The Foundling (The Hidden Realm)

by A. Giannetti

  After lifting his walking stick off its peg, Balbus opened the door and cautiously stepped outside for the first time that day. He saw at once that the closely mown grass that grew near the walls of the farmhouse was flattened down, but there were no clear footprints. A number of tiles had been ripped off the roof, exposing the thick oak planks underneath. They were strewn on the grass near the walls, and some had broken from the fall. Balbus reminded himself to repair the damage as soon as possible before rain got into the roof and ruined it. Carbo sniffed uneasily around the farmhouse, but clearly, the creature that had tried to break in during the night was gone.

  “We should be safe enough while the sun is up,” thought Balbus to himself as he set off down the cart track that led between his fields. He let himself through the wooden gate in the boundary hedge, but at the edge of the forest, he hesitated for a moment, filled with an unfamiliar reluctance to venture under the trees. Balbus looked down at Carbo who was unconcernedly sniffing about and shook off his fears. If there was any sort of dangerous creature hiding nearby, Carbo would have scented it at once.

  Plunging into the forest, Balbus followed the same path as the day before. At first, he remained cautious and fearful, in contrast to his lighthearted mood of the day before. Out of the corners of his eyes, it seemed to him that dark, menacing figures lurked behind every tree trunk, and red eyes winked hungrily in the shadows. Carbo, however, continued to walk ahead of Balbus, pausing to investigate any smell that interested him without giving the slightest indication that there was anything dangerous nearby. Gradually, Balbus’s fears began to melt away, and he started to pay more attention to his surroundings. For the first time, he noticed how fresh and clean the air smelled from the rain the night before. The melodious, varied calls of countless birds filled his ears as they went about their business in the trees. Balbus took a deep breath and was suddenly glad to be out in the forest again.

  As he wound his way between the thick trunks of the trees which lined the path he followed, drops of water left over from last night’s rain fell to the ground with a soft patter whenever the wind ruffled the leaves of the trees. Soon, his cloak was spotted with clear drops that sparkled brightly in the shafts of golden sunlight that occasionally penetrated the roof of the forest. Drops of water also glistened on Elerian’s dark, curly hair like bright gems, for despite Balbus’s best efforts to keep him covered; Elerian kept poking his head out from beneath the cloak. His gray eyes gleamed as he looked curiously all about him, and he squirmed restlessly on Balbus’s arm, but Balbus refused to set him down where he might be exposed to prying eyes.

  As he walked along, Balbus was pleased to see how damp the ground was from last night’s rain. There were clear puddles in the low places, and the drifts of leaves covering the forest floor were soaked and matted down. “There cannot be anything left to mark our passage through the forest yesterday,” thought Balbus hopefully to himself. He passed some of the same small meadows of the day before, and here, the bright morning sun had already dried last night’s rain off the tall grass. Several times Carbo startled one of the large brown hares that lived on the edges of the meadows, but he did not chase them far before he returned to Balbus’s side. He still walked a trifle stiffly this morning, although Balbus was happy to see that, otherwise, he seemed fully recovered from his injury.

  As the winding path he followed gradually dropped toward the lowlands, Balbus was forced to switch Elerian from one side to the other as his arms tired. Elerian grew increasingly restless, shifting about and adding to Balbus’s difficulties so that he breathed a sigh of relief when the slope he was following ended and the path leveled out. Yesterday, his staff had drawn him to the left where the border to the Abercius lay, but today, Balbus followed a faint trace that led off to the northeast. The trees here were large, and their leafy crowns blocked out the bright sun and blue, cloudless sky, but they were not the giants that inhabited the Abercius. Balbus felt at ease here, but he wondered, as he often did when he visited his old friend, how Tullius managed to live so close to the edge of the Abercius without coming to grief. It was dangerous enough, at times, living on the hilltops, let alone on the doorstep of the Wild Wood. He had often begged his friend to move to a safer location; but the irascible mage would have none of it.

  “He would never admit to it, but I am certain he uses his magic to keep himself safe,” thought Balbus to himself. He continued to follow the faint path he was on for almost a quarter mile, winding between tall trees that reared their canopies far overhead. Everywhere Balbus looked, birds flitted through their branches, and occasionally, one of the large brown squirrels that lived in the trees stopped to bark at the intruders below. The only other sound was made by Balbus’s own feet, rustling softly among the damp brown leaves that lay piled thickly under the trees.

  The path ended abruptly at a weathered wooden gate set on posts between the trunks of two rowan trees. Each tree was almost two feet thick, and their interlaced branches formed a green arch over the gate. The gate was not locked, and Balbus swung it open on rusted iron hinges that squealed in protest at being disturbed. He stepped into a clearing covered with thick, ankle high grass and ringed all around by rowan trees planted by Tullius many years ago. They were all equal in size to those standing guard by the gate. Their branches, thickly covered with feathery, oval green leaves, reached almost to the ground all around the border of the clearing, giving them the appearance of a great hedge which completely screened out the surrounding forest. In the late summer and early fall, their heavy clusters of bright red berries were a delight to the eye and to the palates of the many birds that lived nearby.

  In the center of the clearing was an old, shabby stone house with a battered wooden door in the front and a small window to the left of the door that was protected by badly rusted iron bars. The roof was missing tiles, and the weathered supporting planks underneath showed through, bleached to a silvery gray by sun and rain. The old house’s air of neglect was in sharp contrast to Balbus’s neat house and farm. Balbus shook his head at its condition, as he did each time he entered the clearing.

  A low stone wall, visible on either side of the house, surrounded a large, orderly garden that lay behind the house. Balbus walked past the right corner of the house to where another rickety wooden gate gave access to the garden. Standing for a moment outside the gate, Balbus saw that Tullius, wearing a plain brown tunic and brown pants, was outside, chopping weeds with a hoe and turning over the rich, dark soil that lay between the dense green rows of herbs that covered the garden. Like Balbus, Tullius was short, but he wore his gray speckled hair and beard long. The two men had known each other since they were young children. They had gone their separate ways for a time in their youth; Balbus into the army and Tullius going north to serve an apprenticeship with a mage in Ancharia, but once they returned to their old homes, they became close friends again.

  As Balbus opened the squeaky gate, Tullius looked up immediately and watched as Balbus approached along one of the paths that led between the rows of herbs.

  “Your gates could do with a bit of oil,” said Balbus cheerfully.

  “Oil would silence the warning they give me when they are opened,” said Tullius shortly. His sharp brown eyes were already inspecting Elerian whose dark head was visible again beneath the edge of Balbus’s cloak.

  “How are things with you?” asked Balbus politely. He deliberately ignored Tullius’s inquisitive stare, hoping to whet the mage’s curiosity about Elerian.

  “I’m fine,” said Tullius sharply. “What have you got there?” he asked abruptly, trying to get a better look at the child bundled up under Balbus’s cloak.

  “Are you referring to the boy?” Balbus asked, as if he had only just noticed Elerian on his arm.

  “Of course I was referring to the boy, you dolt,” said Tullius impatiently. From the gleam of amusement that suddenly appeared in Balbus’s eyes, Tullius knew that Balbus was baiting him, but his curiosity had already gotten
the better of him.

  “This is Elerian,” said Balbus. “I found him wandering alone in the forest yesterday and brought him home with me.” He tantalized Tullius for a moment with a short silence and then, abruptly, became serious. “Let us go inside Tullius. I have more to say, but not out here where the whole world can see and hear us.”

  From Balbus’s changed tone, Tullius knew immediately that Balbus had some serious matter to discuss, and he put aside his curiosity for the moment. Putting down his hoe, he picked up a polished brown staff which had been lying on the path near his feet before setting off for the back door of his house. Balbus followed Tullius down the path and into the house with Carbo at his heels. Once they were all inside, Tullius closed and barred the door, shutting out the bright afternoon.

  BALBUS TELLS HIS STORY

  The inside of Tullius’s house was as disorganized as his garden was neat. Piles of scrolls and old books were stacked on every piece of furniture. More books were crammed on the shelves which lined the walls along with bits of stone, stuffed birds and animals, skins, skulls and anything else that had attracted Tullius’s interest over the years. Bundles of dried herbs hung everywhere from the bare beams supporting the roof planks, along with the occasional spider web. Wooden buckets, all full of clear water from last night’s rain, were set out on the stone floor to catch the drips from the roof, for it leaked every time it rained.

  With the ease of long practice, Tullius threaded his way carelessly through the buckets on the floor to the battered wooden table in the center of the room. Balbus followed at a more cautious pace. While Tullius uncovered the mage lamp resting in the center of the table, Balbus removed a grinning leopard’s skull from one of the two chairs pulled up to the table. Although the chair he had cleared looked as if it might fall apart at any moment, Balbus cautiously sat down on it with Elerian on his lap. The chair creaked alarmingly, but it held his weight, and Balbus relaxed somewhat.

  Tullius brought two bottles and three rough wooden cups to the table. After clearing a space among the piled up books and scrolls covering the table, he poured a rich red wine for himself and Balbus from one bottle. From the second bottle, Tullius poured milk sweetened with honey into the third cup for Elerian. Having discharged his duties as a host, Tullius then sat in the other chair across from Balbus and stared intently at Elerian from under long, bushy gray eyebrows which, combined with craggy features and a pair of sharp brown eyes, gave him a stern, almost menacing appearance. Elerian drank his milk and stared fearlessly back at Tullius over the rim of his cup, in no way daunted by his penetrating stare. When he finished the milk, he squirmed out of Balbus’s arms and set off to explore the room.

  “He seems a hardened little rascal,” said Tullius with a hint of admiration in his voice. “Where did you find him, Balbus?”

  “Deep in the Abercius,” said Balbus reluctantly, for he knew that Tullius would have something to say about his entering the old forest, none of it pleasant.

  At the mention of the Abercius, Tullius frowned angrily. He had cautioned Balbus many times in no uncertain terms not to enter the Abercius for any reason. “That was a stupid thing to do,” he burst out angrily. “I have warned you before never to venture into that place. You are fortunate you got out safely even with the help of your staff and your overgrown hound.”

  “I have always heeded your warning before,” said Balbus mildly. He was used to his old friend’s abrupt manner, and he ignored the irritation in Tullius’s voice, for he knew the mage was genuinely concerned about his safety. “Besides, you are partly at fault. It was your staff which forced me into the old forest yesterday.”

  “How could my staff force you to do anything?” asked Tullius in disbelief.

  “Listen to my story and you can judge for yourself,” said Balbus. Seeing that he had Tullius’s full attention, he began his tale. “I started out yesterday afternoon, as I often do, searching for a bees’ nest. At first, I followed my staff without paying much attention, but when I suddenly realized that it had brought me to the edge of the Abercius, I stopped. Bearing in mind the dangers of the place, I decided to return home. My walking stick, however, continued to pull strongly in the direction of the old forest, almost as if it had developed a will of its own. Deciding that the bees’ nest must be close by, I finally decided to go on a little farther. No nest appeared, and I made up my mind to turn back. By then, I was unsure of the direction I must travel to return home. I ordered my staff to lead me out of the forest, but to my surprise, it refused my command.”

  “What do you mean it refused?” asked Tullius incredulously. “The spell residing in the staff has no will of its own. It must do as it is ordered.”

  “I am telling you, it refused to obey me,” said Balbus stubbornly. “It continued to draw me deeper into the forest, and I had no choice but to follow it, for I was sure that if I abandoned the staff, I would never find my way home. Finally, beneath a great chestnut tree, the staff ceased to pull on my hand so abruptly that I almost fell. I heard the droning of bees overhead and raised my head to look for the nest. It was then that I saw the boy standing in front of me all alone.”

  Interrupting Balbus, Tullius said triumphantly, “Your own words show that my staff was not at fault, Balbus. The staff was seeking out the bee’s nest in the chestnut tree. Perhaps it drew you on a little more vigorously than usual,” he conceded, “but you should have resisted and forced it to lead you home.”

  It was Balbus’s turn to frown now, for he clearly remembered how the staff had dragged him through the forest against his will. He was sure that nothing he could have done would have forced it to obey him.

  “Has the boy told you how he came to be in the forest?” Tullius asked, interrupting Balbus’s thoughts and changing the subject, now that the matter of the errant staff was settled in his favor, in his mind at least.

  “He does not speak the common tongue or Hesperian,” said Balbus. “He was able to tell me his name and nothing else.”

  “An unusual name,” said Tullius, thoughtfully stroking his long beard. “You said he was alone when you found him?”

  “He was all alone,” repeated Balbus. “From the state of his clothes and the fact that his shoes were worn nearly through, it seemed to me that he had come a long way, unlikely as that seems. Carbo and I searched all around, but we were only able to follow his back trail for a short distance before we lost it. We found nothing to indicate that anyone had accompanied the boy and no clue to tell us where he might have come from.”

  “There must have been someone nearby even if you did not see them,” insisted Tullius. “No child his age could survive for more than a few hours on his own in that forest. He may be some hunter’s child whose camp was nearby but out of sight. Sometimes, a party of Ancharians will travel this far to the east. The boy has their dark hair.”

  “There was no camp,” said Balbus positively. “If there were men nearby, Carbo would have sensed them. Besides, I have never seen an Ancharian whose eyes were not black as night.” They both turned toward Elerian who was now playing with the water in one of the buckets. Aware of their attention, he turned to regard them both with clear gray eyes that gleamed in the light of the mage lamp.

  “He is not Ancharian,” conceded Tullius, “but I still think his people must have been nearby, whoever they were.”

  “You may think differently when you have heard the next part of my story,” said Balbus.

  “Well then tell me the rest of it,” said Tullius impatiently, for he had not expected that there would be more to Balbus’s tale. Balbus did not resume his narrative immediately. Instead, he pushed his empty wine cup across the table and waited until Tullius impatiently refilled it. He refused to rush through his story, for it was not often that he had Tullius hanging on his every word. He was already anticipating Tullius’s reaction to the strange events he was about to recount.

  “The hour was growing late and having made a thorough search,” said Balbus, emphasi
zing the word thorough, “I decided to take Elerian home with me since I could not leave him there alone. I was growing uneasy, too, for I had heard the cry of a hunting wolf several times, and each time it seemed to be drawing closer.”

  “Stop being dramatic,” said Tullius impatiently. “No one but a fool would fear a hunting wolf in midsummer when game is plentiful.”

  “The story will take that much longer to tell if you keep interrupting me,” said Balbus severely. He paused to take a long, unhurried swallow of wine, and his eyes gleamed with pleasure as he saw impatience shoot from Tullius’s eyes like lightning bolts. The mage’s graying beard quivered as he struggled to hold in his annoyance.

  “Go on then!” grumbled Tullius, who was growing bored with the whole affair. He was still angry that Balbus had gone into the Abercius against his advice and thought his friend was embellishing his story in an attempt to justify his foolish act.

  At the sound of the mage’s irritated voice, Elerian stopped dripping water from his slender fingers into one of the buckets and curiously regarded Tullius for a moment before resuming his play.

  Unimpressed with Tullius’s display of impatience, Balbus continued his story, still determined to tell it at his own pace. He knew he would recapture Tullius’s interest as the story unfolded. “As I was saying before I was interrupted,” continued Balbus, “I decided to return home with the boy. I was, of course, completely lost at that point, but the staff was acting normally again, and it began to lead me toward home. As I neared the edge of the Abercius, I began to breathe easier, but then, Carbo began to growl and a moment later, two strange beasts emerged from the trees behind us. Balbus paused for effect, and a long-suffering look crossed Tullius’s face. He was more certain than ever that Balbus was making a great deal of fuss over a fairly ordinary happening as a justification for entering the Abercius against his advice.