in as well. Most of her stuff made reasonable packing material anyway,
|
|
certainly as soft as that irritating hay was. She looked at her
|
|
rucksack, formerly a pouch that Brother Thibald had kept on his belt
|
|
when he traveled. It held now the few miscellaneous possessions that
|
|
Mouse had accumulated while living at Rockway House and -- most
|
|
importantly -- the clothing in which she intended to call upon the Duke
|
|
of Dargon.
|
|
So that was how she entered Dargon, sweltering in a barrel.
|
|
She'd gotten out of it, of course, when she needed to during the
|
|
trip. A hole in the barrel allowed for that, and Brother Muskrat had
|
|
worked a deal with the most trustworthy crewmember on the barge so that,
|
|
if things went wrong and she was found, it wouldn't be a complete
|
|
disaster. That was as much protection as Mouse would let Muskrat provide
|
|
her. That and a letter of introduction to the former Brother Terkan in
|
|
Dargon that he'd sent ahead.
|
|
Unfortunately, the reliable crewman hadn't been around when the
|
|
barge was unloaded into a warehouse in Dargon Town. Mouse found herself
|
|
looking out the hole in her barrel at a wall that was flush up against
|
|
her only exit.
|
|
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
|
|
Pudlong and the Beanstock
|
|
Part I
|
|
by Jim Owens
|
|
<gym@ncweb.com>
|
|
Late Spring, 1016
|
|
|
|
Pudlong knew the smell of the earth. He knew the smell of warm,
|
|
freshly turned soil, ready for planting. He knew the smell of hot, arid
|
|
dirt, aching for a rain that was too long in coming. He knew the faint
|
|
odor of beans ripe and ready to pick. He also knew the smell of dead,
|
|
wet plants, sodden with the rains of autumn and laced with decay. But
|
|
the smell he was smelling was as strange as the sight which lay before
|
|
his eyes.
|
|
"'Ere, Thully, whadya maka this?" He called out to his wife, who
|
|
was a few yards away, pulling weeds from between some bean plants. She
|
|
straightened, her long brown hair framing her sturdy face. She stepped
|
|
over the rows of plants as she made her way to Pudlong's side. She
|
|
stared down at the sight which had given her husband pause.
|
|
"Oooo, don't rightly know, luv." She stooped and plucked a finger
|
|
full of leaves off a nearby plant and held them up to her face. Thully
|
|
studied them carefully. Instead of the usual dark green, these specimens
|
|
were pink. Others around her were blue and orange and yellow, and not
|
|
just the usual yellow, but a bright, almost glowing yellow. She shook
|
|
her head, her loose tresses swaying gently. "You'd thank they'd up and
|
|
gone flowers on us." She held them to her nose and sniffed the faintly
|
|
perfumed aroma they emitted.
|
|
Pudlong put his hands on his hips and shook his head slowly. He was
|
|
not a man of great intellect or quick wit. As a peasant farmer he didn't
|
|
need to be. His master told him when to plant, and when to harvest, when
|
|
to weed and when to pray. His was a life of work and toil, not study or
|
|
adventure. As long as he stayed in tune with the cycle of the seasons,
|
|
Pudlong was likely to do well, under his master's steady hand. Strange
|
|
events like pink bean sprouts just didn't fit into his small world.
|
|
But ever since the strange happenings from that wizard started,
|
|
Pudlong's nice predictable life had taken a slight twist. It had started
|
|
with knights and adventurers appearing in his beanfield: lured to a
|
|
nearby cave by the legend of hidden gold, they were whisked away by
|
|
sorcery to appear in Pudlong's plot of land. After that the visions
|
|
began: strange images, sounds and smells floating above the ground.
|
|
Finally there appeared strange lights and mists, in the early evening
|
|
and in the morning. Always they happened in this particular bean patch.
|
|
Pudlong had wanted to move, but his lord insisted that he stay put. Now
|
|
there were pink bean plants growing in his field.
|
|
The two peasants continued their labor, moving carefully around the
|
|
rainbow- colored shoots, almost afraid to touch them. By the time of the
|
|
evening prayers, both Pudlong and Thully had put thoughts of strangely
|
|
colored plants out of their heads, concentrating instead on words of
|
|
praise for Stevene and words of thanks for their food. By the time they
|
|
fell asleep they were too tired to notice the wisps of light dancing
|
|
over the distant bean patch.
|
|
The next day Pudlong went alone to gather up the strange bean
|
|
plants. He carefully plucked up all the pink ones, then all the blue
|
|
ones, then the orange, then the yellow, all the while being careful not
|
|
to mix the colors. There weren't that many -- each color only filled one
|
|
sack apiece. When he was done, he set the sacks together in the center
|
|
of the disturbed area. He studied them a while, then walked back to the
|
|
hut. He returned with a shovel, dug a hole, poured the uprooted plants
|
|
in it, and covered it up.
|
|
Sunset found the couple busily mending their sacks in the twilight.
|
|
A simple lard lamp shed its light on their work. Pudlong found himself
|
|
casting furtive glances at Thully as she wove the plats through the torn
|
|
matting. He was fascinated by the play of light and dark across her
|
|
face. He had always admired her hair, ever since they had met the week
|
|
of their wedding. Years of work and wear had wrinkled her cheeks, but
|
|
her hair was still long and smooth. He touched it, and received a
|
|
playful slap. She smirked, but did not look up. He poked her lightly in
|
|
the ribs, and she squeaked.
|
|
"Behave," she admonished, but he poked her again. Another slap
|
|
followed. Pudlong let her be for a moment, then tickled her leg,
|
|
snatching his hand away so that her slap landed on her own thigh.
|
|
"Now what's the matter of slappin' yourself?" he asked innocently.
|
|
She reached out an arm to retaliate, but he was already sitting on the
|
|
next stool over, where she couldn't reach. She moved to his stool, arm
|
|
out and ready to strike, and he slipped around the tiny table to her
|
|
vacated spot, staying out of reach. She jumped to her feet to pursue,
|
|
and in moments the game of tag became a friendly wrestling match that
|
|
lingered into the night. The moon was already up by the time Pudlong
|
|
lifted his snoring wife off the floor and laid her in their bed. He
|
|
stared a moment out the window at the moon, the swaying branches
|
|
silhouetted against its pale face, then lay down beside his mate and
|
|
closed his eyes. As he faded into sleep, he wondered how branches could
|
|
sway, as there was no wind. No matter, he told himself foggily, there
|
|
are no trees near the hut anyway.
|
|
The dawn found Pudlong and Thully out weeding the beans again.
|
|
Theirs was a world of quiet leaves and moist soil, as each worked face
|
|
down, never seeing further than the next plant. As the day slowly
|
|
lightened, they were working just east of the spot where Pudlong had
|
|
buried the beans the night before. Now Pudlong stopped a moment to stand
|
|
and stretch, facing the sun as it brightened the horizon. Thully rolled
|
|
back on her rump, yawning. She stopped then, and stared for a moment at
|
|
something behind Pudlong. She rubbed her eyes, and stared again. She
|
|
then slowly got to her feet, her eyes fixed. Pudlong saw this strange
|
|
behavior, and turned around. Thully began to back away, then broke and
|
|
ran for the hut, frightened noises coming from her mouth, while Pudlong
|
|
just stared at the pillar of green that now stood where the beans had
|
|
been interred the night before. Finally, without a word, he just fell
|
|
flat on his back and lay still.
|
|
|
|
Several weeks later, Levy and Sarah Barel were immersed in an
|
|
intense discussion.
|
|
"No, we are not going. Do you know how hard a trip like that would
|
|
be? You say we can take the children along, fine. Do you know what
|
|
dangers are out there? Sure, you traveled some before we were married.
|
|
But that was before the war. There are murderers loose out there! Packs
|
|
of bandits who will kill for food! Not to mention disease, wild animals,
|
|
have you ever had to face a wild animal with nothing but a sword? I
|
|
have, and it wasn't fun, I tell you. And the kids! It's trouble enough
|
|
to take them to the commons anymore, and you want to take them to the
|
|
other end of the world!? No, we are not going south to see this magic
|
|
bean plant."
|
|
"But Levy," Sarah countered, "you promised."
|
|
Levy sighed. He stared across the river from the bank where he and
|
|
Sarah lay, watching the children splash and swim. His mind was not quite
|
|
there, however. He was remembering making that promise to Sarah, that
|
|
night in the great hall. They had been arguing, and to placate his wife
|
|
he had promised her that he would travel less, and that when he did
|
|
travel, the whole family would go. Now his words were returning to him,
|
|
and they sounded less pleasant now.
|
|
"I agree that it would be a good thing for the children to get out
|
|
and see some of the world, but let's wait for something useful to go
|
|
for. We don't know anything about this fabled beanstalk from the south.
|
|
For all we know it could be a tall tale."
|
|
"Very tall, from what I hear," Sarah replied, a slight smile on her
|
|
face. Levy was fortunate that she was good natured. Some women would
|
|
have picked him threadbare until he consented. She was merely
|
|
persistent.
|
|
"And what of the farm? Who would tend it while we were gone?" Levy
|
|
was grasping now. His best arguments had been easily turned aside by his
|
|
mate, and he was beginning to see the inevitable conclusion to this
|
|
discussion closing in on him.
|
|
"The same people who tended it when you were away for months and
|
|
even years as a young man. Why should now be any different?"
|
|
"Why now? Only a wife, four children, one not even walking yet, the
|
|
responsibilities of the adult son of the village elder, scores of
|
|
possible business transactions put on hold indefinitely, and a crop to
|
|
tend." These were only thoughts in his head, though. All Levy said was,
|
|
"Why should it?"
|
|
Sarah got up from the spot where they and the other villagers were
|
|
sunning themselves on the warm grass. The first nice weather of the new
|
|
year had drawn the whole village to river for the spring washing. It was
|
|
as if the immediacies of life had been eased for a brief moment, and
|
|
everyone wanted to grasp the chance to relax a moment before the hard
|
|
labor of the summer descended. Levy's family was no exception. Sarah
|
|
brushed the dirt and leaves off her behind as she walked down into the
|
|
water to join her children in their fun.
|
|
Levy watched them as wordless thoughts milled about in his mind.
|
|
Remembrances of the dangers and hardships of his youthful travels
|
|
competed with the fond memories of the wonders and opportunities those
|
|
same travels had presented. He took a moment to check Taffy, who lay
|
|
sprawled beside him, her legs and arms splayed out like a sleeping
|
|
puppy. He levered himself up on his elbows. He would have liked to have
|
|
gone down into the water as well, but someone had to stay and watch the
|
|
baby. As a father, husband, and leader in the village, his own desires
|
|
were not his first consideration.
|
|
"Hello, Levy." Levy looked up from his thoughts to see Lara
|
|
approaching, stepping between chatting peasants and napping youngsters,
|
|
carrying a basket of clothes on her head.
|
|
"Hello, Lara. How are you today?"
|
|
"Well. If you want, I can watch Taffy for you while you go swim.
|
|
I'm just here to do the wash -- it can wait, and she'll be no trouble."
|
|
"No, that's all right. I can manage. Thanks anyway."
|
|
She nodded and continued down to the waters edge, where she and
|
|
Sarah spoke for a moment. The two headed upstream to join the other
|
|
women where the water was not yet muddied. They waded out to center of
|
|
the shallow flow, where an outcropping of rock allowed them to rest the
|
|
bundle of clothes while they worked. While Lara added her own dingy
|
|
dress to the pile, Sarah began to wash the clothes, dipping each item in
|
|
the clear water, then wringing it and pounding it with a smooth stone.
|
|
Watching the two, Levy smiled. Even after four children Sarah was
|
|
still the most beautiful woman in the village. There were no lines on
|
|
her face, her dark hair held no grey at all, and her breasts and hips
|
|
were wide and firm. Listening to her sing to the children at night eased
|
|
the furrows from his brow, and all living things thrived under her
|
|
gentle care, especially the kids.
|
|
Levy shook his head, turning his attention to his offspring as they
|
|
cavorted with the other village children in the still-cold water. It
|
|
amazed him to think that he had ever been that young. Still, children
|
|
didn't stay young forever. Already Eli was strong enough to guide the
|
|
oxen in plowing, and too soon his voice would break and he would become
|
|
an adult. Eleya, who was currently engaging in a mudfight with Lara's
|
|
boy and girl, was not far behind her older brother, and even Jen, who
|
|
was chasing crayfish in the shallows, was a help in the vegetable
|
|
garden. It seemed like only a bell ago that it had been Jen who was the
|
|
baby wrapped in swaddle, and Eli who was so fond of crawling things.
|
|
And maybe, just maybe, it hadn't been so long ago that he himself
|
|
had been a young, single man, roaming the countryside at will,
|
|
discovering new and amazing vistas around each turn in the road. It
|
|
seemed like ages ago since he had learned a new language, or visited a
|
|
new city, or even seen the towers of Magnus, that huge, sophisticated
|
|
city that was the jewel of the King's royal crown.
|
|
Suddenly Levy felt rusty, creaky, not quite old, but more stiff
|
|
than anything else. The war *was* over, and from what Levy had heard,
|
|
this beanstalk was more than just a myth. A happening like this would
|
|
not come again for a long time. Perhaps it *was* time to venture out
|
|
again, to seek his fortune in the world, with his wife at his side and
|
|
his son and daughters with him. He tried to picture this, but each time
|
|
he did, all he could see was himself walking for miles in the sun, one
|
|
exhausted child in his left arm and another hanging on the right. He
|
|
sighed, and turned to cover Taffy up, so she wouldn't get too much sun.
|
|
"Daddy, look what I caught!!"
|
|
He turned to see Jen standing there, every part of her completely
|
|
coated in shiny, grey mud, holding up a squirming crayfish for his
|
|
approval. She looked for all the world like a tiny knight, clad in wet
|
|
armor. He almost chuckled. "Very nice, Jen. Are there any others?"
|
|
Without a word she turned and ran back down into the river,
|
|
shrieking with joy as the water sprayed up around her. He nodded.
|
|
Perhaps it was his turn, as it had been his father's turn before him, to
|
|
give his children the world.
|
|
|
|
The air wasn't quite as cold for the novice as the water had been
|
|
for the Barel children, but nonetheless the hair on his bare skin stood
|
|
on end as he carried the scroll carefully to his master's chamber. It
|
|
was more fear than chill that inspired this, however. It was
|
|
uncomfortable to walk into the master's chamber, naked and unprotected,
|
|
but even a full suit of mail would have been little protection from that
|
|
man's baleful glare. The novice shuddered as he pushed open the thick
|
|
door and stepped inside. The air was warmer there, thick with exotic
|
|
odors and rank with age. It was not a friendly warmth, however, and the
|
|
novice shivered yet again.
|
|
"Finally!" The master emerged from behind a screen to snatch the
|
|
scroll from the young man's hands. "You're sure it's the right one?" He
|
|
unrolled it without waiting for the reply, his cold grey eyes devouring
|
|
the script.
|
|
"It has the words you told me to look for, master," the novice
|
|
replied, his arms wrapped around his thin chest. "May I go back to bed
|
|
now, or at least dress and eat?"
|
|
"Dress and eat, yes, but come right back when you're through -- I
|
|
may yet need you for something."
|
|
The novice nodded and hurried out the door and down the long hall
|
|
back toward the his chambers. As his bare feet slapped the stone floor
|
|
he pondered. What insanity had prompted the master to pull him from his
|
|
warm blankets and thrust him off onto this crazy search with only a few
|
|
words to guide him? As he padded along, the novice held the wax tablet
|
|
before his face, re-reading the words scratched in its surface. What
|
|
exactly was a "legume"? And why was the master so interested in the
|
|
legends of the South? He shook his head in disgust. It was too early for
|
|
such foolishness.
|
|
It was later than he thought, however. The other novices were
|
|
already getting ready for the ritual morning washings. Food and clothing
|
|
was out of the question. He paused a moment. Should he help them prepare
|
|
as usual, or return to the master's chamber? The decision took only a
|
|
moment. He proceeded to help the other novices, filling the water pots
|
|
from the well and heating them for the master's baths. As he worked he
|
|
mulled over what the master had said. With the words jangling around in
|
|
his head, he paused a moment by the fire to get warm
|
|
Ignoring the movements and voices of the other young men and women
|
|
of the novice corp, the novice rubbed his hands over his goose-fleshed
|
|
arms and legs, wishing he go outside into the warm sun, instead of going
|
|
to stand on the cold stone of the master chamber and shiver with the
|
|
novices while a bunch of old men and women chanted and splashed water
|
|
around. He often wondered what he had done to be cursed with such a
|
|
miserable existence. Still, things could be worse. He could be one of
|
|
the latrine-diggers. Finally the water was hot, and he joined the other
|
|
novices as they dragged the heavy pots to the master chamber.
|
|
|
|
A month after its sudden appearance, Pudlong and Thully were still
|
|
getting used to the idea of the beanstalk. After the local teacher of
|
|
Stevene had come and looked the thing over, they were able to be
|
|
convinced to return to their fields, but they continued to glance up at
|
|
it with worried looks for several days afterward. Pudlong had wanted to
|
|
chop it down, but the lord had refused. He liked having something
|
|
strange and unusual in his back yard -- it provided some excitement.
|
|
One day, while Pudlong and Thully were working their field, a
|
|
strange man rode up to their cottage. He was about forty, with grey in
|
|
his beard, but he still looked strong. He wasn't bent, so that meant he
|
|
was noble, or at least freeborn. He carried a sword, but no mail, and
|
|
his horse had fine livery, but no recognizable ducal crest. As the
|
|
couple watched, the man rode his horse over the bean plants to the base
|
|
of the stalk. He dismounted, and stared for long mene up into the
|
|
foliage high above. Without a word he started climbing.
|
|
Higher and higher he climbed, until Pudlong and Thully lost sight
|
|
of him among the huge leaves. They finally stopped looking and returned
|
|
to their beans. They continued weeding, passing by the massive plant
|
|
once or twice as they made their way up and back the long furrows. After
|
|
about four bells they both cast startled eyes upward. Had that been
|
|
thunder? There were no clouds in the sky. The sonorous boom rolled out
|
|
across the land again. Pudlong thought it had sounded more like a loud,
|
|
deep voice than any thunder he had ever heard. When it didn't happen
|
|
again, they shrugged and returned to weeding, but it wasn't more than a
|
|
mene later that they heard another sound -- a scream. They again looked
|
|
up, and watched in shock as a tiny figure fell into view, tumbling and
|
|
howling. His cacophony ended suddenly as he hit the ground about a
|
|
furlong away. Thully covered her eyes for a moment, then they looked at
|
|
each other, at a loss for words.
|
|
Finally Pudlong spoke. "D'ya rekkin' that would be D'yarn's field
|
|
over there?" He indicated the impact point.
|
|
"Looks like," hazarded Thully, still not willing to look.
|
|
They stood in silence a moment more.
|
|
"The Lord hadn't told us we could go out there, 'ad 'e?" Pudlong
|
|
asked.
|
|
"No, I rekkin' not," Thully replied, staring through her fingers at
|
|
Pudlong with one wide eye.
|
|
They stood in silence again.
|
|
"Then I rekkin' it must be up to D'yarn then."
|
|
There was another long pause.
|
|
"Rekkin' so," Thully answered. They stared at each other for a
|
|
moment, looked over at the poor soul's resting place, then returned to
|
|
weeding.
|
|
|
|
"Can you show me again how you do that?"
|
|
Eli trotted along beside Levy and Bren as they walked down the road
|
|
together. Behind them came the oxcart that carried Sarah and the girls,
|
|
and ahead of them were several other carts: a caravan from the last
|
|
village they visited. They had banded together for protection, as was
|
|
customary, and were headed for the next town. The Barel's cart was the
|
|
last in line. Bren now looked down at the boy. Levy thought he heard
|
|
Bren sigh.
|
|
"You hold it here, and here," he replied, bending down to show the
|
|
child, "and then just do it like this."
|
|
Eli did as he was shown, putting the blade of grass to his lips and
|
|
blowing. A tentative buzz came forth, stuttering.
|
|
"Okay," he replied in thanks, then ran back and climbed back on the
|
|
cart.
|
|
"You realize he'll be back at least ten more times," Levy
|
|
commented.
|
|
"I'm never, never having children," muttered Bren.
|
|
"How do you know you don't already?" Levy asked. Bren said nothing.
|
|
Bren had been hired by Levy to be their bodyguard as they traveled
|
|
to see this strange occurrence in the South. Levy often found himself
|
|
watching the young man out of the corner of his eye. Levy knew nothing
|
|
about him, save that Bartol, Lord Dargon's bard and confident, had
|
|
recommended him. Still, Levy was impressed by the stranger's learning.
|
|
They were currently engaged in a discussion of religion.
|
|
Bren shook his head in disgust. "I can't believe that you of all
|
|
people are a Stevenic."
|
|
Levy's eyes widened. "Why is that?"
|
|
"I mean, you have traveled so much, and you are such a learned man.
|
|
Why do you bother with such a foolish old superstition?"
|
|
"What gods do you subscribe to, Bren?"
|
|
"I have no need of a god to guide me," Bren replied. "I set my own
|
|
course. I control my destiny."
|
|
Levy smiled as he looked at the young man. "That you do, Bren. That
|
|
you do. But surely you must admit that there are things larger than
|
|
yourself, that men cannot hope to fully understand?"
|
|
"All things large are merely made up of things small," Bren
|
|
replied. "Even as a city is merely a collection of individual persons,
|
|
so the world is merely a collection of individual pieces." He stooped a
|
|
searched for a moment in the gravel by the side of the road. Levy stood
|
|
there and waited, watching the cart as it caught up to and passed them.
|
|
Sarah looked up from the game she was playing with Jen, a question on
|
|
her face. Levy shrugged and turned back to Bren. After a moment Bren
|
|
straightened, a rock in his hands. "Look at this rock," he said. Levy
|
|
did. It was an aggregate, a stone made up of smaller stones cemented
|
|
together. "This looks like one rock at first. Then you see it is really
|
|
only small rocks held together. And if you were to look closely at all
|
|
these rocks," he waved a hand at the gravel, "you would see that they
|
|
are all just made up of smaller pieces."
|
|
"Quite so," Levy agreed. "but does that mean there is not something
|
|
larger that has put all the small pieces together into the whole?"
|
|
Bren tossed the stone away. "Perhaps not, but I see no reason to
|
|
change my life just to flatter some large, unknown and unknowable
|
|
something."
|
|
"Levy," Sarah called from ahead. Levy trotted up to see what she
|
|
needed. She pointed up ahead. There the road forked, and some carts were
|
|
taking one fork, and others taking the other.
|
|
"Which way do we go?" she asked.
|
|
"We'll wait to see where the largest number of carts go, then
|
|
follow them." In unknown lands, Levy had learned long ago that there was
|
|
safety in numbers.
|
|
Sarah nodded, watching ahead. Levy did as well, walking alongside.
|
|
The majority of carts chose an easterly path, and so did the
|
|
Barels. It wasn't long after that they entered a village. Levy
|
|
immediately presented himself at the blacksmith shop, to see if there
|
|
was an opportunity to work for some quick wages. Failing at that, he
|
|
joined Sarah in the market as she bought some food for the journey. They
|
|
began asking the usual questions, listening carefully to the strangely
|
|
accented replies. Yes, the villagers had heard of the strange beanstalk
|
|
in the South. No, they didn't know where it was at. No, they had no lord
|
|
here, this was a free town. No, they had no gold or silversmith in the
|
|
area, perhaps further north near Magnus. Yes, there was an inn, it was
|
|
right over there.
|
|
Levy and Sarah thanked the villagers. They had followed the same
|
|
pattern in each town they encountered. They did not want to be thought
|
|
of as wealthy, so they sought work in each town, taking any small jobs
|
|
they could. Only when no work was available would they then find a
|
|
wealthy family or merchant and secretly sell them some of Sarah's gold-
|
|
and silver-work. They worked as quietly as they could, to avoid
|
|
spreading the word that a silver-smith was peddling wares on the road.
|
|
Even one loose tongue could easily bring unwanted attention to the
|
|
family.
|
|
Bren was much more open. Levy had paid half his wages in advance,
|
|
so Bren had coin to spend, which he did freely. Of course, he was a
|
|
strong young man in the prime of life, well armed and not traveling
|
|
alone. He feared little, and was learning much. Each meal at each inn
|
|
became a language lesson, or a history lesson, or a geography lesson.
|
|
Each time he stopped he would immediately seek out the local inn, and
|
|
the local innkeeper's daughter (of which there were sometimes multiple
|
|
examples), and promptly impress her with his learning and sophistication
|
|
(or sometimes his charm and naivete, depending on the woman). And all
|
|
the time he was writing, taking notes. Several years before he would
|
|
have scorned such a frivolity -- now it was his hobby, and useful for
|
|
loosening tongues.
|
|
The group had been traveling for well over a month now. The boat
|
|
ride to Magnus had been followed by travel using the cart they had
|
|
purchased in the royal city. The tales of the beanstalk had always drawn
|
|
them south-east, and were now beginning to take on more realistic
|
|
detail. Levy even had a name now -- Pudlong. The image it conjured in
|
|
his mind was a hilarious one, but it was slowly taking on a more human
|
|
aspect as he weeded the legend from the truth. Levy felt that he was
|
|
closing in on the target of his journey.
|
|
|
|
At the same time Levy and Sarah were working to procure food for
|
|
their family, two others were also making the journey south. These two
|
|
rode horses, however, and were making much better time than Levy. Of
|
|
course, since they started later, this meant that they were not even to
|
|
Magnus yet.
|
|
The novice cursed his luck for perhaps the twentieth time that day.
|
|
His saddle sores were not healing, and the master refused to give him
|
|
any help creating a balm to ease them. His own feeble concoctions
|
|
smelled bad, and did little. Further, the stupid animal he had drawn
|
|
from the royal stables at their last stop refused to gallop for more
|
|
than a mene at a time before slowing for grass, requiring the novice to
|
|
spur it again or fall behind.
|
|
Still, it was better than being cooped up in the sanctuary. The sun
|
|
was warm, and the air fresh and mostly unscented. The tedium of morning
|
|
washings, afternoon lessons, and evening chores was replaced by simple
|
|
riding. Even the master was less odious, even though he refused to do
|
|
any cooking or gathering, instead spending his free, non-riding time
|
|
staring at the stars at night and reading parchments by day. Each time
|
|
they passed through a town the master immediately sequestered himself
|
|
with the innkeeper, leaving the novice to fetch food and tend the
|
|
horses. But the evenings were free, and the novice wisely spent them
|
|
doing absolutely nothing.
|
|
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
|
|
A Turn of Faith
|
|
by Mark A. Murray
|
|
<mmurray@weir.net>
|
|
Magnus; Naia, 1015
|
|
|
|
The sun shone brightly upon me as I walked the streets of Magnus.
|
|
The warm light filled my body and drove out the chill of spring. I
|
|
enjoyed the beautiful morning on my way to the guardhouse, and it was as
|
|
if Cephas Stevene was walking with me, giving me warmth of conviction.
|
|
I took it upon myself to visit some of the prisoners and try to
|
|
bring them into the light of the Stevene. The people who came into the
|
|
Stevenic temple did so of their own free will and needed little to guide
|
|
them along the path of the Stevene. They wanted to walk in the Stevene's
|
|
Light, but prisoners were different. They neither walked in Stevene's
|
|
Light nor wanted to. Bringing them to God looked to be a difficult task,
|
|
and I wanted more than supplicating devout followers.
|
|
Not knowing where to start, I chose those prisoners who were
|
|
sentenced to death. I thought that their souls needed comfort the most.
|
|
It was these prisoners that would also be the most difficult to bring to
|
|
Stevene's Light. But in that aspect, I was wrong. Of the three prisoners
|
|
I met, all seemed willing to embrace the Stevene. It was as if at the
|
|
end of their life, they realized that they needed God's loving embrace.
|
|
While my visits weren't officially approved by the church (as my
|
|
duties did not include them), they weren't disapproved either. As I
|
|
approached the guardhouse to visit my fourth prisoner, two guards
|
|
stopped me.
|
|
"Another visit?" the first guard asked. "This is the fourth one.
|
|
What is it you seek to find, priest?"
|
|
"You have a new prisoner?" I asked the second guard, not wanting to
|
|
answer his inquiry. "Cephas forgive me," I prayed silently, "for I know
|
|
that this guard needs your wisdom, too, but I have only time enough for
|
|
the prisoner today." My work at the temple demanded most of my time.
|
|
"We have three new ones," the second guard answered.
|
|
"And all three are to be hanged?"
|
|
"Well, no ..."
|
|
"I am here to help those whose life is near an end," I said. "The
|
|
others can call for aid when they have atoned for their crimes. You have
|
|
a new prisoner, and I wish to speak with him." As the guard turned to
|
|
open the door, I hoped that my speech wouldn't find its way back to my
|
|
superiors. That all were deserving of salvation was a tenet of Cephas,
|
|
but I did not have the time to save them all.
|
|
"This is getting too routine for my liking," the first guard said.
|
|
"But, yes, we do have a new prisoner who is to be hanged tomorrow. Come
|
|
on, and I'll show you where he is."
|
|
"Thank you," I replied following the guard. We went through the
|
|
door to the guardhouse and left the shining sun behind us. There were
|
|
enough windows to keep the room brightly lit, but the sun could not be
|
|
seen. I still felt the warmth of the sun coursing through me, though,
|
|
and silently praised Cephas for that warmth.
|
|
Going through that room, we went into a back room where the light
|
|
diminished more. Here, there were shadows throughout where the sun's
|
|
light could not reach. Crossing this room, the guard unbolted a door. I
|
|
looked down those dark stairs, and the scent of mold and darkness wafted
|
|
up from below. A cold chill ran down my spine and my body shook
|
|
involuntarily.
|
|
"It looks so dark down there, today," I thought. "Cephas be with
|
|
me," I muttered aloud as I tried to wrap myself in His warmth.
|
|
"What was that?" the guard asked.
|
|
"I said it feels so cold in here today," I replied, ashamed that I
|
|
had not told him the truth. "Why does the cold seem to bother me so?" I
|
|
wondered. The chill of the basement seemed colder than before, and then
|
|
I realized that the sun had warmed my body so much that I felt the cold
|
|
more. "But why am I ashamed to say that I prayed to the Stevene for more
|
|
warmth? Is my faith so weak that the cold of a common room can dispel
|
|
it?" I had no more time for thoughts as the guard descended the stairs.
|
|
With the sun blocked by stone and only torches to show the way, I
|
|
walked down into the cellars. The daylight slowly eroded away to be
|
|
replaced by the damp, cold earth. Torches were set in the walls to light
|
|
the cellar, but there were not enough of them to see into all the cells.
|
|
My warmth was holding against the cold, stone walls, but I could feel
|
|
the dampness attacking me. It chiseled away at my outer fringes and
|
|
searched for entry into my body and my soul.
|
|
"He's in here," the guard said, pointing to a cell. I stepped
|
|
closer to look through the bars and into the cell. My eyes weren't fully
|
|
accustomed to the dark, yet, but in the far corner away from much of the
|
|
light, I thought I saw movement.
|
|
"Move over here where we can see you," the guard ordered. There was
|
|
a swirl of movement as a man stepped into the reflected torchlight. He
|
|
was tall with long dark hair that hung in the front covering much of his
|
|
face and shoulders. He wore a ragged shirt and torn pants, but no shoes.
|
|
His head hung down, and he walked forward as if each step pained him.
|
|
His body was bent over somewhat as if some large weight were pushing
|
|
down upon his shoulders. From his movements, I guessed that he was an
|
|
older man.
|
|
"This is brother Tyree, a priest of Stevene, and he's here to talk
|
|
with you," the guard told him before turning back to me. "Knock on the
|
|
door at the top of the stairs when you want out," he said and then left.
|
|
I did not watch the guard leave, as my attention was on the prisoner.
|
|
"Do you know who the Stevene was?" I asked as an introduction. When
|
|
there was no response, I continued, "Cephas Stevene was a man who
|
|
believed in the inherent goodness of all men. He considered all men as
|
|
his brothers and loved --" I was interrupted with a snort of derision
|
|
from the prisoner.
|
|
"Is something wrong?" I asked. The man's head was tilted down and
|
|
his face was still hidden.
|
|
"What do you know of love?" the prisoner asked in a dry, hoarse
|
|
voice, head still hung down.
|
|
"I know that --"
|
|
"You know nothing, priest!" the prisoner spat as his head came up.
|
|
"Don't talk about love!"
|
|
"What has happened that you do not believe in love?" I asked softly
|
|
as I saw the prisoner was a young man, not an older adult as he seemed
|
|
earlier.
|
|
"It's not me who doesn't believe, priest," he replied. He moved
|
|
forward to clench the bars. "Not me," he repeated staring into my eyes.
|
|
"Forgive me for being presumptuous. I see now that there is someone
|
|
in your life that you love," I told him, not looking away from his
|
|
stare.
|
|
"Yes, I loved someone once."
|
|
"Loved?"
|
|
"She's dead. Murdered," the prisoner sighed and stepped back.
|
|
Glancing at me, he said, "No, that isn't why I am here. I would never
|
|
harm her, but she is part of the reason that I'm here. It's a sad story,
|
|
priest. If you will listen, I'll tell it. If I don't tell it today, then
|
|
it will die with me, and no one will know the truth."
|
|
"I will listen, just let me get a stool so I may sit." I turned and
|
|
grabbed a stool. As I sat on the stool, it wobbled. Not wanting to fall
|
|
off, I was forced to move the stool until it was firm beneath me.
|
|
Looking up at the prisoner, I saw that he hadn't moved. Before I could
|
|
spur him on, he began speaking.
|
|
"I'm a farmer's son. If things were different, I would be a farmer
|
|
right now. A farmer in a very small village south of here.
|
|
"I met Tess --"
|
|
|
|
"Tess?" I interrupted.
|
|
"The woman I loved. Her name was Te'senth, but I called her Tess. I
|
|
met her one day while I was hunting in the forest near our village. I
|
|
got as close to a deer as I could and was just about to shoot it with an
|
|
arrow. I pulled the bowstring back to my cheek ...
|
|
|
|
The string touched my cheek as I aimed the arrow at the deer.
|
|
Concentrating on the deer, I didn't notice, or hear, the figure step
|
|
beside me.
|
|
"You'll miss," came a soft voice in my ear. I jumped in surprise,
|
|
let the string go, and watched as the arrow flew up into the air.
|
|
"What --" I screamed turning to the figure. My words were stuck in
|
|
my throat as I caught sight of the woman beside me. She was tall,
|
|
somewhat skinny, and beautiful with long black hair hanging down in
|
|
waves around her head to below her shoulders. Her eyes were dark and
|
|
glinted with mischief.
|
|
"Told you. I'm never wrong, you know," she said and her voice had a
|
|
melodic quality about it. She stepped back, smiled, and looked into my
|
|
eyes. I tried to say something, but couldn't find any words. When I did,
|
|
it was one syllable questions.
|
|
"Who?" I stammered.
|
|
"Now, if I told you that, what fun would it be?" she said impishly.
|
|
"Huh?"
|
|
"A conversation works better when both people are participating
|
|
fully."
|
|
I stared at her, not knowing what to say.
|
|
"If I go away and come back giving you plenty of warning, do you
|
|
think you'll be able to say something intelligent? Or are you always
|
|
this way?" she asked. I didn't know who this woman was, but there she
|
|
was, standing in front of me making fun of me. When I regained some
|
|
composure, I was mad.
|
|
"That was my supper you let get away!"
|
|
"Is food all that you can think of?"
|
|
"Is ... ah ..." I stuttered. She was getting the better of me and I
|
|
hadn't a clue as to who she was. "No, it isn't, but strangling unknown
|
|
women who sneak up on me does cross my mind at times."
|
|
"I'm Te'senth. So you can just put that thought out of your mind,
|
|
now," she said giggling. The sun shone through the trees and onto her as
|
|
she laughed. Like I said, she was tall and skinny, but not so that you'd
|
|
think that she was frail. When she moved, she had smooth graceful
|
|
movements. I watched her stand there laughing while the sun highlighted
|
|
her figure. It was then that my anger left, and I stared at her.
|
|
Thinking about how I must have looked when she spooked me, I
|
|
couldn't help but laugh. "I wonder where my arrow went?" I asked.
|
|
"As high as you jumped, it's probably in the tree tops," she
|
|
replied, and we laughed together.
|
|
"You looked so concentrated, I couldn't help myself," she told me.
|
|
"I do hope that you won't go hungry tonight. If so, I will pick some
|
|
plants for you to eat."
|
|
"No, we have enough food, but fresh meat was too tempting today.
|
|
Where did you come from?"
|
|
"My village is that way," she said pointing.
|
|
"No, I meant when you startled me. Was I that concentrated?"
|
|
"Yes, that's why I couldn't resist. You walked right by me and
|
|
didn't even notice me."
|
|
"I couldn't have done that. I would have noticed someone as
|
|
beautiful as you."
|
|
"Do you really think I'm beautiful?" she asked, a smile returning
|
|
to her face.
|
|
"Yes," I told her.
|
|
"No one has ever told me that I'm beautiful. I don't even know your
|
|
name."
|
|
"Huh? Oh, my name is Mal," I said.
|
|
"I have to go, now," she said.
|
|
"What? Why?"
|
|
"There you go again with those one word sentences. I have to get
|
|
back to my village. I shouldn't have stayed away this long. I will meet
|
|
you here again, if you wish."
|
|
"Meet me here? Again?" I asked full of hope.
|
|
"Yes, if you promise to practice speaking in full sentences," she
|
|
replied smiling. "In three days, I will meet you here."
|
|
"Three days it is," I told her.
|
|
"The morning of the third day," she said as she ran away from me
|
|
into the forest. "I'll give you fair warning, next time," she yelled as
|
|
she disappeared from sight. She was quick and nimble as she ran through
|
|
the forest. It was as if the forest was her home, and she was running
|
|
from room to room. I should have guessed what village she was from then,
|
|
but my head was fuzzy from her presence. It wasn't until later that I
|
|
learned who she was, and she never stopped amazing me. Never. Each time
|
|
that we met and every time that we were together, she showed me
|
|
something new -- something that I never knew existed.
|
|
|
|
"What were the things that she showed you?" I asked curiously.
|
|
"Ah, priest, the most amazing thing she showed me was her love for
|
|
*me*. It filled my soul and warmed my being even on the coldest nights.
|
|
Have you known a love like that, priest?"
|
|
I was about to answer, but the warmth that had filled my body
|
|
seemed to have mostly disappeared; replaced with a cold, damp chill that
|
|
flourished in the cellar. The chill had crept into me as I had sat
|
|
listening, and I hadn't noticed it until now. "Why is my warmth not
|
|
holding fast?" I thought. I wondered if my love for Cephas Stevene and
|
|
his teachings could be that weak?
|
|
"And did you meet her again?" I asked wanting to change the
|
|
subject.
|
|
"Yes, I did. But before that ...
|
|
|
|
I walked home in a daze. A wonderful daze, but a daze nonetheless.
|
|
I told my family about her when I got home. It was hard not to when my
|
|
mother noticed a difference in my attitude. She questioned me until the
|
|
truth came out.
|
|
It was a small village; word spread, and the teasing started. It
|
|
came from my brothers first, then from my friends, and finally from some
|
|
of the girls that were around my age. We had a small village, but it
|
|
didn't lack for children and young adults.
|
|
The most teasing that I got was from Nell. I didn't understand at
|
|
the time why she teased me so. Nell and I had grown up together. Where
|
|
one of us went, the other followed. I thought we had a great friendship,
|
|
and I couldn't understand why she had become so mean to me. Now, as I
|
|
look back at it, I think she loved me. But I didn't see that then
|
|
because I could only think about Tess.
|
|
I met Tess three days later, and then three days later, and three
|
|
days later again. I know it was like that, because I always wondered
|
|
about it. Three days between each visit and three visits -- something
|
|
seemed magical about it, but everything about Tess seemed that way. Each
|
|
time we met, she showed me something wonderful. The forest holds
|
|
enormous beauty if you know where to look, and she knew.
|
|
The first of the three visits happened on a foggy morning. I nearly
|
|
got myself lost getting to the same place, but I found it. She was there
|
|
waiting for me, and together we walked through the forest. I don't know
|
|
where we went, except that I followed her. When we stopped, it was atop
|
|
a hill in a what I guessed was a clearing.
|
|
"It's too foggy to see anything," I said impatiently.
|
|
"Shush and listen," she told me. I did, but couldn't hear anything
|
|
at first. When I did hear something, it began as a distant thump and got
|
|
louder quickly. The thumping changed to a whoosh as a large bird came
|
|
through the fog. It was an eagle and it flew right past our heads in a
|
|
slow, lazy way.
|
|
The fog had hid it until it was right upon us, and when it finally
|
|
came into view, it seemed unreal. Almost like it was an ancient monster
|
|
come to plague us. It seemed huge as it soared past us! And close! I
|
|
believe I could have reached out and touched it. But I didn't, and it
|
|
flew on by into the fog.
|
|
"There's two of them, here," Tess said. "They are mates and their
|
|
nest is close by. They fly here in the mornings looking for food."
|
|
"Amazing," I said as the eagle made a second pass by us, only a
|
|
little farther away. The fog was lifting slowly. "Not many people have
|
|
seen them, have they?"
|
|
"No, not many. But even fewer have seen what waits for us when the
|
|
fog lifts."
|
|
"What? You have already stolen my heart, are you going to blind me
|
|
with wonders as well?"
|
|
"Stolen your heart, have I? I thought I had what was freely given.
|
|
Do you mean to tell me that I am a lowly thief in the forest?"
|
|
"No, I ... um, what I meant is that I ... I love you."
|
|
"And I, you," she replied. "Now, be quiet. The fog is lifting and
|
|
we must be still." I stared at her while the fog lifted. I looked at
|
|
each line on her face, each twist of her hair, each breath she took
|
|
until she pointed in front of us. I moved my gaze slowly to look in the
|
|
direction she was pointing. At first, I saw nothing, but when a breeze
|
|
blew more of the fog away, I saw it. A large stag stood grazing in front
|
|
of us. It was larger than any stag that I had ever seen. I started to
|
|
count the pointed tines on its antlers, but kept losing the count.
|
|
"It is a Great One," she whispered. The stag lifted its head and
|
|
looked at us. Not just looked in our direction, but it was as if it was
|
|
looking us over -- judging us. I could see an intelligence in its eyes.
|
|
"He is beautiful," I whispered to Tess. The stag snorted as if it
|
|
heard me.
|
|
"Yes, he is, but he gets upset when you tell him," she replied and
|
|
the stag bounded away.
|
|
That was but the least of the wonders that she showed me. I will
|
|
not tell of the other two for they are special to me, and to her. It was
|
|
after the third morning that she started to visit me in my village.
|
|
|
|
"You kept meeting her? Even after the three times?" I asked
|
|
confused.
|
|
"Yes. Those three mornings were a test, I think. Her way of testing
|
|
me, or her village's way. I don't know. At that point, I would have done
|
|
anything for her." Mal said as he grabbed the bars of his cell.
|
|
"Anything." His hands squeezed the bars tighter and his eyes widened.
|
|
The torchlight reflected off of his face and there was a wild glint in
|
|
his eyes. He relaxed, let go of the bars, and turned around. "She was my
|
|
life," he said. "And I miss her."
|
|
"When she came to my village to see me, I knew that I wanted to be
|
|
with her the rest of my life. But when she came to the village ...
|
|
|
|
That was when the trouble really started. Nell hated having her in
|
|
the village with me. Rumors about Tess made their rounds -- 'Tess is a
|
|
forest spirit', 'She bewitches me', and 'She charms everyone into
|
|
thinking she is harmless' were a few. I knew that Nell had started them,
|
|
but there was nothing I could do to stop them. I tried, and the more I
|
|
tried, the more Nell became spiteful toward me.
|
|
I pulled her aside one day, and made sure we were alone. I
|
|
confronted Nell about the rumors, but she denied everything. I asked her
|
|
why she was doing this, and she stared at me. Had your Stevene been
|
|
there, priest, things might have turned out different. But he wasn't,
|
|
and he didn't care about our lives. He just didn't care.
|
|
Nell started to say something to me, and I saw a tear form in her
|
|
eye. I didn't know any better, priest, or I would have known from her
|
|
look that she loved me. But I didn't know, and I asked her why again.
|
|
She clamped her mouth shut and her tear ran down her cheek. She wiped it
|
|
away with a quick brush of her hand, and then yelled that she hated
|
|
Tess. That she'd say whatever she wanted to about Tess. I told her to
|
|
stop, and that if she didn't, then we would no longer be friends. She
|
|
turned red in rage and started to say something. Instead, she clamped
|
|
her mouth shut, turned, and ran away.
|
|
The rumors never seemed to bother Tess. She came to the village to
|
|
visit me and that is what she did. She seemed above all the petty lies,
|
|
and I loved her even more for it.
|
|
One day while we were walking in the woods, I gathered my courage
|
|
for a single question. The most important question of my life.
|
|
"Tess?" I began hesitantly.
|
|
"Yes, Mal," she replied and stopped walking. She turned to me and
|
|
said, "You have a question for me, don't you? An important one."
|
|
"Will you be my wife," I blurted out, knowing my courage would not
|
|
last.
|
|
"Do you love me, Mal?" she asked.
|
|
"Yes, I love you."
|
|
"I love you, too, Mal. And I knew that this day would come. Before
|
|
I give you my answer, I would like to show you my village, my home, and
|
|
my family. Will you come?"
|
|
"I would follow you anywhere," I promised her. She laughed, grabbed
|
|
my hand, and we walked deeper into the forest. It became darker as the
|
|
trees blocked the sun, and we walked even deeper into the forest. I had
|
|
never been in this part of it before, but the trees were old -- very
|
|
old. She stopped before an ancient oak.
|
|
"You must promise to never tell anyone what you will see beyond,"
|
|
she said.
|
|
"I promise," I replied. I would promise her anything that she
|
|
desired.
|
|
|
|
It was beyond that oak that I fully realized who she was. I should
|
|
have known before, but my love blinded me to it. I will not break the
|
|
promise that I made to her, but I will tell you this. She was an Eelail;
|
|
a Dopkalfar. If she had not been holding my hand, I would have run. It
|
|
was both beautiful and frightening, the sights beyond that ancient oak.
|
|
By the Stevene you hold holy, priest! It was like nothing I'd ever
|
|
seen before. She stood beside me throughout it all. And throughout it
|
|
all, my love for her grew stronger.
|
|
The end result of that encounter was that they would tolerate me.
|
|
Not because I was special, but because they respected Te'senth and her
|
|
wishes. We would be husband and wife by my laws, but not by theirs. No,
|
|
there was no changing their minds on that point.
|
|
Many things went on while I was there, but I did not understand
|
|
much of it. Tess translated what was needed when it was needed. I spoke
|
|
only when asked a question, and I think that may have earned me some
|
|
respect.
|
|
And Tess -- Tess was bright and lively and glowing. I watched her
|
|
as she spoke. Well, it was more like singing, to me, but she was
|
|
beautiful. And when we left, I looked at her in a new light. One filled
|
|
with wonder and awe.
|
|
|
|
"Are you saying that the legends are true?" I asked incredulously.
|
|
"There really are Eelail?"
|
|
"Yes!" Mal said turning around. "The legends are true. Most of
|
|
them, anyway. They were Dopkalfar, and if they exist, why can't the
|
|
Ljosalfar exist also?
|
|
I didn't see much of their village or how they lived, but I did see
|
|
them. They can almost pass as one of us. They are a bit taller, though;
|
|
a little skinnier with darker hair and dark eyes, too."
|
|
"But the legends say that no one has ever seen a Dopkalfar and
|
|
lived. The Dopkalfar hate humans," I replied.
|
|
"If it wasn't for Tess," Mal said, "they would have killed me. They
|
|
*do* exist! Not only that, but my heart belonged to one. I was going to
|
|
marry her. When I returned home, I didn't tell my parents about her
|
|
being an Eelail, but I did tell them ...
|
|
|
|
That I had asked her to marry me and she had said yes. They were
|
|
not happy at the idea as they had heard the many rumors, too. I tried to
|
|
explain to them how wonderful she was, but they wouldn't listen. They
|
|
gave consent, but mostly because they knew they couldn't stop it. It was
|
|
a long night for me as I couldn't sleep. Sometime late in the night, I
|
|
managed to drift off. It didn't do much good, because the town bell
|
|
suddenly rang out. Jumping out of bed, I ran outside to see the bright
|
|
flames of fire burning a neighbor's house. The villagers were moving to
|
|
put out the fire. There was a line of people extending from the town
|
|
well to the burning house. Buckets of water were passed quickly from
|
|
person to person, but it was in vain. The house burned brightly and the
|
|
fire would not be quenched. It burned through the rest of the night and,
|
|
by morning, was finally sated.
|
|
Five people died in the fire -- Amil, his wife Gail, and their
|
|
three children. The last of the flames had just been put out when Tess
|
|
arrived.
|
|
"There's the witch!" Nell shouted as she pointed to Tess. "She is
|
|
the cause of the fire; showing up to ensure her evil deeds were done!"
|
|
"Stop!" I yelled. "That is not true."
|
|
"I told you," Nell said to the gathered crowd. "I told you she was
|
|
evil! Five are dead because you wouldn't listen. She is a witch and a
|
|
demon's daughter!"
|
|
Tess stood and did not utter a word. I don't know why, but she
|
|
remained calm and quiet. I think the villagers took this for a sign of
|
|
guilt as their mutterings started to support Nell's lies.
|
|
"What are you doing?" I screamed. "Tess did not do this!" Their
|
|
mutterings became louder as Nell continued to spout lies. I tried to
|
|
tell them; I really did. When they moved to grab Tess, I fought to hold
|
|
them back. But there were too many of them. I couldn't believe that the
|
|
people who I grew up with -- people who I knew and trusted at one time
|
|
people who lived with me -- became an angry mob, intent on taking my
|
|
love's life. I fought, I clawed, I bit, and I raged; but it was useless.
|
|
They took her. It was when they put the post in the ground on the
|
|
ashes of the burned house that I realized what they intended. I pleaded
|
|
and begged them not to do this. My own father turned his back to me as
|
|
Tess was tied to the post. She never uttered a word as they tied her
|
|
there. Even when Nell spit in her face, she merely blinked.
|
|
I was bound and held in place as they lit a fire around her. She
|
|
looked at me as the fire was lit. I couldn't look away and watched as
|
|
the flames started to engulf her.
|
|
|
|
"They burned her?" I blurted.
|
|
"Yes," Mal sighed. "They took her, tied her, and burned her. I
|
|
watched as the flames ate her piece by piece. As the wind picked up and
|
|
stoked the fire," Mal's voice began to crack, "As the fire burned away
|
|
my love both inside and out. But that wasn't enough -- the wind carried
|
|
the stench of it to me. It lay around me as I watched her burn and heard
|
|
her screams.
|
|
"Where was Cephas Stevene then, priest!" Mal screamed as he grabbed
|
|
the bars and tried to shake them loose. "Where was his God! Where was
|
|
this love you proclaim! *Where!*" Mal shouted at me.
|
|
"I ... I don't know," I said feeling the chill seep deeper into my
|
|
body. "Cephas," I prayed silently. "Oh, Cephas, how could you allow this
|
|
to happen? And why do you not drive this cold from me? Warm my soul!
|
|
Drive away this cold!"
|
|
"She never stopped burning and ...
|
|
|
|
That sight was forever scarred into my mind; her screams still echo
|
|
in my head; the scent still lingers in my nose. After the fire was gone,
|
|
they untied me and left me there on the ground. I got up, left the
|
|
village, and didn't look back. I had no family now, for the people in
|
|
that village were as strangers to me. Walking in the woods, I knew what
|
|
I had to do and feared it. I had to tell her family what happened. I
|
|
knew that they would surely blame me and kill me, but life was not worth
|
|
much to me now.
|
|
I searched for bells looking for the place Tess had taken me. As
|
|
the sun started to set, I finally found it. It was only by the Eelails'
|
|
wishes did I find them, and for the second time in my life, I entered
|
|
their village. For a second time, I vowed never to talk about what was
|
|
beyond that ancient oak. What I can tell you was the outcome of my
|
|
visit. One of the Eelail translated for me. They knew that Te'senth was
|
|
dead, for they had heard her death screams. I did not understand what
|
|
that meant and did not have the courage to ask. What they didn't know
|
|
was how or why, and they turned to me for that. I told them the whole
|
|
story and spared them nothing. Part of my soul died with Tess and I
|
|
wanted to die -- only I hoped it was a quicker death than Tess'.
|
|
They didn't kill me, nor did they torture me. They never hurt me at
|
|
all, except for the fact that they told me their plans. They intended to
|
|
attack the village, kill all the people there -- men, women, and
|
|
children -- and burn it. Even though I had never intended to see my
|
|
family again, it was like a cold slap of winter water learning that they
|
|
were going to be murdered.
|
|
The Eelail didn't bind me; they knew there was nothing I could do
|
|
to stop them. Instead, they took me with them. I don't know why. Maybe a
|
|
twisted vision of vengeance in their minds, maybe to punish me in their
|
|
way, but I could think of maybes all day and I still wouldn't know. What
|
|
I knew, and saw, was the attack on my village. I watched as they swiftly
|
|
and methodically slew everyone there. I saw my family die.
|
|
After everything was over, I ran away. I wanted to get as far away
|
|
from there as I could. I hoped that the further I ran, the further the
|
|
memories would be. I ran to the next town. Distance wasn't helping, so I
|
|
found an inn and tried to drown my sorrows in cheap ale.
|
|
Bells later, and I don't remember how many, Nell walked into that
|
|
inn. It was like seeing a demon come to life to punish me for all
|
|
eternity. I don't know how she escaped the massacre at our village,
|
|
priest. I had thought everyone dead. But there she stood, healthy and
|
|
whole, yelling at me.
|
|
"You twisted, evil, gutless man!" she yelled. "You killed every one
|
|
of them! You killed my mother, my father, my sisters, my brothers, and
|
|
every one else! You're --"
|
|
I don't know what happened then -- I lost control and before I
|
|
realized it, I slit her throat. Blood poured out everywhere. I watched
|
|
her eyes open wide and then she fell onto the floor. Her blood was all
|
|
over me and I stood there in shock. I looked down at the bloody knife in
|
|
my hand and got sick. Vomit and the knife hit the floor.
|
|
When the guards arrived, I was still standing there in her blood
|
|
and my vomit. Everyone heard what she said. I was sent here for the
|
|
King's justice.
|
|
|
|
"You didn't tell anyone about the Eelail, did you?" I asked.
|
|
"No. I couldn't. Most people believed I was in league with bandits
|
|
who raided and burned the village. I was even accused of being a
|
|
Beinison."
|
|
"Yes, I remember hearing something of a search for bandits who
|
|
raided a village in Arvalia. That was about you, then. Your sentencing
|
|
would have been less severe had you told them your tale," I stated.
|
|
"You think they would have believed me? They wouldn't, and would
|
|
have laughed at any mention of Eelail. Tell me, do *you* believe me?"
|
|
His question went to my very soul and the cold flooded through with
|
|
it driving away the last of my warmth. Chills ran through my spine and
|
|
limbs. The stool that I sat on seemed a cold and lifeless thing that was
|
|
draining my soul away. My warmth had left me. "Cephas!" I pleaded
|
|
silently. "Guide me! Help me!" Before I could answer, Mal turned away
|
|
from me.
|
|
"I promised Tess that I would follow her anywhere," he said, "and I
|
|
will. I'll be hanged soon and follow Tess to where she went. I want to
|
|
die. There is nothing in this world here for me, now. The woman I loved
|
|
was murdered, my village turned on me, my family was murdered. And for
|
|
all that I saw, priest; for all that I watched being destroyed in front
|
|
of me, you would think that I would have learned something. But I didn't
|
|
-- I also murdered. Now, I have nothing left."
|
|
"I am sorry," I said as I stood. The cold sapped my strength, and I
|
|
suddenly wanted out. I wanted to see the light of the sun. I wanted to
|
|
feel its warmth. "Where are you Cephas?" I screamed silently. "Why have
|
|
you left me here in this dark, cold room? Why did you bring me here to
|
|
hear this?" I made for the door with my faith and my questions trembling
|
|
in my mind.
|
|
"You didn't answer."
|
|
"Answer what?" I asked turning around.
|
|
"Do you believe me?"
|
|
"Stevene help me," I prayed silently. "I don't know," I said
|
|
honestly, and then hurried up the stairs.
|
|
|
|
I watched Mal's hanging. My unwavering devotion to the Stevene was
|
|
shaken. My solid faith changed to questions and doubts; things I would
|
|
have to confront if I wanted to turn my faith back around. Why was he
|
|
not with me when I was in the cellar with Mal. Why do I still feel the
|
|
cold in my soul from that place? Cephas had wandered the kingdom helping
|
|
people -- all kinds of people. Even after he was murdered, he came back
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from the dead to help those who doubted him. He was the Stevene.
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I watched Mal being led to the rope. He didn't utter a word as it
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was placed around his neck. As he fell, the rope tightened, and there
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was a loud crack. A crack that shook within me, also.
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"Cephas be with him," I thought trying to shake the coldness within
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me. "Cephas be with me," I whispered as I turned to leave.
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========================================================================
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