Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles)

by Dale B. Mattheis

  “They know I’m here! I’ve never felt anything like this before. Why are they angry at me?”

  He had never felt so insignificant, and every attempt to reason with himself only made things worse. With more than a little bravado, he muttered, “Screw you, I’m not turning back now whether you like it or not.” Jeff settled the pack and set off down the trail toward the comfort of trees and earth.

  He was about to enter the forest when a deep rumbling boomed up through his legs. The ground jerked sidewise and Jeff stumbled to one knee, showers of stones rattling off his backpack. Quiet. The world seemed to be holding its breath. Getting to his feet, heart beating wildly, Jeff stood crouched. The earth was still.

  That’s it, he thought several minutes later, only a little tremor. Birds tentatively began their evensong, and a single ray of sunshine escaped the overcast. Flipping off the mountains, Jeff hiked into the trees.

  Building a fire larger than was necessary, he ate quickly and pulled out his longtime companion, a battered recorder. Jeff stared into the fire and lifted it to his lips. When he returned to the mutual reality of earth and forest, the fire had burned down to a few glowing embers.

  Sunshine filtering through evergreens prodded Jeff out of the sleeping bag. He broke camp and moseyed down slope with a jaunty step, whistling off-key. Hiking where the moment’s whim took him, days and nights merged into a seamless whole.

  One of those sun-dappled days, Jeff stopped early near a rushing creek. While foraging for firewood he ran across a row of fool hens sitting on a low branch. They were large plump birds, and he was unable to resist temptation. Jeff knocked one of them off its perch with a stick and hurried back to camp.

  Once cleaned and spitted on a green stick rotisserie, the monotonous duty of turning the bird freed Jeff’s thoughts. Carl’s questions about his saber came to mind at once.

  “I must have been thirteen or so when Grandad gave it to me.”

  Jeff couldn’t remember how he had escaped the grind of planting, but seemed to recall it had been a wet spring and it was impossible to get into the fields. With his father’s blessing and a lunch from his mother, he had headed out from their farm near the Missouri border in southeast Iowa for a day’s ramble in a nearby forest.

  * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Deep in a thicket of oak and maple, a gangly youngster no longer quite a boy looked around with an irritated expression. He brushed locks of reddish-chestnut hair out of his eyes and listened intently. All was silent.

  “Stupid! C’mon, boy!”

  Nothing moved, and he could hear none of the usual crashing sounds. “Dumb dog,” he muttered.

  A wide grin replaced the frown. Whistling under his breath, hands jammed deep into ragged jeans, he continued on his way. Someone familiar with Jeff Friedrick from school would have been surprised at how unreserved he seemed. Although he was well liked by teachers and a good student, there was something about Jeff that puzzled several staff members.

  He was there in the classroom, yet he wasn’t. He excelled in sports and because of that moved freely among various cliques while devoting his attention to none of them. Jeff was, the teachers decided, an intriguing young man. Yet he didn’t make trouble or demand attention. They were content to leave it at that and did not attempt to draw him out. That he was alone would have surprised no one.

  Jeff had penetrated deep into the forest when excited baying broke out some ways off. He paused to listen. The baying slowly faded then abruptly stopped.

  “Now, what’s gotten into him? Stupid dog probably ran a rabbit into its burrow and is trying to dig it out.” He moved out again. Something about the dog’s baying bothered him. “That did not sound like he was chasing a rabbit.”

  Concerns about Stupid disappeared when he ran across a huge oak that had fallen during the winter. Jeff peered under the trunk near the root bole. While quite realistic for thirteen, he had just finished reading the Hobbit and visions of elvish hideaways flashed through his mind. However, he tramped the woods at every opportunity and understood that mundane creatures with sharp teeth were a more likely bet.

  Finding a long stick, Jeff poked around beneath the tree trunk until he was satisfied that no one was home. It was a tight fit, but he squirmed under the trunk and into a roomy enclosure formed by the root bole. Shrugging off his daypack, Jeff pulled out a sandwich. He had his mouth open for the first bite when he heard something shuffling around outside.

  Although he had never encountered one, bears had been sighted in the forest. That didn’t make sense, he decided. The sounds were too furtive and deliberate. Jeff quietly moved to the back of the enclosure. The sounds faded to nothing and he completed the bite. I’m going to have to be real quiet going home, he thought. Wonder what that was? I’ve never met anyone here before.

  A four-legged missile landed square on his chest.

  “Yii! Damn you, Stupid!”

  Heart pounding, Jeff tried to defend what was left of the sandwich from Stupid’s jaws. He was angry at the dog but so happy to have company that he shared the rest of his lunch. When the last morsel was consumed, Jeff stuck his head out of the burrow. The way was clear and he eased out into the open.

  Jeff worked his way back north watching every step. He stopped frequently to listen, but the forest was silent. It was too quiet.

  “Where are the squirrels?” he wondered out loud. “They never shut up.”

  A short distance from the edge of the forest, Jeff crept quietly into his favorite glade. When younger he had decided it was enchanted, now he simply felt at home. It was a special place.

  Humming under his breath, he threw pebbles at minnows in a small creek running full with spring rain. He had taken the first step to search for rocks to build a dam with when his brain caught up with his eyes. Leaning against a gnarled oak with folded arms was a total stranger.

  Jeff was old enough to understand that not all men had friendly intentions toward boys, and felt real fear for the first time in his life. Never taking his eyes off the stranger, he reached down to catch up the daypack. Thinking, Where is that stupid dog when I want him, he prepared to bolt.

  “Hold on, young Jeff, I mean you no harm.” The man’s voice was so musical and free of threat that Jeff didn’t move. “I only want to talk with you for a few minutes. Don’t worry about Stupid. He’s off chasing a rabbit and will be back shortly.”

  The man was at least six and a half feet tall, slender, and dressed in muted brown clothes that looked to be made from doeskin. Calf-high moccasins and a sheath knife belted at the waist added to the effect. What really caught Jeff’s eye was the stranger’s mop of chestnut hair with red highlights. The coloring was identical to his own hair.

  “You’re a hard man to track down, Jeff, let me tell you. I’ve spent the greater part of the day on your trail. May we talk for a few minutes?”

  “Who are you?” Jeff was willing to listen, but also prepared to run for it. “How do you know my name?”

  “Please call me Gaereth. I know a great deal about you.” The man began to speak in a softly modulated, compelling voice.

  Jeff awoke on a bed of dry leaves at the edge of the glen. Sitting up, he looked around wildly trying to orient himself. Stupid lay nearby gazing at him expectantly with head between paws. Rubbing his eyes, Jeff tried to remember what had happened.

  With a rush, it all came back up to the point where Gaereth had started talking to him. He remembered little of what had been said except Gaereth’s fond farewell and a sense that they would meet again. Jeff suddenly noticed that it was nearly dark. He jumped to his feet with a cry of alarm.

  “Mom will really be upset if I’m late! Dad will skin me!”

  Grabbing his pack, Jeff was gone from the meadow like a shot. Leaves whirled as he faded like windblown smoke through the forest, Stupid loping at his side. Chasing rabbits was fun, now it was time for serious running.

  It was something over three miles to the farmhouse. Brighter stars were visib
le by the time Jeff sprinted into the farmyard gasping for breath. Taking the back steps two at a time he slammed through the screen door, into the pantry, and nearly collided with his younger brother, Stephan.

  “Boy, are you in for it! Mom’s on the phone and Dad is getting ready to go looking for you.” Stephan’s eyes grew round. “Supper is ruined, too!”

  Gretchen Friedrick rushed into the pantry and hugged Jeff fiercely. Large tears glistened in her eyes.

  “Where have you been? We were so worried.”

  Feeling his mother’s pain acutely, as he always did, Jeff was near tears himself when his father arrived on the scene. A tall man given to long silences and short speech, they had nevertheless become close as Jeff became old enough to work in the fields. He looked at Jeff intently, the concern in his expression slowly giving way to a neutral expression that Jeff had never been able to decipher. Thinking back, however, he did remember times when it had been followed by serious trouble.

  “I think we would all be better off if we talked about this after supper.”

  Other than the clinking of dinnerware and a few comments about the wet spring, the meal was taken in silence. While Stephan was also quiet, he kept glancing back and forth between Jeff and their father with an expectant look on his face. Jeff was really worried about what he was going to say to his parents, but not so worried that he failed to make a mental note to thump Stephan later. When the moment of truth appeared to be looming over him, Jeff’s grandmother and grandfather stopped by and were served coffee and apple pie.

  Jeff felt like a condemned man granted a last-minute stay of execution. Although he racked his brain for a sensible explanation, he still didn’t know what to say when plates were once again empty. What could he say? That he met a stranger in the woods who hypnotized him? Not likely!

  Conversation trailed off to nothing. The old clock ticking away on the mantle sounded like the march of doom as Jeff searched for a way out of his dilemma. When his father took down a battered pipe and began to fill it, Jeff knew his string had run out. Over the years, he had grown to hate that pipe.

  “All right, Son. Tell us what happened today.”

  Jeff glanced at his mother, then, seated next to her, his grandmother. While her expectation that he act responsibly in all matters was immutable, she had also never failed him in a pinch. She nodded slightly at Jeff, and he knew at once that nothing but the truth would do.

  “I met a man called Gaereth in the forest, and he talked to me. He told me things that I can’t remember but that I will some day, and then I guess I went to sleep.” Hardly able to sit still, Jeff began waving his arms around. “I’ve never seen a man like him before, Mother. His hair was just like mine, and he knew my name—he even knew Stupid’s name. And his clothes were green and brown like Robin Hood!”

  In a rush of words, it all tumbled out. While Jeff rattled on, his mother’s attentive frown rapidly faded. She looked anxiously at her mother, Regina Gruenwald, for support but was not reassured by her stern expression. Although close, their personalities were so different that Gretchen had never been able to fathom such rock-hard determination that surrender to any circumstance could not be imagined.

  When Jeff wound down his father also turned to Regina. “Well, Mother, I don’t like to say it, but I think this one might be down your alley.”

  “Perhaps. Jeffrey, try and remember how he talked. Tell me again what he looked like.”

  “Yes, Mam.”

  Sifting his memory with a fine screen in an attempt to add more bits and pieces, Jeff related his meeting again. When he had finished, his grandmother didn’t respond at once. Sipping on her coffee, she gazed down at the tablecloth and seemed unaware of those in the room. When she did speak, it was in a whisper that Jeff could barely hear.

  “Always it has been the same.”

  She abruptly looked up. “I think it likely that Jeffrey met one of the Old Ones.”

  Mrs. Friedrick started in her chair. “No! They can’t have him!” Jeff’s father took her hand. “Not this time, Gretchen.” He said in a grim tone of voice. “I won’t let it happen.”

  Regina nodded to herself in satisfaction at his response. “Whether we wish to believe it or not, Henry, I believe he has been touched. We have discussed the tales; Rudy and I have documented them for seven generations. They are true.” Regina forced a smile. “Enough of this. The man was probably no more than a farmer from south of the woods, out for a walk.”

  “Would someone please tell me what’s going on?”

  Jeff’s grandfather, Rudy, shook his head. “Not tonight, I think. Perhaps one of these days soon.”

  The rain relented and spring planting got under way with a frenzied rush, submerging other concerns. Between school and long hours in the fields, what had happened in the forest faded into the background. Then one long summer’s evening near the solstice Rudy joined Jeff on the front porch swing.

  They shared the magenta sunset, cicada melody and twinkling fireflies in companionable silence. Creaking back and forth on the swing, the day’s humid warmth slowly relenting, Rudy lay a hand on Jeff’s shoulder.

  “I brought something I think it’s time you had.” Rudy held up what appeared to be a sword and handed it to Jeff. “I’ve kept this for at least forty years, never knowing why. Regina thinks it’s time you had it, and I agree.”

  Pulling the sword from a leather sheath, Jeff caught his breath as light from the parlor window glittered along the blade’s smooth curve. Mind dancing with excitement, Jeff thought, Could it be an elvish sword like Glamdring? It has to be! Where did Grandpa get it?

  “You be careful now. It’s sharp as a razor. That sword was given to me by your grandmother’s father, and to him by his father before. That’s a saber, boy, one that goes back at least two hundred years. I have to tell you I don’t know much about it other than it’s been a part of your grandmother’s family for a good reason.” Rudy chuckled. “Trouble is, Ulrich didn’t know why we were supposed to keep it, either. Your grandmother and I think it’s possible that some day you will.”

  Jeff’s experience in the forest came back with a rush. “Can’t you tell me anything about that man, Gaereth?”

  They continued to creak back and forth in the swing as Rudy thought about the question. “About 1805, things were really bad in Germany what with the wars of Napoleon making a mulch pile out of the whole country. Down south where we come from, a place called Swabia, there wasn’t much left at all. Crops all burned, animals drove off to feed the soldiers, young men forced to sign up with this army or that—lot of folks decided to leave.

  “Now it seems that some years before, Catherine of Russia had invited farmers to come to a place out east of Germany called the Ukraine. She’d promised good farmland for the taking, so our relatives packed up what was left and started out. Son, that was one tough trip if you can believe the stories, and I do.

  “They got caught somewhere in Hungary by winter coming on. One of Regina’s ancestors nearly died from the cold, was saved by a nobleman’s son whom, they say, she eventually married. That hair of yours? That color’s shown up from time to time on the female side of this family for quite a ways back. But here’s the thing—there never was any such hair before that trip if you can believe what the women folk say, and I truly do.”

  “But I’m not a girl!”

  “Yep, you got it straight.” A chuckle rumbled from Rudy’s belly at the look of indignation on Jeff’s face. “You’re the first male anyone can think of that’s had that color hair. Now you can make whatever you want out of all that. What it means to me, is that your Dad’s family must have picked up some of the same blood. Seems you got it from both sides and Stephan didn’t.”

  “But what about that man I met, Grandpa?”

  Rudy smelled hot cherry pie and heaved himself out of the swing. “Your grandmother has kept track of our family all her life and traced folks way back to the Old Country.” Rudy hesitated, then shrugged. “It seems
some of our relatives live a very long time, Jeffrey.” Rudy hustled inside, leaving Jeff stroking the saber and thinking about elves.

  * * * * * * * * * * * *

  The smell of roasting grouse brought Jeff back from his reverie. Pulling on a wing, he decided it was done and sliced off a wedge of meat. At the first bite, Jeff thought he had died and gone to heaven. He ate slowly to prolong the moment and wished he had knocked over two fool hens. While cleaning up he wondered in passing, Why were Mom and Dad so upset? Were they afraid that Gaereth might kidnap me?

  A sheet of cirrus clouds moved in from the west creating a beautiful sunset over the mountains. Jeff admired the view and did a mental inventory of warm clothing. He suspected that the unusually long period of good weather was at an end.

  Snug in his sleeping bag, Jeff reviewed what a wonderful trip it had been. Let it come, he thought placidly. It’s going to take a lot of bad weather to wreck this hike. And Carl will probably show up tomorrow. It’s going to be great.

  Cirrus clouds were long gone when he arose. The sky reminded Jeff of aged pewter and the temperature seemed to have dropped twenty degrees. He stared apprehensively at the sullen overcast and decided to fuel up with a big breakfast. Before leaving camp he pulled on a warm sweater. Securing equipment to the backpack with a second set of straps, he stopped to listen.

  “Where are all the birds?” he muttered uneasily. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard it this quiet. Must be one hell of a storm coming.”

  Resigned to the long climb ahead, Jeff set out toward his meeting with Carl near the pass. He wasn’t long on the trail when rain mixed with sleet began to fall. Having grumbled to himself about the nuisance of carrying crampons and snowshoes, it now felt good knowing they were tied to the backpack. As the elevation increased, rattling bursts of pure sleet lashed him.

  “This really sucks!”

  Jeff arrived at the tree line with light almost gone and in the middle of a snowstorm. Unexpectedly, the wind had dropped to nothing. He felt his way through the heavy snowfall looking for a campsite. Every so often he stopped to listen, something he had done on numerous occasions since leaving camp that morning.