The old master kept a quick pace as he moved down a worn stone path. His leather armor shifted with his gait as he passed several buildings. The buildings were of gray stone with thick timber roofs. They formed defensive postures alongside the steep mountain face. Small windows punctuated the stone. The wooden roofs were lacquered in sage oil and merriwood fungus, a combination that granted a degree of protection from fire.
Along the mountainside wooden enclosures fenced in areas dotted with goats and sheep. Small plots of land were sectioned off within these larger tracts for simple farming. Not that much grew in the soils of the Barre Mountains.
Older men could be seen in the gardens, but being that it was Lenton they were simply removing the straw covering the soil, while others worked on fixing or sharpening the tools they’d need once the soil was ready for planting.
Kirin knew that come Sumor many of the younger children, he included, would train in the evenings after a day of plowing the soil and planting the seeds for their annual crop. He remembered as a boy the year a heavy and unexpected Sumor rain devastated their crop. The mighty Thane were forced to practically beg the Guelder, a village to the east, for their surplus crop.
Despite his youth he understood the grumbling protests of Gosselin, his adopted grandmother, “it isn’t right to beg for help, the previous kovor would have used our hunger as a tool for greater discipline.”
Kirin noted the biggest complainers were often the older women, grandmothers they were called by everyone once they had reached a certain age. At that time he was still young enough to be watched over by them as they spun yarn, weaved clothing, and mended leather straps from broken or worn armor.
Those were the days when he spent most of his time exclusively in the buildings huddled by the mountainside. The stone buildings of the village formed family-clusters of buildings. Each had an area used for cooking, cleaning, weaving, tool making, playing, training, and stories by the night fire. He had been forced to learn each to better understand every aspect of Thane life to one day become a better leader. Although forced may not have been the best word, for in truth Kirin enjoyed learning. He soaked in everything he could and often attempted to improve upon the old ways, vexing those entrenched by tradition.
As they continued down the path they passed a small training arena. Only yesterday had Kirin been swinging a wooden sword, moving through the forms of the gevecht. Today a dozen youth were sparing. Devon, a thickly built boy only months younger than Kirin smiled and waved while he pinned down another boy.
Devon’s face was splattered in mud. His blond hair was plastered to his head. From his lopsided grin one would never have expected that he was sparring the third best the Thane had to offer. Kirin had been the best, only occasionally beat by Devon. It was the foundation of their, at times, tumultuous relationship.
“Time spent alone will do you well,” the master said startling Kirin from his thoughts, “perhaps you’ll learn how to clear your mind of the unnecessary clutter” he said as one weathered finger poked Kirin roughly in the head.
Kirin had almost run into the master and felt his face flush in shame. It took a moment for the words to register and another moment for him to realize where the old man had taken him.
Before Kirin stood the Shrine of Patience, or as he and his friends knew it, The Gates of Boredom.
“Well?” the old man said with just a hint of a frown.
Part of Kirin wanted to refuse the rituals altogether. He hated being coerced almost as much as he hated stupidity and hypocrisy. To refuse would invite physical punishment and excommunication and that’d take him away from Devon and Dannon. Instead, Kirin cleared his throat and looked longingly back toward the heart of the village before returning his gaze to the grizzled warrior before him.
“I’m ready,” he said.
A stern look from the older man reminded Kirin he had a part to play.
“With the moon as company and the air as food I shall practice my silent coventry,” a reluctant Kirin stated from memory.
He caught the first glimmer of positive emotion on the old man’s weathered face, watching a smile pass like a wisp of a cloud on a hot day. Kirin smiled back before stepping through the open door. Without word or further ceremony a heavy wooden door was closed and Kirin was cast in darkness.
Chapter 2
“Strength flowers from the well of eternal struggle.” Principles of the Gevecht
There is little to write about Kirin D’Velt’s time in solitude. It is thought by some that during this time he figured out the hidden powers of the mind. Others believe he perfected his body through hidden exercises. Some have rumored that when he grew bored of solitude he called down lighting to distract the town so he could walk and feel the fresh air. Other versions claim that he simply fell into a meditative trance and stepped out as if only a day had passed. As with any good story, embellishments come with time subtly shaping it until the narrative becomes fiction, myth, and then legend.
According to Thane Sagan records Kirin spent sixty days in solitude. Sixty days of darkness, close enough to the village to hear the playing, training, and voices of his people. Far enough away that he could not distinguish individual words. The last seven days were without food to test his mental resolve while physically exhausted. The records were short, efficient, and dry, as with most things Thane Sagan.
On good authority word had it that Kirin D’Velt was bored out of his mind. The days passed slowly. He practiced and rehearsed lineage histories to keep his mind sharp. He ran through the gevecht to keep his body strong and limber for the upcoming trials following his solitude. Supposedly he learned the art of atori, clearing the mind of unwanted thought. Most of all he slept.
Chapter 3
“Intensity is a matter of the mind willing the body to overcome fear.” Proverb of the Thane Sagan
It was on the sixty first day that the heavy wooden door to the Shrine of Patience was opened. Light spilled in casting the lone figure in a bath of warm luminescence. Kirin stood and stretched briefly before stepping out, his hand shielding his eyes.
“Today begins your first day of recovery, do as you wish.”
Kirin struggled to peel his eyes open, but the light was still blindingly bright. It didn’t matter. He’d recognize that deep voice from anywhere. It was the voice of the kovor, the voice of his father. There was no warm embrace, no pat on the back. Instead there was the discerning look of a father who was ascertaining the resolve of his son. With a placid expression Kirin emerged, hiding any hint of hunger, weakness, or lethargy from his step.
Kirin nodded a brief acknowledgement as he stumbled down the path away from the sun’s reaching grasp. The sunlight felt good. It was the warmth of a blanket after a long night of shivering. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the eschew trees and lightly caressed his face. A smile graced his lips. There was nowhere else he’d rather be.
Kirin side-stepped a larger man ambling toward him. His eyes were still struggling to adjust when the man spoke.
“I see you’re out, I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” the broad shouldered man said, holding an intimidating axe over one shoulder.
The man’s name was Borin. Borin was the father of Dannon a young girl Kirin once had the pleasure of kissing late at night behind the main dining hall. Her father had caught them just as Kirin was sliding his hands toward her well defined rear end. Kirin received an angry warning filled with a detailed account of what unpleasantries he would be subjected too if it were to occur again. Dannon had been instructed to stay away from that irascible kovor’s son.
Kirin nodded his head and headed away from Borin. He didn’t want to give that man any more reason to keep Dannon from him.
Kirin took a lone path, circumventing the main fortifications of their small town and walked to a small glade along the mountain. At the glade were the Sacred Pools of the gods, statues of Enlil and Balder resided within the embrace of Ansuz, carved into the mountainside. A good cleansing
was what he needed anyway, especially if he were to accidently run into Dannon again.
After a bath in the geothermal spring and a change of clothes Kirin felt like he had emerged from a cocoon only to realize he hadn’t transformed into a butterfly. Presently he needed to satiate the rumblings of an empty stomach.
The familiar sight of heavy stone buildings squatting by the mountainside felt comforting. The jagged peaks protecting them to the north slashed at the blue sky with a quiet strength. The puffy white clouds of Lenton hung fat and lazy in the air. It was his favorite season.
The sounds of clanging steel filled the air as Kirin approached his extended family compound. As he rounded the perimeter one of his friends caught his eye. It was Devon. Devon glanced toward the lead instructor. With a small nod he was released early from training and jogged to Kirin.
“Hey stumpy! How was the Gates of Boredom?” He asked as he approached slightly out of breath.
Devon often began their conversations with some mild insult. At first it had annoyed Kirin. It wasn’t until he spoke of it to Ayleth that he gained a new perspective. She had explained that he was merely jealous. He was jealous that Kirin was the son of the kovor. It made sense. After that Kirin never let it bother him again and actually grew to enjoy the subtle rebukes.
“You know I’m not supposed to talk about it,” Kirin said.
“Come on, I’m sure you had plenty of time to daydream in there!”
“More than enough time, but don’t let my father know that,” Kirin said with a smirk, although part of him wanted to tell his father that his first test hadn’t worked and nor would any of the others. Maybe that would elicit a response other than the quiet reticence the kovor seemed to wear like a second skin.
“No of course not,” Devon said wiping some sweat onto his pants, “you were meditating or practicing the gevecht the entire time to be sure.”
“That sounds about right,” Kirin said as he skirted a building and approached the entrance to one of the dining halls.
Devon laughed. It would have been disconcerting had Kirin not known him for most of his life. It was the laugh of a man rather than that of a boy, full of resonance and confidence.
Kirin ducked into the dining hall, followed by Devon’s bulkier frame.
Sturdy wooden tables and chairs rested heavily in the center of the building. A few simple tapestries of another time hung along the walls offering another shade of gray to accent the earth tones within. Thick candles burned along the perimeter. Black fingers of soot reached up the walls as shadowy extensions of the small flickering flames. The smell of fresh bread and roasting meat along with hints of rosemary clung to the walls with desperate abandon.
Kirin glanced about realizing he had come a touch early. The familiar sights and smells were tantalizing to his rumbling stomach. He glanced back toward Devon who merely shrugged. They worked their way toward the kitchen to check on the progress of dinner.
“Young D’Velt, a pleasure to see you out,” a tall man with overly thick hands said. “And the gifted Devon I see.”
“Master Cook, it’s great to finally breathe something other than the scent of a thousand desperate Thane,” Kirin replied with a smile, he liked the cook.
The cook smiled as he gripped a hot iron handle with his bare hands. He moved the pan with a flick of his wrist tossing the contents within. A sizzle and fresh waft of savory steam permeated the air.
“What’s for dinner?” Kirin asked eagerly.
“Of course you must be starving!”
He grabbed a cloth wiping his hands and dabbing at the sweat accumulating as slick beads on his forehead. The Master Cook then looked about conspiratorially before tossing a warm mini-loaf to Kirin and another to Devon.
“Thank you!”
“Our secret. Now get out of here you two,” the cook made a shooing motion with his massive hands.
Devon darted out the door with Kirin quickly in tow, each clutching a fresh loaf in their hands. They slipped past the compound toward the mountain. A narrow path weaved toward a lookout position enshrouded by some trees. It was under the shade of these trees that the pair dug into their bread and simply sat in silence looking out upon the distant valley. Comfortable silence, Kirin felt, was the mark of a solid relationship.
“You ever wonder what’s out there.” Devon said breaking the lull.
Kirin laughed, “Did you forget who you were asking?”
“Yeah I guess. It’s been nearly two months.”
“Two months and a day,” Kirin corrected him.
“That bad huh.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to repeat that anytime soon.”
They lapsed momentarily into silence as they chewed on their small meal.
“Anything exciting happen while I was away?” Kirin asked.
Devon glanced up toward the sky. His brow furrowed a bit as he thought on the last couple of months. He ran a thick hand through his blonde hair before he finally replied.
“The snow finally melted and it’s warmed up enough so that we can train longer into the evening now.”
“I know it’s warmed up. I wasn’t dead, I was simply locked up,” Kirin cut in.
Devon chuckled and almost choked on a small piece of bread.
“Well then, let’s see,” Devon paused a moment in recollection, “Instructor Fulk broke Warin’s arm, he cried like a little girl,” Devon grunted to himself as a half-smile lingered on his lips.
“That must’ve been entertaining,” Kirin said.
“It was, even Dannon laughed. Warin was acting more of an ass than usual that day. We think Master Fulk did it on purpose,” Devon mimicked the breaking of Warin’s arm as he related the story.
At the mention of Dannon Kirin’s throat went dry. He swallowed the bread he was chewing and suddenly wished for some water. Devon carried on oblivious.
“Gosselin challenged your father not two span ago over the food rations, Ayleth tried to calm her down, but couldn’t,” Devon continued, his expression changing.
Kirin knew what Devon thought of women’s opinions. He was also torn in that Gosselin had raised him as a grandmother. Ayleth had shown him more warmth than his father ever had, yet his father was the kovor. He was to be respected, not challenged publicly.
“She shouldn’t have done that,” Kirin replied.
“By the thirteen I don’t know what she was thinking!” Devon spat. “Women are always complaining, bickering or gossiping.”
Kirin didn’t respond. He knew how Devon got around certain subjects. This was one of them. He always wondered why his friend was so passionately distrustful of women. It was still a mystery; one Kirin was unwilling to probe further. Only once had he tried and it ended with them wrestling halfway down the hill and caught by the Master.
“I’d move south if I could, I hear they treat women the way they’re supposed to be treated there,” Devon mumbled.
Kirin looked over at him. He shook his head as he thought of a response.
“If I could go somewhere it would be over the Shrouded Mountains to the land of the Three Kingdoms,” Kirin said.
“If you can make it past the witches of the mountain!” Devon snorted.
Here it began, Kirin thought. At least he had diverted Devon away from a sensitive subject.
“They’re probably just a myth. You know how the stories get built up with each telling. In one version they’re beheading children in another they’re flying from the sky breathing fire,” Kirin said waving his hand dramatically.
His father had told him about the witches. Kirin remembered it clearly for it was one of the few one-on-one interactions they’d had. The kovor had simply stated, “Remember with many stories there is only a kernel of truth. Not all witches are bad.”
“I think you’re confusing the draccus fiend with witches,” Devon retorted.
“Maybe, but you know what I mean. Anyway, draccus fiends are a perfect example, they no longer exist, yet they’re still talked
about as if they were seen flying around yesterday.”
At this Devon seemed shocked as if Kirin had stated the moon would no longer appear in the night sky. A wicked grin struggled to remain hidden on Kirin’s face as he glanced briefly at the clouds.
“Of course draccus fiends exist; for the kovor’s son sometimes you say the stupidest things!”
Kirin suddenly became serious.
“I wish I weren’t the kovor’s son,” he said at last.
“What?” Devon said exasperated as he looked upon Kirin. He noted the solemn look and immediately changed his tone, “Why not? The kovor is the most honorable position in the village!”
“There are other ways to maintain one’s honor than bossing people about and making their son’s life miserable.” Kirin responded.
“The honor doesn’t come from the position, but is demanded by it,” Devon said.
“I knew what you meant, but there’s more to life than what people perceive you to be. Most are so caught up in their own problems that they couldn’t give two shits if it didn’t involve themselves.”
“You think your father’s like that? That he doesn’t care?”
“Oh, I know he cares about the village, and the crops, and the defenses of our people…”
“Just not about his own son,” Devon filled in.
“Exactly,” Kirin whispered.
“You really don’t like him, your father I mean,” Devon said, slightly in shock.
“You wouldn’t either if you were his son. He didn’t even raise me. He wants nothing to do with me. Ayleth is more a parent to me than the kovor ever has been.”
At this Devon spat, “women shouldn’t raise men. They’re too emotional and too weak. They lack the logic and strength required to raise a true warrior.”
For some reason this struck a nerve. Kirin was already feeling heated and dove into their newest argument with relish.
Tears of a Heart Page 2