The Heretic's Song (The Song's Of Aarda Book 1)

by K Schultz

  Rehaak need not rush a decision he might later regret. Although he still sorted through his conflicts, his faith had returned. Last night he had prayed for another chance, and Laakea arrived. Rehaak was short of guidance, but time was in plentiful supply. Time and patience could unlock Laakea’s secrets and reveal a new direction to Rehaak.

  Laakea’s arrival pricked his memory. Rehaak might risk returning to Narragansett to consult the texts at the scriptorium. A passage written about an Eniila warrior, piqued his interest. He could almost remember it.

  Rehaak pushed his musings and misgivings aside and continued, “I sense you have nowhere to go, so I invite you to stay as long as you want. My resources are limited, as you can see, but you may share everything I own and you are welcome to it.”

  The lad remained silent, as if searching for the proper polite response. Laakea raised his head and met Rehaak’s eyes for a moment, but looked away again without answering.

  “This is not a formal offer of custom or duty. No formal answer is required. It is one man, offering aid to another man. You need not reply at once, or you may wish to pursue other options; if you do, may the blessings of The Creator be upon you. I wish you a safe journey. If you need my help, I give it with no expectation of repayment.”

  “Breakfast is not ready. You need time to ponder your answer. I want to set your mind at ease, so you do not worry. Worry inhibits learning, and we will learn from each other, if you accept my offer.”

  Rehaak went to the shelves on the wall, removed the leather pouches Laakea had seen earlier. He carried them to the table where the small cook pot sat and poured grains and dried fruits from the pouches into the pot.

  “This breakfast is my favorite. I hope you enjoy it.”

  ***

  Laakea sat, thinking hard, staring into the flames of the hearth. Though his body was immobile, his mind leaped and bounded like a rock tumbling down a steep slope. Laakea felt safe here and it felt proper to stay. Rehaak offered him more than he hoped for, and more than he deserved.

  Laakea owed Rehaak a Life Debt, and if he stayed, he might repay that debt. It was the honorable thing to do. Rehaak made him nervous, although he was kind and generous. What bothered Laakea most were Rehaak’s eyes.

  “When he looks at me, he can see into my soul,” he thought.

  “By the questions he asks, and the things he says, he knows what I am thinking. He will see my disgrace I have nowhere else to go, but how can I stay when he has such powers? He is a sorcerer or worse.”

  Laakea’s thoughts tumbled, down a steep slope to the brink of despair but he stopped short of the precipice, but before he could tell Rehaak that he intended to accept his offer, Rehaak spoke.

  “I must go to the village for supplies soon since I am not used to having guests,” Rehaak said, sensing Laakea’s answer.

  Laakea’s shaky resolve wavered again. Rehaak once again anticipated his reply.

  “How did he know?”

  Laakea looked away, and stared at the fire while trying to control his rising panic.

  “I should escape while I have the chance.”

  Laakea wanted to run screaming like a little child, but his legs would not obey. Something deeper and stronger than fear held him here. He was no longer sure of anything, but he sensed great tenderness in the man tending the fire. That tenderness beckoned him to stay. A voice as golden as the voice in the forest, said, “You are safe here. You can learn and grow in peace.”

  Laakea summoned his courage, just as Rehaak looked up from the pot he was stirring. Their eyes met.

  “Thank you for your offer of hospitality. I will stay as long as you’ll allow, and the gods will it,” he said, completing the decision by giving voice to it. I hope that during my time with you I can repay my Life-Debt.

  “There, I have given my word and I cannot keep my honor if I do otherwise.”

  Honor and duty still held importance for Laakea, even after he had failed in both honor and duty to his father. Perhaps, he was still worth redeeming.

  Rehaak smiled as he straightened and stretched. He got the wooden cup for his tea, filled it with boiling water and herbs, set it on the mantel to steep, while he worked their breakfast. Neither man spoke, but the silence was comfortable now.

  Laakea hoped that Rehaak would not regret the offer of hospitality, and he hoped to repay his Life Debt.

  “Breakfast is ready. Come and eat,” Rehaak said, and scooped a steaming mound of porridge into each bowl.

  Laakea set his chair at the table. Steam rose from the bowl in front of him carrying the fragrance into the air. The aromas caused Laakea’s stomach to rumble in eager anticipation as he waited for Rehaak to eat. Instead of eating, the man raised his hands upward and sang.

  Creator of all, seas, and stones and sky,

  Our thanks we sing to you on high.

  We take your gifts that you provide.

  Your power graciously bestow,

  On all your creatures here below.

  Our thanks we give, our strength and guide.

  With that done, he nodded to the boy, then sat and began eating.

  After the first spoonful, Laakea found it difficult to pace himself. The food was delicious. Laakea had eaten nothing but berries and mushrooms for five days and he supposed that charcoal would taste decent, after that long fast. Shelhera’s feast day cooking could not surpass these boiled grains and fruits. Laakea finished the bowl in moments, and although his stomach cried out for more, honor would not allow him to ask for another helping. Rehaak smiled again.

  “I forgot the way a youngster can eat. Thank you for the reminder. Tomorrow I will make larger portions.”

  The way Rehaak divined his thoughts unsettled Laakea less now. Rehaak spoke with gentle understanding, and his demeanor was non-threatening. Laakea was more at ease with this stranger than with his father, in the weeks before he fled his home. Laakea summoned up his courage and asked the question that had bothered him since his first look into the man’s emerald-green eyes.

  “How do you always know what I’m thinking?”

  Rehaak’s eyes lit up in humor, “I have much to tell you.”

  Laakea waited, imagining a deep revelation.

  “Our two species may differ from each other.”

  “I already know our peoples are different, the Abrhaani are short, sturdy, with greenish skin and emerald eyes. We Eniila are fair and tall,” Laakea said, with the arrogance and certainty of youth.

  “True, but the differences extend beyond physical appearances.”

  “Please explain that,” Laakea said more sharply than he intended. He felt that Rehaak had just belittled his knowledge and he tried to control his temper.

  “I meant no offense,” Rehaak apologized in response to Laakea’s tone. “You give me more credit than is my due.”

  Rehaak began again. “I do not always know what you are thinking. You believe that and sometimes it must appear that way. I can understand a great deal by looking at your face and your posture and still more from putting myself in your position. When I am near people, I can sense their emotions but I do not always know what they are thinking.”

  “This ability is easy for most of my race, and effortless for me. I believed that it was common, but if you know nothing of it, the Abrhaani alone may have this ability. If you are willing, I will explain more, later.”

  “There is work for us today. If you help me and you are hungry for knowledge, then I shall feed you as much as you can swallow, my young friend,” Rehaak smiled at the simile.

  “I am pleased to work for you. I owe you at least that much to help pay my Life Debt to you.” Laakea tried to hide the impact Rehaak’s word ‘friend’ created. This Abrhaani stranger had just called him friend. No one before today, none of the villagers ever called him friend.

  “Then let us begin by cleaning up these pots and dishes. We will cut fire wood, prepare things for our meals, and make a bed for you, unless you wish to sleep on the floor aga
in.”

  When the boy nodded in agreement, Rehaak did not draw attention to the fact that Laakea had just completed his first lesson, a lesson called trust.

  Chapter 12

  Rehaak cut logs into short lengths with a bow saw, while Laakea split the blocks for firewood. How Laakea dealt with hard labor was Rehaak’s way of taking the lad’s measure.

  “There is honor in an ordinary task done well,” was one of Rehaak’s father’s axioms. Having a youngster around restored Rehaak’s memories of his own youth.

  Laakea handled the hard work given him without complaint. He swung the ax in high arcs splitting the logs with precision at a steady pace. When the pile of split wood grew, he gathered the pieces in his arms, and piled them neatly in the woodshed attached to the hut.

  Sweat poured off Rehaak while keeping up with Laakea. They switched tasks. In spite of the physical work Rehaak had done, he could not match Laakea’s strength or stamina. The boy proved himself, capable of prolonged physical labor, and Rehaak saw that Laakea took pride in his workmanship. Nothing the boy did betrayed carelessness, whether sawing or stacking wood, he did it with diligence.

  It was time to test his wits. Rehaak began with questions as they switched tasks again.

  “What brought your parents here from Baradon?”

  “They never told me the reason, but they said they came on a ship carrying trade goods to Khel Braah.”

  “Did they bring anything with them?”

  “Yes. They carried their supplies and provisions inland, in several trips.”

  “The transition must have been difficult.”

  “My father built a house, a smithy, and a smelter in the valley where we live — where we lived. I think that was before Abrhaani built the village at Dun Dale.”

  “Can you tell me more about your family life?”

  “When people learned my father was a blacksmith, they asked him for help, since they had no smith nearby. Father’s tools and implements always outlasted and outperformed the tools the villagers got from the city, and at far less cost.”

  “My parents seldom went to the village except to trade. Mother stayed home with me, when I was young but once I grew older, they took me with them. I helped my parents with their work or did my own chores. Then there were the hours of combat practice with my father.”

  “Ah, the infinite round of daily work. I noticed the same thing, since I came to live here,” Rehaak said before he went back to sawing. Rehaak sawed through the log and the block rolled away.

  “Where did Aelfric get the iron he worked? Did he mine for it?”

  “No, he used bog iron. That’s iron deposited by water in a swamp. An oily film on the surface of the water we call jarnbrák, indicates iron in the bog. My father built our house nearby and he refined the iron for tools and fittings.”

  “I see,” said Rehaak.

  “You said you would teach me, not ask me what I know,” Laakea said.

  “Learning is more than giving information. The river of knowledge flows both directions. I have been a scholar for most of my life, studied many things and love knowledge. You enrich me by allowing me to learn about you and your family’s customs.”

  By starting with commonplace topics, Rehaak patterned the youngster to answer his questions, and build a greater level of trust. Rehaak continued building on the thin layer of good faith already established and moved toward deeper issues.

  “All right then,” Laakea nodded.

  “You spoke of gods earlier. What do you know about gods?” Rehaak asked.

  “Mother taught me many gods exist. The god of agriculture, the god of mining and metal-craft, the gods of war and death, among others.”

  “So you believe there are many gods?”

  “Yes. Mother taught me this.”

  “What about mankind?”

  “We are two species, different from each other in size and physical attributes.”

  “Please explain how we are different.”

  “The Eniila have superior metal-craft, weapons, war-craft, and herding skills. Abrhaani people are better at fishing, art, and stone craft. Abrhaani have a written language, which Eniila don’t. Storytellers or bards pass on our knowledge through songs and stories while the Abrhaani use books. Your people built great cities on the shores of Baradon, before my father’s people drove them back to Khel Braah. I don’t know what part Father played, but I suspect it was important.”

  “You told me earlier that your parents taught you their trades and skills What trades were they?”

  “My parents taught me smithing, combat skills, fletching, and the craft of the bowyer.”

  “You told me we are different, but how are we similar?”

  “We are all men although different in appearance both species speak the same language.”

  “Did your mother teach you about a third race?”

  “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “No, they are unknown to most people, but they are called Sokai. The Sokai have disappeared from Aarda, but they used to dwell among us.

  “This is written somewhere, right?”

  “Yes, and if I tell you there is only one God?”

  “So what my mother taught me about the gods is false?” said the boy defensively.

  “Mistaken, perhaps,” Rehaak said. “Your mother taught you what she believed was true.”

  It was more difficult than Rehaak had expected to teach Laakea, without offending him. Unless Laakea trusted Rehaak he would never believe him, but for trust to grow, Rehaak must risk rejection by Laakea for that to happen.

  Laakea needed to see who Rehaak was, faults and all. Rehaak hadn’t bared his soul to Isil, and she was closer to him than anyone. If he expected the lad to trust him, he must first trust the lad. As Rehaak sawed another block from the log, he realized he must learn trust before he could teach it.

  ***

  Laakea turned back to the wood, attacked another block from the pile with the ax, turning it into kindling. Rehaak had criticized his mother’s teaching. Laakea interpreted Rehaak’s silence as a reproach and it provoked resentment that Laakea tried to hide from Rehaak.

  When Rehaak stopped talking Laakea re-experienced his father’s sullen silences and outbursts of anger, so he thought Rehaak was angry.

  Rehaak cleared his throat. Laakea turned to look at him. The resentment and mistrust smoldering behind his eyes, vanished with Rehaak’s next words.

  “You told me about yourself. It is my turn to share and trust is as difficult for me as it is for you. I have not shared this with anyone, since it disgraces me. This is my story,” he said, and even without the Abrhaani ability to empathize, the young Eniila felt Rehaak’s shame.

  Chapter 13

  “I came from a family who were wealthy land owners at one time. Now they are just farmers, although they work a large farmstead by Abrhaani standards. My father wanted me to manage our land, since I was the eldest son, but I never cared about farming. Books and learning interested me, not grain and goats.”

  I drove everyone mad with endless questions. Even as a youngster, I read books on history, philosophy, theology and everything else I found. I was a great disappointment to my parents who were practical people. The knowledge I sought would not make the corn grow taller or its kernels fuller, so it had no value.

  “Abrhaani families are large; mine was no exception, with five boys and one girl. My younger brothers and my sister appeared content to follow in our parents footsteps. Around the time I left home, my oldest brother Zheff, the son who made my father happy, ran our farm. Father said, I had a wild heart and I could never be contented. Father favored Zheff because he knew, one of his son’s would make something of himself and care for him when he grew old. My other brothers were similar.”

  “Keria, my sister — was fourteen summers in the year I left and had suitors vying for her hand. She and my mother cried when I left. Father would not miss my endless enquiries, nor would he agonize as I frittered awa
y my life, on what he considered useless fancies.”

  “The younger sibs did not care; since they were too young to comprehend I was leaving forever. Zheff wished me well. We had always been close, and though he did not share my curiosity, he always showed interest in what I discovered. Zheff respected me and I miss him the most. He gave me my staff as a going away present.”

  “To defend yourself, wherever your wild heart leads you,” he said, as he bid goodbye.

  “I have seen none of them since, a shameful admission to an Abrhaani. Family ties are sacred and eternal, even extending into the afterlife. I broke those bonds and brought shame on my house and myself by abandoning my family. Much later when I lived in Narragansett, I became a drunkard and libertine, wasting my time and my talents which compounded my disgrace.

  Now I will tell you what set me on the hunt for knowledge.”

  “My first and clearest childhood memory is a dream. Our family lived in a house much larger than this hut, with two floors and several rooms on each floor. The upper level contained a large storage loft, with a stairway leading up into it. The loft doorway was in my bedroom.”

  “In my dream, I awaken, to find light shining under the door to the storage loft. The loft should have been empty so I thought someone forgot to extinguish the lamps. I was afraid the lamps might start the house afire and Father would be displeased at the waste of lamp oil. I went to the doorway, intending to climb the stairs and put out the lamps.”

  “Once I opened the door, I looked upward. At the top of the staircase, is a being so dark and malevolent I cannot describe it. I cannot see it clearly, because of the darkness of its nature. It is pure evil, so black it absorbs light.”

  “This being holds my gaze, like chains bind a man to a dungeon wall. I cannot escape or even look away. I know it will devour my soul and destroy me. My mouth opens to scream, but cannot, so I stand rooted in place, trapped inside my unresponsive body, and if the evil one touches me I am lost forever.”

  “Although my body will not respond but I am still free to think and reason. This intensifies the terror, because I know both the danger, and my powerlessness to prevent my destruction. In my spirit, I groan in desperation, ‘God save me.’ Notice, I did not say, ‘gods save me.’ When that cry erupted from my spirit, the creature of utter blackness and pure evil, dissolved like mist and I awoke shaking, and crying in terror.”