by K. E. Walter
Neach chewed on the words like an overcooked piece of meat. Their hard to swallow realism was something that Neach was hoping he’d get used to. Once he digested them, he responded to his father’s kind hearted sentiments with some of his own.
“I just don’t understand, father, if you’re not my parents, who are? Why would they just leave me there to die? It’s not fair!” Neach exclaimed.
His new manhood was evident in every word he uttered. Neach remained caught in a veritable limbo with the reality of his situation; that he was both a new man, yet only days ago he was a boy. He struggled with his emotions, and he hoped he could be better for it one day. Asgall understood this, and he tried his best to work with his son.
“I know, son. I wish things were different, but unfortunately, all we have in life is what is written in the pages of our realities. We may not like what has happened, we may wish to change some things, but our story has been written in a perpetual ink that will not smear.” Asgall’s words lingered in the air above the two men, as Neach attempted to digest them once again.
Neach sat there, wondering what it all meant, but also wondering whether he should tell him what had happened whilst he was out in the wilderness the night before. After a minute or so of contemplation, Neach decided it was best.
“Father, I saw another wolf last night. It approached me, without a sound, and carved a path back home. What does it mean? It didn’t even seem real, maybe I was imagining it.” Neach had approached the border of insanity at this point. With the things he had learned in the last few days, it didn’t seem impossible that something he thought he knew would turn out to be false.
Asgall sighed heavily. He fell into a daydream of sorts, thinking back to the day when he had found his son behind that rock in the field. He remembered thinking that he was special. It was as if his skin radiated with purity, as if he were sent by the gods to bring love to the community. He had spent years trying to rationalize everything which had happened by deeming it happenstance. With the details offered to him now, it was all seeming to reify itself into reality.
“Son, I think you need to go. You are a man now, and your brother can look after us. It pains me to say this, but I think your future and your destiny lie in the city. It can offer much more explanation for you then I can. Go, embark on a journey, your journey. I want more than anything for you to find the answers you seek.”
A stunned silence seemed to hang over the outcrop like the thick winter clouds, which appeared to be rolling in over the hills. He had never left this village; he was born here, bred here. The countryside had raised him, taken him in for its own. Now his father was telling him to leave it. The existential crises flooded his brain and threatened to drown him in his own thoughts, once more.
It took some time for Neach to muster up a response to his father’s suggestion. He uttered the words in a meek delivery that was barely audible.
“Okay,” he whispered.
And so, on this day, as the winter let ease its grasp upon the valley, Asgall let ease his grasp around his son and asked him to go on a journey. This reality was hard for both men to comprehend, as they sat on those chairs in the crisp winter breeze. Unsure of what lie ahead, they rose up without a sound, and headed back toward home.
Upon arriving home, Neach was faced with yet another dilemma. He wasn’t sure what he was meant to tell his mother. He couldn’t just leave her, without as much as a parting glance.
Neach spent the next few hours in his room, staring at the ceiling mostly. His mind was racing like a full grown deer through the forest. He wished it would stop, but he soon found himself succumbing to a daydream.
He felt the warm breeze on his face. A mist seemed to hit him on the cheek, as he looked up and out onto the horizon. His body was filled with the warmth of the sun, as he lay on a rock in the sand. The sand acted as a heater for his legs, for the heat of the sun had been captured by it and saved for a later use.
The smell of the salt in the air was so vivid in his mind, that he could have sworn it was real. He closed his eyes in his dream, and they felt warm as well. Everything about his body seemed to be espousing perpetual heat into the air around it. It was a nice change from the dreadful winter which he was experiencing. He stared up into the sky and saw not a single cloud. The passionate blue stretched from the water, all the way over his head, and behind him.
He had never been to the ocean, but he had heard stories. This must have been a manifestation of those tales he had heard when he was young. It was as if he had been here hundreds of times already, by how vivid the visions were. He peered around and took in the beauty of the shore, but was startled when he looked down.
Beside him, lying in the sand, was the wolf which he had seen the night earlier. Its glowing body was amplified by the sunlight, which hit it with full force. It looked up at him and licked its lips in a sort of serene relaxation.
Suddenly, he felt comfortable. A weight seemed to have been removed from his shoulders, and he lay back across the rock. The sun was beating with its maximum potential at this point, and he wanted to soak in every single ray possible. He closed his eyes again and sought to enjoy it. Even though it was a dream, it was a dream which he hoped to see realized. Everything about it seemed to make the situation he found himself in more bearable.
It was like he found solace in the company of this wolf, as the two sat on the shore. The wolf’s calm nature provide a much needed contrast to Neach’s overworking brain, and the two existed in a equalized harmony on that sand.
Beautiful would have been too minimal of a term to describe the scene he was picturing. Nearly everything about it was perfect. He felt at home.
That home feeling was abruptly ended, when he awoke with a shiver in his bed. The fire must have been put out ages ago, and Neach found himself asleep on top of the blankets, which would have helped to keep in the majority of the heat. A long distance away from where he wished to be, Neach’s teeth chattered in the cold winter air that had now infiltrated his bedroom.
He sat up in his bed and looked out the hut toward the rest of the village. He had slept through the rest of the day and missed his family as well.
Asgall suggested that he leave Spleuchan Sonse and head for Leirwold. Neach had never been there before, and wondered what it was that the city could offer him.
He often mulled over things, but recently he found himself doing it increasingly more. It seemed everything required exponentially more mental energy than it required physical.
After a few minutes, he came to a realization. His father was right, he needed to go to the city.
Not only did he need to go to the city, he needed to do it tonight. If he didn’t make the decision now he’d never leave. And so, in the dead of the night, Neach began to pack his belongings to bring with him on the trip. He figured he would be gone for a few days at most; he was simply going to find out any information he could about his parents, and the life which had seemingly slipped through his fingers.
He couldn’t tell his mother where he was going; not only was it difficult, he wasn’t sure that she deserved any answers. And besides, his father knew where he was going, and that was good enough.
This rationalization provided comfort for Neach, as he gathered his things.
Nothing of note was placed into the bag except for the piece of the tree, which he had cut down himself only a few days earlier. This branch would serve as a reminder, he thought, of where he came from, and what it is that he was leaving behind for the time being. He knew it would take a day to reach the city and a day to come back, so he assumed that five days would be enough time to discover anything worth knowing.
He left his room and headed for the door.
Outside the door, the world awaited. There were things which he was unaware of, a journey which had neither a concrete destination nor goal. The only thing that was present and evident was an arbitrary desire of his. He hoped to learn the truth; the truth of his birth, his existence.
The only way he could find these answers was in the city. And so, on a cold night in winter, Neach set off for Leirwold without the slightest idea of what it was he needed to do, or where specifically it was that he was going.
V
The night sky offered no comfort in its dark and expansive abyss. Only a few stars could be seen shining, and the moon was covered by a thick layer of clouds. The weather seemed to change frequently here. One moment there was vibrant sunshine, the next, a cold rain would be falling. This spontaneity worried Neach, as he embarked toward Leirwold.
He knew that he needed to head eastward over the hill in order to go in the general direction of the city. A specific anecdote his father had told him rang true in his mind, as he walked along the path toward the hill.
When he was younger, his father had told him of a trip he had made to the city as a young boy. Accompanied by his parents, Asgall had been taken there to see a musical performance. Music was a large part of the culture of the valley, and his parents knew of a man who had been born in Spleuchan Sonse, and moved to Leirwold in hopes of becoming a famous musician.
This man, Daniel, as his father had called him, was not just any man. He was a phenomenally skilled lute player, and his talents had apparently taken him to the pinnacle of musicianship within the community in Leirwold.
This story played through in his mind and was important for a specific reason to Neach. His father had mentioned that he would reach a fork in the road near a large tree and upon arrival, he would need to go left.
Neach carried on with his journey as this information embedded itself in his mind. Any advice he could have would be crucial to his survival on this trip. The wind howled and the cold seemed to insert itself inside of his clothing. There was no escaping the winter chill and as he reached the top of the hill, a light snow began to fall.
Snow was not uncommon in this area, but only a few times yearly. The flakes fell from the sky like tiny dancers and nestled themselves in the foliage surrounding the path. It was a beautiful sight to witness as the sun was rising. The light hit the flakes and acted as a natural lantern.
After a few minutes, the grass began to be covered by the snow. Neach had a preference to this weather. He loved watching the valley become immersed in a blanket of white and the contrast of the wood smoke on the pure white ground. There was something about snow that made him feel at home. It acted as a natural representation of how felt on the inside. Even when things are most cold, there is still beauty to behold.
Onward and upward he trudged down the hill and into a gulch that was present at its base. The path was starting to accumulate and it was becoming difficult to see in the winter haze. His clothes were wet but a burning fire within him convinced him to push on through the frigid conditions.
The grass was completely covered by snow now, and it gave a serene quality to the landscape around him. A vast expanse of grass and trees, covered in a white layer that seemed to connect with the sky in a seamless fashion. If you weren’t careful you would be keen to think that the world around you was simply a circle of white.
Snow built up in his hair and he promptly shook it off.
Up ahead he saw the fork and tree which his father had told him about in the past. Continuing to the left, Neach put his faith in his father’s word as he bounded toward the ultimate destination: Leirwold.
Sporadic bursts of snow temporarily blinded Neach and created a thick layer of snow once he had traveled a ways on the path. It was nearly impossible to see anything around him, it was as if he were enveloped in a white cloth that shook his core from cold in every instant.
Alas, he pressed on, hoping that his journey would turn fruitful shortly. He had been travelling for what seemed like an eternity but what in reality may have been a few hours. In the distance he saw a deer run across the path. Maybe it had lost its family, maybe it was looking for food. In a strange sequence of events,
Neach could identify with the deer. It was like their lives met in congruence and they were capable of having a palpable relationship in that moment.
In the distance, it appeared he could make out a vague outline of the outer walls of a city. His vision worsened from the incoming snow and wind, he was unsure if he were imagining it or if it were something of note. He walked a bit further until it was apparent now. About a mile or so in front of him sat the defensive walls of a majestic city. It was breathtaking, even from afar. He saw the exquisitely carved stone which made up the watchtower and marveled at the engineering feats which must have taken place to craft such a massive structure.
His pace increased at a noticeable rate. Threatening to break into a full sprint, Neach collected his emotions and trotted back down to a walking pace. His insides burned with the passion of curiosity and hunger. Both literally and figuratively, he hoped he could acquire something to eat once he entered the city’s gates.
He was so close to it now that he could nearly taste it. The vague outline had now materialized into a stoic stone edifice that loomed over the countryside in an imposing manner. The snow had let up and his journey began to slowly deescalate into a smooth walk. His clothes and body wet, he strolled along the path which had now morphed into a complex road, complete with handrails and new stone foundations on the ground. With each footstep, his shoes collided with the stone under the snow and caused a muffled reverberation in the early morning hours.
It was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Even from the outside, the city was a marvelous sight. At the top of the towers, archers paced back and forth awaiting any outside threats. Below them, a collection of guards stood watch over the stalls and townspeople who found themselves outside the city walls.
From both sides, a road wrapped around. Even at this early hour, the street was showing signs of potential for the day to come. Vendors were coming with their fruits and vegetables in hopes of selling or bartering their product.
Neach couldn’t help but let a smile encompass his face. The joy of what he saw was a strong contrast to the state of his clothing and hair. Soaked from head to toe, Neach looked the part of a weary wanderer. His agricultural upbringing was evident from the clothing he wore and he was unabashedly a villager from the way he carried himself.
The area around Leirwold held a multitude of villages. Each village was run by a collective of men who made decisions for their respective constituents and attempted to provide them with the best living conditions possible. It was unlikely that the people in any of these villages would make a trip to Leirwold more than once a year.
Leirwold was where the King resided. Although the villages were not controlled completely by his rule, he did have a minimal impact on their wellbeing. If there town were to be raided by a foreign force, the standing army of Leirwold would be there to defend them within a few hours, assuming they received word of the attack.
Leirwold was the urban hub of the Kingdom of Duncairn and was the residence of some of its brightest minds. Within the city walls, education and art flourished. A brilliant example of the greatness of the people, Leirwold was the reification of all which was good in the Kingdom.
As a child, Neach rarely heard about the Kingdom or Leirwold in general. The villagers were strikingly removed from the everyday occurances and the only thing which could identify their allegiance to their kingdom was a singular flag which flew in the northwestern corner of the town.
The flag was a bold crimson color with a triad located at its center. The triad was an orange triangle with a yellow symbol in the middle. On the fringe of the left part of the flag was a jagged yellow pattern as well. Although not something that the villagers prided themselves upon specifically, the people of Spleuchan Sonse owed it to the Kingdom of Duncairn for their protection and future.
At the top of the watchtower, this same flag flapped in the snow and wind as Neach approached the city walls. His ragged body was greeted promptly by the guards who were located in front of the open gates.
“State your business,
sir,” the guard on the right proclaimed. His strength was evident in the booming voice which emanated from what seemed like the very depths of his body.
Neach quickly replied with something he himself was even surprised at.