To Find a God

by Mary Hamilton

  The trio broke out of the swamp into the meadows just as the sun reached its zenith. Mathias surveyed the horizon and then dropped his pack. “Looks like we’ve got this spot to ourselves. Let’s break for lunch.”

  They munched on smoked swamp turtle meat, interspersed with fried bread. Each of the three remained lost in his or her own thoughts. Buzzing insects and the rustling of the breeze through the high grass mixed with the sounds of chewing and burping. Overhead, billowy white clouds floated lazily across a deep blue sky.

  Finally, Jarek broke the conversational hiatus. “Well, at least the cool wind will make this garb more tolerable.”

  Burns reclined, propping her head on her pack and closing her eyes. “Yes, Son, it will.”

  “Can you please not do that until we have to?”

  Mathias chuckled. “Better get used to it. It’s going to have to be convincing when we do use the line.”

  Jarek simmered, but he knew the man’s words to be true. “Maybe. All the same, could you two not gloat quite so much. If I have to act like a kid, at least do me the courtesy of acting like adults.” He also knew that, in a direct confrontation with the king’s men, the disguise would fall apart immediately. Probably the first thing they would do would be to make him remove the hood.

  Instead of responding, Mathias stood, stretched, and shouldered his pack. “Let’s move. If memory serves, there are some intact farms to the northwest, at least they were there about a month ago. We can make for that area.”

  The band traveled cross country for a couple of hours before connecting with a dirt road. Actually, it seemed little more than a wide footpath to Jarek, whose life experience had exposed him mostly to well-maintained roads wide enough for small carts.

  After an hour and a half on the road, the three overtook a traveling merchant. He walked alongside a rickety mule-drawn cart loaded down with pans, boxes, coils of rope, and translucent bottles of an amber liquid.

  When the group moved to within about ten meters of the cart, Mathias called out, “Hallo, good sir.”

  The merchant stopped and turned toward the party. “And to you good people. Where are you bound?” He nodded his head, putting a finger to the wide brim of his dark chocolate hat. “Madam.” He paid his respects to Burns.

  Mathias sauntered up next to him. “We cross this area in hopes of finding arable land farther to the north, beyond the scorching sun. We have heard tales of a more favorable climate, including rainfall.” He sounded confident. “We were burned out of our old home. Just as well. The weather’s terrible here and I hear tell that locusts are on the rise. I guess the spirits are just trying to tell us it’s time to move.” He chuckled and shook his head.

  “Whoa, there boy, hold up.” The merchant reached over, taking hold of the mule’s bridle and pulling back. “North, eh? Maybe. I don’t hear much from up there. Could be a good sign. Not many folk live in that region. Where was your old place?” The man cocked his head and narrowed his eyes.

  Mathias coughed and took a rag from his front pocket, wiping his brow. “Day and a half journey back.” He nodded over his shoulder. “Damn marauders. Can’t leave honest folk alone.”

  Jarek watched in amazement at the act. Mathias seemed born to this.

  “Dangerous times, my friend, dangerous times.” The merchant shook his head, although his attention seemed to be elsewhere. Suddenly, he broke into a smile. “A journey this hard is made more tolerable with a fine brandy. I have a good selection.” He gestured toward the wagon.

  Mathias stroked his chin. “I don’t know. We have little coin.” He turned to Burns. “What think you, dear? Can we spare a crown or two for the promise of a more relaxed evening?”

  Jarek almost burst out laughing. He could see that Burns was doing everything she could to keep from rolling her eyes. Instead, she turned to the man. “What manner of brandy do you offer? And how much are you asking?”

  The merchant’s smile broadened. “I have an excellent roseberry batch. The half-bottle here,” he picked up a small etched glass container, “I normally get two crowns. But for you, considering your bad luck, I am willing to accept five silver picos.”

  Mathias gazed briefly at the bottle and then shifted his gaze to the ground, nodding his head as though mentally counting. He untied a leather pouch from his belt and peered within, prodding around with his fingers. “Your offer is more than generous, my good man, but my purse is somewhat light at the moment, given our circumstances. I can afford only three picos. But I understand. You must cover your costs. Thank you anyway.”

  The man furrowed his brow for a moment. “Oh, why not? After all, life is short, and coin does not a happy life make.” He handed the bottle to Mathias. “Enjoy in good health, my friend.”

  Mathias uncorked the bottle and sniffed the contents. “Indeed, this is a quality product, my friend. And I am in your debt. I must remember to give thanks to Aristan in my nightly prayers.”

  The words shot through Jarek’s brain like a bolt of lightning. CeCe had specifically told them that speaking the god’s name was forbidden in this realm.

  If the old merchant noticed the slip, he gave no sign. “I bid you a safe journey.” He nodded again to Burns. “Ma’am.” He then turned his attention to Jarek. “Normally, I would not suggest allowing children to imbibe the spirits. But this lad looks of hearty stock. A nip of brandy might help him endure the hardships of the road.” He once again touched the brim of his hat.

  As the trio opened the distance between them and the merchant, Jarek voiced his concern. “Do you want to get us killed? You heard what CeCe said about Aristan.”

  Mathias never broke stride. “If we are going to find this mysterious brotherhood, we are going to have to speak the name. We just have to be careful and watch for the responses. As for the old man—he’s harmless.”

  Chapter 28: Jarek

  Sunset found the small band approaching a farmhouse that looked promising. The siding, windows, and wooden fence seemed in good repair. But mostly it was the smell of baking bread that reached their noses. Jarek paused, lifted his head up, and breathed deeply. “Oh yes. That is what I wanted to smell.”

  Mathias kept plodding. “Then let us see if we are welcome.” He passed through the front gate, up the stairs, and knocked on the door. Burns and Jarek ambled up behind him.

  The door opened and a young girl, maybe six or seven years old, stood staring up at them. “Momma. Somebody’s here,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Can I help you?” A woman, short and trim with close cropped sandy blond hair appeared in the doorway to stand behind the small girl.

  Mathias bowed. “Good afternoon, Ma’am. My family and I are traveling to the north country. I am hoping that you or your good husband might have some information or advice that could help us along our way.”

  Burns stood behind and to the side of Mathias and nodded to the woman, who looked easily ten years older than anyone in the party. Jarek, for his part, kept his head bowed and his gaze averted. Other than that, he wasn’t sure how to behave like a child.

  The woman stood for a moment, eyeing the group before stepping aside and gesturing them in. “Come in. My husband is in the fields. He will return shortly.”

  Jarek stepped in, following Mathias and Burns. What struck the Azyrean first was the cool that enveloped him after the long afternoon’s walk. Several candles around the main room supplemented the dying light of day. The aroma of bread was overwhelming.

  “I am Rona, and this is my daughter, Katy. My two sons, Aidan and John, are with my husband, Martin.” Studying the trio, she continued, “Would you like some water. The heat is unbearable this time of year.” She gestured toward chairs situated around a large table in the center of the room. “Please, be at ease.”

  “You are most kind. Thank you.” Burns eased her pack onto the floor and dropped into one of the chairs. “The mornings are cool enough, but you are right about the afternoon heat. We are hopeful that it will be more te
mperate in the north.”

  Jarek found his way around the table to a chair against the wall and parked there. Despite the relative cool of the house, sweat poured down the side of his face.

  The woman took notice of him. “Your son, he looks miserable. Perhaps if he removed his jacket and hood he would be more comfortable.”

  Mathias jumped in before anyone else could speak. “It is unfortunate, but Peter has a rare skin condition and must keep the hood on at all times lest the lesions on the side of his head spread their contagions to others. We would deeply regret anyone in your family contracting this condition.” He shook his head, as though in resignation.

  Jarek rolled his eyes. Not only was he a child that had to wear a hood. Now he had a rare disease and his name was Peter. Things could not be any worse.

  Rona took a quick step back and put her hand on the young child’s shoulder, easing her back as well. “Yes, well, I appreciate your honesty and concern.” She brought each of the three visitors a glass of water. “This should cool you off.”

  Just then, the front door opened and two young boys, twins by the look of it, bounded in. “Papa said he will be in for supper. He’s feeding Curly.” The first of the boys stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the three guests. The second lad, apparently not paying attention, bumped into him.

  “Boys, these are….” She turned to the party. “I’m sorry, I neglected to ask your names.”

  Mathias stood and bowed. “I am Malius Breakstorm of Ebon Lake, at your service. This lovely lady is my wife, Emma. And of course, we introduced our son Peter.”

  The woman nodded and smiled. “These are my sons, Aidan and John. Children, go out back and wash up. We will have dinner when your father comes in.”

  ◆◆◆

  The farmer tore off a piece of bread and nibbled on it as he considered the visitors. “I confess, I’m a bit confused. The land to the north is neither arable nor hospitable. The ground turns to rock perhaps twenty kilometers from here and grows worse into the foothills. There is naught to be found there in the way of farmland. Perhaps that is the reason that you have not heard much about it. There is no one there.”

  Mathias sighed. “I feared as much, although I confess I hoped for different. There seem to be few options these days.”

  The farmer nodded. “Yes. But if you are so inclined, I suspect that there are isolated plots of soil suitable for a family garden. There is game that can be hunted or trapped, and there are a few streams and ponds that contain fish. You might be able to subsist, but it would not be a pleasant experience.” His gaze kept wandering to Jarek, who made every effort to avoid eye contact. “Your son, does his condition keep him from working outside? Could he gather, hunt, or fish?”

  Burns laughed. “Yes. The lad is quite able to handle his chores. The only limitation is that he must keep his head covered at all times. Outside, the sun and wind cause his boils to flare up. Inside, of course, we must take care that his condition does not spread.”

  “That is good. I mean, not good that he has the condition, but good that he can help you survive. You will need all the help you can get.”

  Mathias popped the last of his bread into his mouth. After a drink of water, he leaned back in his chair. “I know. And we pray to Aristan for his guidance and protection.”

  The farmer’s eyes narrowed. After a moment of silence, he responded quietly. “That name can bring you great trouble in Caravast. Surely you are aware of that.”

  “Yes. Of course, and I apologize. I mean not to bring trouble and grief to your good family. We must learn to keep our beliefs to ourselves, I suppose.”

  Jarek winced. Mathias had said far more than he should have.

  “The very night air itself has ears. Certain words carry on the wind. Those who should not hear often do.” The farmer stroked his heavy, black beard. “Be careful to whom you speak, my friend.”

  “Wise counsel, I am sure.” Mathias nodded thoughtfully. “We are so seldom around others, I forget myself. Fortunately, we have seen no other families in this area. You seem to be alone up here.”

  “It was not always so. We have survived, but for how much longer, I cannot say. The rebels have driven away every other family and burned their farms. That we have remained untouched is both a miracle and a mystery.”

  Something struck Jarek as odd. In his best child voice, he posed the question, “We met a man with a cart selling things today. If there are no other families here, who does he sell to?”

  The farmer stared back. “Good question.”

  Chapter 29: Jarek

  Martin, the farmer, offered the three travelers shelter for the night in a small room situated just off the main living area. “We use it mostly for storage, but it will keep you dry should the sky decide to open up during the night. You will need all the rest you can get if you hope to negotiate into the north country and foothills on the morrow.”

  Jarek was grateful for the indoor arrangements. The day had been about as bad as any he could recall, what with having to keep the stupid hood on and play like a child. At least he could try to get a good night’s sleep. He nodded his gratitude without speaking as he entered the room and found a small pallet by the far wall.

  Mathias stretched and yawned. “My dear, we must retire and sleep if we hope to get a fresh start in the morning.” He offered up a wicked grin.

  Burns whispered her caustic response. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Mathias chuckled but didn’t respond. Instead, he motioned her toward a pallet beside Jarek.

  No sooner had the trio settled in than a loud knock echoed through the house. Jarek heard the front door open, followed by voices, loud and clear.

  “Good evening, gentlemen. How may I be of assistance?” The farmer’s voice sounded welcoming and friendly.

  The response was curt. “There are reports of three individuals traveling the countryside—a man, woman, and child. Have you seen them?”

  “Why, yes, we have. They came by here, let’s see, it must have been right at sunset. We gave them dinner and offered them shelter for the night. But they said that they traveled to the north. I recall them saying they were in search of farmland. I fear, though, that they will be disappointed. But they insisted on continuing their journey into the evening. We gave them what we could. Are they in danger, do you think?”

  “If they return, you will detain them and send word immediately to the castle. Do not inform them of our interest.”

  “Of course, yes.” Martin paused. “Are they dangerous to my family and me?”

  “Just send word immediately.”

  Jarek heard the front door close and listened to his heart pound.

  After a moment, the covering to their small area parted and Martin eased in, drawing the cover after him. “My friends, it looks like you have attracted the attention of the king. And this is apparently no trivial matter. Those were not clumsy cavaliers at the door. It was a squad of elite rangers.”

  Mathias stood and smoothed the wrinkles out of his trousers. “Yes, well my most profuse apologies for the trouble, friend.”

  But something bothered Jarek. How had the king known about them? The farmer could have sent word, but then he lied to the rangers and sent them away. That left only the tradesman. It all fit. The king’s spies were indeed everywhere.

  Martin started out the door but turned to face them. “You should sleep the night so that you can leave rested before daybreak. If I may suggest, though, you should re-think your plans to head north. The king’s men will blanket that area, and, unless I am wrong, you are not anxious to meet up with them.”

  “A fair assessment. I thank you. And my deepest apologies if we have caused problems for your family.”

  “My family is used to problems. Just take care. And remember, the name Aristan is forbidden to all loyal subjects of the king.”

  Chapter 30: Marzi

  Marzi found herself once again at the archivist’s door. She knocked and, not exp
ecting an answer, let herself in.

  “Down here,” the voice floated up from below.

  She made her way down the circular staircase with her pack full of items for their tea—a jar of honey, fresh sliced lemons, and mugs from which to drink, as well as a flask of talonberry nectar. A sturdy tea cozy allowed her to gingerly carry a pot of freshly-brewed tea. The earthy smell wafting up from below was accompanied by incense and cardamom. It reminded her of the cardamom cookies she helped her mother make for holidays and special occasions. She breathed in deeply and sighed.

  “Good morning, Marzi. I trust you had a good trip.”

  “Yes, thank you, I think I did.” She unpacked the tea, and other things and laid them out on the table. “Here is some talonberry nectar, along with tea but, unfortunately, I couldn’t find milk. I hope honey and lemon will suffice.”

  “That will do perfectly well, my dear—a veritable feast.” He gestured toward the plate of fresh cardamom biscuits and a plate holding a honey oat cake. He poured them both a mug of hot tea. “But where in the world did you find fresh lemons?”

  Marzi picked up a lemon slice and inspected it. “I gathered them along the cliffs beside the Silver Sea.”

  “Marvelous.” A faint smile found its way onto the old elf’s face. “I haven’t had a lemon since I was a youth. What a treat!”

  As they sat stirring their tea and helping themselves to the plates of goodies, Marzi considered her first question for the archivist. “You told me the first time I was here that the Twilight Bough elves had a falling out that caused them to go their separate ways. What was the falling out about?”

  He sipped his tea as he considered her question. “You have probably already heard all of this before, so I will summarize for you. After the sundering, the first big split was with Elondiel’s predecessors—never mind the names and lineage—there are far too many to recount. It was about two hundred years ago. Some of the Twilight Bough elves were restless after the great war and unhappy living a life as peaceful hunters and gatherers. They thought it lackadaisical and careless not to prepare for another war like the previous one that killed so many elves. They believed it was more important to strengthen their forces, to train and prepare, and to be ready for the next conflict. There was a saying among them that an elf without a sword was easily a dead elf.” Maw’thryn stopped to take a bite of biscuit.