by Wark, RM
Lord Cephas studied his servant carefully. “Are you not up for the task, my dear Wendell?”
“I am, my lord. It was simply a question.”
“We shall be gone for as long as it takes,” the wizard sighed.
“Aye, my lord.”
*************
“It took several months to arrange a meeting with Lady Delia,” noted Steward Isaiah, “so the training of Seth and Soren continued. Steward Elijah’s journal tells us that both boys were excellent students. Soren excelled at some things; Seth excelled at others. Steward Elijah conceded that both were fine candidates to be the future Steward. It was quite a predicament. Eventually Steward Elijah had his meeting with Lady Delia. There is but a single brief entry in the journal in reference to that meeting: I have spoken to Lady Delia and it is agreed, in the end, only one may lead.”
“Steward Elijah continued to train both boys for the entire seven-year period. The journal does not provide any rationale for this decision. We may only speculate that Elijah was hopeful that by the end of the training it would be clear which boy was most deserving to serve as Steward. Regardless, he eventually chose Soren, acknowledging only that Soren’s mark was the same as the mark borne by all the Stewards who came before him. And thus the journal ends; there are no further entries.”
The room was silent for some time as the Council members contemplated this piece of their village’s history. Eventually Elder Catherine spoke again. “So Soren became the next Steward of Reed – but what became of Seth?”
Isaiah paused for a moment, contemplating the question. “I am not certain,” he said. “I have always assumed that Seth returned to work his father’s land. They were shepherds, I believe.”
“Aye, they were,” confirmed Elder Peter. “Though I believe their land now belongs to my wife’s family, and has for nearly three hundred years.”
*************
The room grew quiet again and Steward Isaiah finally made his way back to his desk. “Now that we have reflected upon the lore of the twins, I am curious as to your thoughts about Fallon,” he said, sitting down at his desk between Elder Catherine and Elder Anne. The Steward turned to Elder Tomar.
“I believe this history teaches us that while similar marks may appear on occasion, there is only one true mark of Reed, and only the person who bears that mark is truly destined to be the leader of our village. Thus, we must wait for a boy with the proper mark.” Elder Tomar’s argument was a good one and many of the Elders pondered it for a time.
It was typical for the Elders to provide their final judgments in order of their seat assignment, so Elder Lydia spoke next. “I agree with Elder Tomar. My position has not changed. Fallon does not bear the mark of Reed. He cannot be our next Steward.”
Everyone in the room now turned their attention to Elder Jacob, who had remained silent thus far. The old man spoke slowly. “Five hundred years ago, the sitting Council was forced to choose between two potential candidates, and Soren was selected over Seth for no other reason than his mark better resembled those of previous Stewards. If two boys stood before us now – one with the proper mark, one without – I would agree with the logic of Elder Tomar. Alas, there is no boy with a proper mark before us today. There is only Fallon. So I choose Fallon. I do not choose to wait for that which may never come.”
Elder Catherine’s quiet voice spoke up next. “I believe the history of the twins teaches us that slight variations in the mark are indeed possible. Perhaps the mark of Fallon is the same as the mark of Seth. I argue that being different does not necessarily mean Fallon is not the chosen one to lead our village. He was marked on his 13th birthday; he is special. There is a reason he stands before us today.”
Steward Isaiah remained quiet and turned to Elder Anne.
Elder Anne spoke firmly. “By Steward Elijah’s own account, both twins demonstrated aptitude for being the next Steward, even though Seth’s mark was slightly different. Therefore, I see no reason why Fallon should not be given the same opportunity to prove himself worthy. Steward Isaiah may be in fair health now…but he is not immortal. We cannot risk leaving the village without a Steward – to do so would most certainly mean our destruction at the hands of the Komanites. Alas, I fear we do not have time to wait.”
Isaiah frowned in contemplation of Elder Anne’s words and turned to Elder Peter.
“This village has never been under the direction of a Steward that did not have the exact same mark that Steward Isaiah bears now. There is a reason for that. Perhaps this is a ruse put forth by the wizards to see if we remain true to our history, our identity. I do not want to be the first Council that allows an impostor to serve as our Steward.” Peter’s voice had been quite forceful on that final point, but he sighed and continued on in a softer tone. “Admittedly, I should be the last to speak of the virtue of patience, but this is what I urge of us now. Our true Steward is out there. He shall come forward some day; we must await his arrival.”
Elder Tomar and Elder Lydia nodded in agreement. Elder Theodora bit her lip.
The vote was currently tied 3–3. Being somewhat different herself with a mother from Henly, the Elders had expected Elder Theodora to sympathize with Fallon’s situation. For once she surprised them. “While I do not believe Fallon to be an impostor – and what a horrible choice of words, Elder Peter,” she admonished, “it does bother me that his mark is not the same as Steward Isaiah’s. This village has been around for thousands of years, and to our knowledge, the Stewards have always had the exact same mark. I cannot think of a reason why it should be any different now. I agree that we must wait until a boy with the proper mark arrives.”
“The reason why the mark would be different now is that change is afoot. The Komanites are becoming more relentless in their raids. There are rumors that tribes from the East are invading. The world is not static, it never has been. We must be prepared for change. We must embrace it.” Elder Graham tapped his ornate walking stick on the ground for emphasis and added, “We must embrace Fallon, for he shall be the one to navigate us through these most unusual times.”
The others had heard the rumors of tribes from the Eastern Territories invading some of the borderlands in the Durango Region, something that had never happened in recorded history. Reedites took comfort in knowing their village was at the far western edge of the Western Territories – and that the mighty Atlian Mountains would prove a formidable barrier to possible invaders – but the news was disconcerting nonetheless.
The vote was now tied again, 4–4. All eyes were on Steward Isaiah.
*************
Edwin stared in disbelief at what his eyes beheld. He had been a shepherd in the shadow of the Divisidero Mountains for more than four decades, but he had never seen an Easterner before, let alone an entire family of them. He had come across their camp this morning as he was guiding his flock to their favorite feeding grounds. He counted eight in all. Their eyes were sunken and dull and their skin stretched tight across the frames of their skeletons. Their clothes hung in rags from their bodies. Their movements were listless – even the children were without energy.
“You are trespassing upon my land. You are not welcome here. Go home,” he shouted to two men huddled by a fire outside their makeshift tent.
They regarded him but did not speak.
“Do you not hear me? Do you not understand? You must leave!”
One of the men stared at Edwin for a while before he finally spoke. “We have nowhere to go. There is nothing to return to. This is our home now.” Time and distance had given the Easterner’s words an unusual accent, but Edwin had understood them. The words were without despair, without anger, without any emotion whatsoever; they troubled Edwin deeply.
“Your hardships are not of my concern. Be gone by the time I return tomorrow or you shall awake in the next life before it is your time.” Edwin turned away on his horse before his unwelcome guests had a chance to respond.
The following day, Edwin was joine
d by a few of his neighbors who had listened with amazement as he told them of the Eastern invaders the night before. To Edwin’s relief, the family was gone, though the remnants of their camp remained – a blight on the otherwise picturesque mountainside.
“Is this one of yours, Edwin?” One of Edwin’s neighbors had been walking through the debris of the campsite and was now poking at something with a stick.
Edwin walked closer. On the ground was the carcass of one of his sheep; it had been picked clean to the bone.
“Wizards be damned, even the brain and eyes are gone.” The shock and disgust were evident in his neighbor’s voice.
*************
Isaiah remained quiet for some time. There was an uneasy silence in the room, but the Elders held their tongues. At last the Steward spoke. “I feel quite fortunate to have such a wise Council at hand to inform my decisions. You have all raised excellent points regarding the unusual situation we find ourselves in today.”
There was a short pause before Isaiah continued. “It troubles me greatly that Fallon’s mark is not the same as mine, and I question whether it truly is his destiny to lead our village. Alas, as Elder Anne so kindly pointed out, I am not immortal. I have already been waiting for ten years for the next Steward to arrive. With each passing year I grow closer to ground and I do not want to part this life without knowing the village is in safe hands, especially with the escalating threat of the Komanites.”
Isaiah cleared his throat and continued on. “I have a proposal for your consideration. As Steward Elijah did long ago, I would like to seek additional counsel from the wizards, from Lady Dinah specifically. She may have additional knowledge of the meeting between her mother and Steward Elijah, and I am hopeful that she may have some insights on how best to resolve our current predicament. As we are short on time, I would also like to begin training Fallon. Consider it a ‘trial period’ of sorts. At the end of the year, we shall revisit whether or not Fallon has proven himself worthy of further training or if we would be better served by waiting for another boy to arrive – a boy with the proper mark.”
The Elders pondered the Steward’s proposal for a moment. Elder Lydia was the first to speak. “I support seeking additional counsel from Lady Dinah,” she said, “but I question whether it is wise to begin training Fallon. What if the Lady’s advice is to wait until a boy with the proper mark arrives?”
“I agree,” Elder Peter said. “Furthermore, I would not want to develop certain talents in a person who is not meant to be our Steward, even if it is merely a ‘trial period.’ We might find ourselves facing a dangerous enemy who is of our own creation.”
“He is just a boy,” countered Elder Anne. “And besides, it takes years to develop any talents of significance; there is a reason why the training period lasts for seven years. I, for one, do not believe a single year of training shall be of harm.”
“Agreed,” said Elder Catherine. “It is quite possible that Lady Dinah shall encourage us to accept Fallon. Furthermore, the meeting with the wizard could be months away. We shall have wasted precious time if we fail to start the training now.”
Before any of the other Elders could continue the debate, Isaiah raised his hand and spoke again. “I understand the concerns. It is my intent that Fallon’s trial period be focused on basic skills only – with just enough training for me to evaluate his abilities, his instincts, his judgment. Besides, if Fallon really is an ‘enemy,’ would it not behoove us to know his strengths and weaknesses?” Steward Isaiah directed this last question back at Elder Peter.
The Elders conceded to this point. It was agreed that a messenger should be sent to Lady Dinah at once and that Steward Isaiah should begin his assessment of Fallon.
It was also agreed that it would be best, at least for the time being, not to mention to Fallon that it was unusual for the mark to be different. “To properly evaluate him, I need Fallon to believe that everything about his apprenticeship is normal. I worry that it would be a distraction somehow if he knew he was different,” Isaiah explained.
*************
After what seemed like forever, Steward Isaiah emerged from the double doors of the inner chambers and approached Fallon. “Please come with me, son. My house is not far.”
“Aye, sir,” responded Fallon. After a brief pause he asked, “Steward, is everything all right?” He was still confused by what had happened inside the Council Chambers.
“Aye, everything is fine,” Isaiah said. He hesitated for a moment before continuing on. “It is not every day that a marked boy arrives at door of the Council Chambers. Admittedly the Elders were a tad excited. Also, the Council had other important business to attend to. We do not typically convene our meetings on Hexadays you know.” Isaiah hoped this explanation would assuage Fallon’s concerns, but it was difficult to tell from the boy’s face.
The two walked in silence on the way to Steward Isaiah’s house. The sun’s final rays were starting to disappear beyond the horizon and people were beginning to light the oil lamps along the cobblestone corridors. Fallon thought about his father and wondered how he and Sadie were settling in at the Hartford Inn. He wondered if his father had paid a visit to Aunt Rebecca and Uncle Charles, and if so, whether he had mentioned anything to them about the mark.
They had arrived at Steward Isaiah’s house on the eastern edge of the Village Square. It was a little two-story stone house on a gentle hillside. One would never know that the Steward of Reed lived there; the only thing of interest was a bright red door, an unusual sight within the Village of Reed. Isaiah, noticing Fallon’s attention to the door, explained, “My wife, Nora – she loved the color red.” There was a touch of sadness in his words.
Steward Isaiah opened the bright red door and motioned Fallon inside. Isaiah’s housekeeper, Beatrice, had already lit the oil lamps and there was a soft glow coming from one of the rooms down the hall. It was a rather small, narrow house. Straight ahead was a staircase leading to the upper floor. Beside it was a long hallway with what looked to be two or three rooms off to either side. “Let me grab a lantern and I shall show you to your room.” Isaiah disappeared down the hall and returned a few moments later. Beatrice and a large black dog followed happily behind.
“Fallon, this is Beatrice, my housekeeper.”
“How do you do?” Fallon greeted the rather jolly, heavyset woman while the large black dog was busy sniffing him up and down.
“Oh, fine thank you. The Steward has just been telling me you shall be staying with us for a while. I am so pleased. Sometimes one tires of hearing the same old stories over and over,” she joked, winking at Fallon. Then she turned her attention to the dog who was still intently sniffing Fallon. “Mobley, leave that poor boy alone!” she playfully scolded. Mobley responded by wagging his tail vigorously at the woman.
Fallon smiled. He liked Beatrice immediately. He liked Mobley, too.
Isaiah took Fallon on a quick tour of the house. The upstairs had three rooms: the Steward’s bedroom, Beatrice’s bedroom and Fallon’s bedroom. Down the hallway of the first floor, there was a kitchen, a sitting room that overlooked the backyard, and a small study where Fallon presumed Steward Isaiah spent most of his time.
Beatrice had set the kitchen table for three and before long they were enjoying a meal of lamb and potatoes, with some sweet rolls for dessert. His stomach more than satisfied, Fallon realized just how tired he was and politely excused himself. “This was a wonderful dinner, thank you. I am a bit tired, however, and would like to go to bed now. May I be excused?”
“Aye,” Steward Isaiah replied.
Fallon was nearly through the door of the kitchen when the Steward called after him. The boy stopped and turned back towards Isaiah.
“Happy birthday, Fallon.”
With everything that had happened that day, Fallon had forgotten it was still his birthday. “Thank you, Steward. Good night.”
“Good night, son.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The
Messenger
At the break of dawn the next morning when Fallon was still fast asleep at Steward Isaiah’s house on the hillside, Adam was quickly riding down the road to Bartow as fast as his horse would allow. The Council Chamber doorman made decent progress until he arrived at the side road to Durham, a rugged area of Reed in the northeast part of the village. As much as Adam loathed this stretch of road – it was very uneven and overgrown in places – Hammond lived in Durham and it was important that Adam see him at once. Two grueling hours later, Adam finally saw hints of Hammond’s house, tucked between the trees in the distance.
“Were you expecting any visitors today, Hammond?” asked Edith, Hammond’s wife, as a knocking sound echoed from their front door. She opened the door before her husband had a chance to respond. “Why hello, Adam!” Edith exclaimed in surprise. “Please do come in!”
“Thank you, Edith,” replied Adam, taking off his coat and handing it to the woman. “By chance is your husband here? I should like a word with him.”
“Aye, he is in the sitting room. Go on back now. I shall have Gentry attend to your horse.” Edith motioned for her guest to proceed down the hall and went in search of her son.
“Have you come to visit me in my time of need?” Hammond’s loud voice called out to Adam as he made his way towards the sitting room.
“What do you mean 'your time of need’?” Adam quizzed as he stepped into the room, though he grew quiet when he caught sight of Hammond. “Wizards be damned, what happened to you, my friend?”
Hammond was seated in his chair with his right leg propped up and ankle bandaged. “Did the news of my great tavern brawl not make its way back to the Village Square yet?” This was said in jest, but Adam’s expression made clear he was in no mood for jokes, so Hammond shrugged and proceeded to explain. “One would think that all these years of life would have taught me how to avoid holes when walking about. It is most likely just a sprain. But alas, my ankle is fairly bruised and swollen.”