“Look who’s up!” Nana said with the same pleasant voice that used to wake me every morning. “Come give me a hand chopping some herbs, it’s almost ready!”
Before I could start helping, I went straight to the water bucket and gulped breathlessly a couple of full mugs of clean and fresh well water. I then splashed my face with the cold liquid.
“What does the rain-water taste like eh?” Kuno said as he propped against the kitchen door, chuckling and inciting Henek behind me.
“Oh, leave him be, Kuno, like you never tasted it before! Now, off you go if you want to eat tonight.” Nana hushed them before I could even reply.
I had forgotten that the fresh well water had been used against the flames.
Wordlessly, I started helping Nana, a little embarrassed that I did not recognise the raw taste of rain water in my hasty yearning to satiate my thirst. Though it didn’t take long before Henek came asking for a hand to move the big, fallen beam.
The heavy piece was not broken, and with a pulley, and a lot of effort, we managed to connect and fix the standing walls. From there, adding smaller braces, spread sideways across the ceiling, would be an easier task to add stability to the house. What mattered was that at day’s end, their room would be sorted for the night against the rain and wind.
My blistered hands held well enough but not without opening and burning my skin, reminding me to apply some ointment to help them heal. I went rummaging amongst my grandmother’s balms and picked what I knew would help ameliorate my burning hands; knitbone and mint. The sharp smell reminded me of the many times grandmother had forcefully delivered it to me, for those bruises and cuts I procured as a child. Once past the burning sensation, I wrapped some gauze made of clean cloth and went back to the kitchen, where everyone was gathered around the table.
The vegetable soup was surprisingly cleansing for body and soul, probably the weight of the past day’s events made a simple stew seem something out of the ordinary.
Once finished, my brothers went straight to bed, strained by the long hours of guarding and the efforts put into fixing their room. Since I had rested during the late morning and into the afternoon, I happily took on the cleaning of the kitchen and feeding the beasts which had been gathered for the night in their temporarily-fixed pen – Nana told me that Kuno had done a very fine job retrieving and bringing them back to safety, losing nothing but his patience.
On my return, Nana was still busy cleaning. There was something unnerving about the way she moved and I strongly doubted she had slept at all. Every time she was worried and concerned about something, she behaved just as she was behaving now.
She approached the stove and picked up the big pot of boiling water. As always, she needed her favourite tea to help her rest. The strong mint, linden and camomile scent imbued the air of the entire kitchen.
“Come sit with me for a while, Lorian!” she said.
She poured tea in two mugs and went by the fireplace where, from the pile of firewood, she took something wrapped in a ragged cloth. I attentively followed her slow moves while blowing on the steaming brew. The faint lights springing from the candles and the stove were not enough to make out the shape of the wrapped object.
I grew ever more impatient.
“This belonged to your grandfather.” She sat close to me, grabbing the wool blanket that was used as a bolster on the table’s bench.
“What is it?” I whispered, my eyes fixed on the wrapped object, though she had already disclosed what the ragged cloth protected inside.
A beautiful, old knife that had a stag’s horn as a handle. One I didn’t know she had. She held it in her hands and I could hear the voice trembling with emotion.
“This is Winterhorn!” She handed it to me.
It was an object of fine workmanship. Surprisingly heavy for its size, not bigger than both my palms put together head to head. The tattered horn had been smoothed by the haft to allow the hand a comfortable grip while the butt evolved in two small antlers, still dangerously sharp. The tip of the blade curved slightly upwards and the spine was thicker than a normal blade. I softly moved the tips of my fingers to feel the blade and instantly regretted my decision; the sharp metal snipped the rough skin on my finger’s tip.
“It’s still sharp!” Nana exclaimed with a giggle.
I pressed my finger on the ragged cloth to stop the bleeding from the little cut, but a drop had already dribbled on the shiny blade. I grabbed the corner of the cloth and wiped the blade clean only to reveal that the blood had crept into a small marking of some sort; a tiny symbol that looked like a snail shell.
“What’s this, Nana?” I said pointing my finger at the symbol.
“I don’t know!” she replied pulling the knife closer. “I’ve never seen it before. I wonder how I could have missed it? You know this is not just a simple knife,” she put her warm hand on my shoulder, “it may look like one, yet it is not. Although I never actually believed it, I thought it was all a contrivance by your grandfather, and only too late it all started to make more sense!”
I was always lulled by her sweet words of my grandfather. It always seemed as if he were a different type of man, one seldom seen nowadays.
“This was his favourite hunting knife. He carried it with him wherever he went. I remember the day he had it made, like it was yesterday.” Nana appeared happy and serene as a vision of my grandfather filled her mind and soul. “At that time, we were living in Velkeri and were secluded from this unknown-side of the world by the dangerous peaks of Mount Velka. Winters there were never easy as we were quite high compared to the mountains you can see around Rontra. During one of our last winters there, the cold was so sharp it could bite at hard rock and leave a mark. The winds froze everything in their path and we barely survived.” As if struck by a shiver, Nana jerked a little.
She hunched and cupped the mug of tea and took a long sip. I replicated her gesture.
“To this day I have still to live a winter as cold as that one. The bitter wind howled and veered as a rabid beast for endless days at a time, like a presage of the doom we were about to endure. The snow was packed almost as high as the houses’ roofs making it impossible to move around. Often, weak huts collapsed under the weight of weeks’ snow and cleaning them was an arduous task. We had to dig tunnels in the snow between the houses and the forest where we went for firewood. We had been trapped for many weeks by the cold weather and were dangerously low on provisions. Our livestock had been consumed already or had been claimed by the cold snap and we were surviving on wheat, spices, and bad fruit. So Dhereki, your grandfather, after much convincing and commanding, gathered a handful of other strong men in the village and decided to go hunting even though they knew there were no odds of finding anything alive. Yet, they had to try.” She sighed intensely.
I was silently imagining my grandfather, another bit of information about him I did not have before.
“It took them four days to return. I continuously cried for two, thinking him to be dead, a victim of that wretched winter. Luckily on the fourth evening they returned and, not only that, they brought back a beautiful, sturdy stag big enough to feed us all for weeks. What first were tears of sadness became tears of joy.” Nana started weeping again.
I placed my hand over her shoulder and she smiled at me through her tears.
“Oh, how your grandfather was praised that night, and for days to come! For he had not only found and killed the stag with his spear, but he had managed to convince the others to continue after almost giving up hope on their third day. The waiting agony and hunger was over and we finally had meat to regain our long-lost strength. We stayed up all night sorting and preparing the meat in rations for the weeks to come. And here is where I wanted to get to, my dear.” She took time to refill her lungs as well as lift her spirit.
“That night, your grandfather told me that the stag came to him, and spoke to him. A most unsettling confession. At first, I thought he had suffered some unseen injuries d
ue to the cold, and I didn’t know how to react. So, I stood there listening to him, not daring to believe his babbling. He said he felt ashamed and dishonoured that he didn’t fight for his prey, though he was happy nonetheless that it had happened. He insisted on telling me that the stag had taken control of his thoughts, and had directed him to where it was hidden. Guided by strange emotions and thoughts that weren’t his, your grandfather had been told that the beast was dying and it would willingly give his skin, flesh and blood for saving the lives of others. The only thing it asked of him in return was that your grandfather should keep part of his horns as a testimony to its thoughtfulness. That it would do him and his family nothing but good if he accepted the token and he would only gain by such a gift.
“After that night, the days started to get warmer, the wind was softer and quieter. We could even hear birds chirping in the forest, leaving their winter nests for small insects that slowly started to appear along with the first buds. We never hoped to have an early spring that year; not after that sort of winter. During those days your grandfather fashioned himself this knife, with the help of the smith. He said it gave him a sort of single-minded feeling and a power of concentration that he had never felt before. His skills improved considerably. There was no game that he could not hunt alone. His strength had doubled or tripled and he never tired. Imagine that! He was able to swim across the Basak Lake from one side to the other.” Her voice was filled with pride.
“Across the lake with no boats to aid him?” I was astonished, thinking of the imposing size of Basak Lake.
Even on a clear day one could barely see the other side and few people had ever dared venturing in those marshy-green and perpetually-cold waters – often claimed to shelter long snake-shaped fish, as few of the fishermen in the village stated.
“He had even taken down a giant black bear whilst on a deer stalking spree, and not with a single scar. I say! A giant full-grown black bear, single handedly?” The glimmering in Nana’s eyes displayed brief bouts of happiness, though soon, too soon, sadness returned.
“It must’ve taken some serious blindness on my part not to believe there was something about this knife. Something way beyond our imagination. I’ve been a fool to doubt it all along. I was young and I believed magic did not exist. I only thought that he found all that energy from being able to provide for the whole village in time of need, when nobody else could.”
“Oh, Nana,” I offered and she smiled weakly at me and patted my hands.
“He later told me that the same dream disturbed his nights for weeks at a time.” Nana’s eyes were wet again. “He’d see the stag, just like that time in the frozen forest, yet it was not wounded and dying anymore; it stood in its full strength taller than before. It wanted to know if its token was being kept safe and that it was very important not to let anyone know about it, lest they try and steal it. It was his and his alone, only to be given away to someone he completely trusted, if ever such a time should arrive. And I think, that time has come.”
Her crying was pure regret as she moved her hands without purpose over the heavy knife. This wasn’t like the other times she had told me or my brothers about the grandfather we had never met. There were times when she recounted stories of great deeds but never revealed too much. And on all those many occasions she hadn’t felt so sad and alone.
Unable to think of something that might cheer her up, I shifted my attention to the blanket that slowly started slipping from our backs. I raised it up and put it on her shoulders. She appeared to recover and wiped her tears.
“Before he died, he said to me something that only too late I’ve come to comprehend. He said, that in the grimmest of moments, I should give this to the most needing of our children, or our grandchildren, ‘if we’ll ever be blessed with any’, to put it in his own words.” She chuckled bitterly. “He mentioned it was of vital importance to understand its powers, and if in doubt, that I should help the one to find the right path to the truth. He specifically mentioned Naghnatë, the witch in our village, and only now I come to understand that this indeed is not an item of common knowledge. His words stayed with me ever since, and their meaning was never clear, not until last night.” She took a deep breath and reached towards the mug that she emptied in a single quaff.
“I wish I had known him, Nana!” I confessed, trying to envision what it would have felt like to be taught by him.
“You would’ve liked him very much, and he would’ve liked you, too! Alas, he died before you were born. I’ve always thought that Henek might need this knife the most, because you know Kuno; he has always been a strong and tough lad, healthier than most.”
“And luckier I might say,” I added.
Nana laughed. “Very true. Yet, when you arrived to this world everything changed.” She sighed, patting gently my left knee. “You were the tiniest little thing when you were born. Always writhed with that bad leg of yours, but don’t be mistaken, son, I feel no pity for you because of that! I know you can achieve great things, nevertheless. A bad leg is not the same as a bad head.”
“I know, I know,” I assured her, knowing what sort of speech that would lead to.
“So I want you to have it! I know that you alone can understand its meanings, you’ve always been as sharp as a tack and have pestered me with endless questions.” She smiled and handed me the knife. “Here, take it!”
“Thank you, Nana!” I said, and grabbed the knife from her hands with improved curiosity.
Although it was hard to believe what Nana said, the knife felt oddly lighter than before. My fingers started tickling with a curious perception that moved hastily across my whole arms reaching the top of my head. I scratched the itching sensation out of my hair and smiled. The cold, grey blade seemed to glow softly with a blue tint and I blamed my watery eyes and the lack of natural light.
Could it be true? Could grandfather had come to know magic, just like the stories Elmira and I kept dear at heart? And mostly, could this dagger have anything to do with the fire?
“Do you think Naghnatë is still alive?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the sharp blade.
“I could not tell. Last time I saw her was in Velkeri, when I was little older than you,” she replied, seemingly confused by her thoughts. “Now that I think about it, there might be someone that might know more.”
“Who?” I asked.
Nana let out a giggle. “His name is Alaric, a very passionate and peculiar man. Curious how my old mind works these days…” her voice trailed off before continuing. “Some years ago, I can’t recall how many, I had the pleasure of making his acquaintance. He was very determined to find her too, for his ‘own reasons’ he told the people at the market. By mere luck someone sent him my way when he enquired, and I only told him that I met her when I was very young, nothing more. But he insisted that, if ever anything changed, to be kind enough and let him know. He also promised very generous recompense. I wonder how the poor fellow is doing these days. You could go and meet him, if he’s still alive!” Nana suggested.
“Where should I go? Is it far?” I asked.
Somehow, the idea of leaving home at such short notice was scarier than the dragon tales I just heard.
“He told me I’d find him deep inside Ilka’s Covert, by the streams on the hills.”
“That’s at least two-days’ travel east. And given my leg, might take me even longer,” I complained.
“Yes, at least,” she replied with a smirk on her face, “yet on horseback, I think that it can be less than a day.”
“Really, Nana? Can I?” I jumped from my seat, almost knocking the two mugs to the ground.
The excitement of riding Firebreath made me restless and impatient for dawn to come. In that instant I decided that the experience was worth the trouble, even if it proved to be a mere there-and-back journey.
Firebreath was the most precious of our possessions; a long-haired, black, Myrthen steed, one of the strongest and tallest horses in our valley. And also, one
of the most expensive; he had cost Nana and my two brothers months of their income. And he was totally worth it. Many had come asking with mare-mating offers and we had light-heartedly declined each one of them. We had plans on getting a new mare, but had never found the proper match, and after the latest events I was doubtful we could afford one. I was never allowed to ride him, of course. I only had the privilege of cleaning, feeding and taking him in or out of the barn and, on rare occasions, I was allowed to exercise him in the yard. Obviously, that was not what I had done whenever I was left alone with him, and I was sure my grandmother had her suspicions about the few occasions I rode him on the hills of Rontra and upstream of the Sir’hio River, pretending I had only taken him to graze fresher grass along the river.
Excitement distracted me from what Nana was saying. I had to shake my head to concentrate.
“Of course you can,” she assured me, “and I’ll make sure your brothers don’t argue.”
I could not wait for dawn to come; I was about to ride Firebreath again.
The Old Man
Lorian
An entire day had come to an end and I was still walking astray. The dense brushwood within the forest forced me to pace alongside Firebreath as, with dread, I realised we were lost.
After having ridden across the valley and followed the Sir’hio downstream, I found myself in an unknown woodland of taller trees and denser undergrowth. The only guidance I had was a faint sound of flowing waters, foaming over the rocky bed somewhere to my right.
Noisy birds accompanied my every move, hiding in their dry nests above my head and I was content to have the forest’s shelter from the rain. The summer’s end has been suddenly announced by the arrival of the autumn rains, way earlier than the previous year. My journey couldn’t have been planned for a worse time. Although the shower had not been too rough, it proved quite persistent, and I had been cold for the entire day.
Winterhorn (Tokens Of Benevolence Book 1) Page 6