I had expected to feel my normal, unaltered physical hair and skull with my fingers, but instead I first felt a light crunch to the back of my head, as if something was matted into my hair. When I inspected the area further, I found that my intense head ache was being driven by a large and extremely tender welt. And the brightness of the sun, though considerably dimmed through my closed eyes, was doing nothing to help temper the pounding ache. Yet as difficult as it was to focus on anything other than the blood rushing thuds consuming almost the entirety of my barely woken state, I could not help but wonder why my bed felt uncharacteristically hard. And where was my pillow? Did I wake in the night and fall while groggily attempting to get out of my bed? And why had my father not woken me up as he had done many times in the past when I had unconsciously made the decision to oversleep the sun broken horizon?
Attempting to rise was a mistake as the thudding previously confined to my head was instantly disseminated to the entirety of my physical body in one excruciating moment. Thighs, back, neck, arms, hands, feet, stomach, fingers, and toes all felt as if I was trampled by the stampede of wild beasts for which I had no name. I had not elevated enough to actually raise my head from its position, however, even the slight shifting of weight distribution to allow it to return to its fully rested position on the strangely hard surface of my bed sent a shocking charge piercing my mind. And where was my pillow?
I had decided to let myself lay in bed longer and allow myself the time to heal to where I could be productive and help my father with the morning chores, or perhaps the afternoon chores depending on the passage of time necessary to shake this awful pounding to some minimal semblance of functionality. Until then, I would be more of a hindrance to my father and mother. Strange though, as I lay there pondering why my bed is so uncomfortable with eyes still closed and head still pounding, I did not hear the normal sounds of our farm life. My sisters, Jinola and Hithelyn, could normally be heard protesting to my mother regarding their morning duties. Well, at least Hithelyn could be heard protesting while Jinola would dutifully be completing her tasks in silence except to verify with my mother that it was completed to her satisfaction. My mother would probably be outside now, tending to her morning gardening duties, or depending on the day, tending to the laundry. But I was, as of yet, unable to hear her scrubbing them on her washboard. Missing from my auditory evaluation were also the sounds of the animals. I could not hear the familiar sounds of the horses, cattle, chickens, or the other animals we kept. In fact, the sounds of farm life were completely absent.
The void created by the lack of normal sounds combined with the other unexplainable inconsistencies with my normal life produced an anxiety within me stemming from the realization that possibly something had happened to my family. Still acutely aware of the throbbing within my head, I slowly opened my eyes and let them adjust to the rays of the mid-day sun. My first sight was that of a tree indicating I was clearly outside and not at all in my bed, which allowed me to answer the mysteries of my misplaced pillow and unusually hard surface upon which I lay. But how did I get outside? And where outside was I? With all the physical energy I could gather, and in direct opposition to my short term desires, I managed to grudgingly sit up. The instant I did so, I felt an increase in the normal quantity of saliva present within my mouth. I did not feel well. Bubbling up from my gut, I felt a deep nausea begin and radiate into my head. The nausea and increased production of saliva propagated a cycle where they each fed upon the other resulting in a loud and forceful upheaval of my stomach’s current contents.
When I had finished, and the resulting tears had begun to dry up, I heard the first sounds indicating I was not alone, "Vennesulte would not have sat up had he received the impressive blow to his head that you did," said a voice coming from my left.
Startled, and propelled with the inclusion of fear into my mind, I spun quickly to see who was addressing me, and instantly vomited again. "Vennesulte would surely not have moved with such quickness had he just finished emptying his stomach as you had," again spoke the voice.
After laboring to get the contents of my stomach under control, I was finally able to turn my head enough to see who was speaking. I vaguely recognized the boy now sitting cross-legged about ten feet from me, but not confidently enough to assign him to a concrete memory and recollection. "Where am I?" I asked after realizing that my surroundings were completely unfamiliar to me.
"You are under the tree that you fell out of," he matter-of-factly said.
I looked up with difficulty and saw the branches of a large tree as they offered a limited amount of shade. I saw that one of the lower branches was broken and laying on the ground next to me. A tree? What was I doing up in a tree and how did he know I fell out of it? And where was I? I had a vague memory of climbing, but I had thought it was just a dream while I slept.
"You are fortunate Vennesulte was following the sound of the unnatural wolves and reached you moments before they began to feed," his voice pierced my ongoing avalanche of questions and altered it to an avalanche of horrible recollection. In an instant, I remembered everything. The first sound of the beasts, the mad dash to the inlet and tree, the fear induced leap and triumphant climb, the realization of my father dying. Again I vomited, but there was nothing left for me to release. The horrible dry retching continued well into the eternal continuance of my awful revelation regarding the circumstances surrounding my current location.
Upon the completion of my pain induced heaving, whereas before my eyes began to dry in unison, this time, they began to flow freely. The retching produced from my involuntary attempt to empty the contents of my stomach for a third time since waking from my branch induced unconsciousness was replaced with my involuntary attempt to empty the contents of my heart now full of a soul wrenching grief, unbearable in its force. My head had been pounding, my stomach had been twisted, and my limbs had been bruised, yet all such annoyances were now seen only as such when compared to the crushing mountain now placed firmly upon my soul. I collapsed from grief, agony, and all such words used to capture a sadness inadequately expressed with any combination of words in any combination of languages.
Time was of no consequence now and held no position in my awareness. All such attentions were focused upon the unrelenting sadness, grief, and guilt I now felt. Guilt because I had remembered how confident I felt that if I could but reach my father in time, we would stand together against the wolves and defeat them, but yet failed in my attempt; a failure that had ultimately cost him his life. Guilt because I was the reason he was here, and without me, he would yet be alive. More guilt because in my failure to reach him, I had thrown my mother and sisters into a reality they would resent me for. Because of my failure, they would suffer. Guilt because my father had sacrificed himself for me. He died so that I could live, but I did not want to live without him. He was my Drahin. And he was gone.
"Vennesulte understands the grief you display and the tears you release. It is good that you release them. They will assist you in releasing the memory and all attachments to your father. And that will allow you to release your pain. For you cannot move forward in the moment if you are held bound to the attachments of your past," said the voice with a quiet confidence that his was the only way to follow.
I could not say anything because the tears and sobs would not allow me to produce the lung capacity necessary to form any coherent coordination of sounds. "Yes, Vennesulte knows what you now carry. But you must also know your father's death is not your fault. Had he possessed the skill to defeat the wolves, he would yet be alive. It is a truth; your father is dead because he could not do what needed to be done to sustain his life."
Hearing this young boy, younger than myself, blame my father for his death when he sacrificed it for me turned my sadness into rage. I spat back, "Do not say such things about my father!"
"Vennesulte says nothing but the truth. Your father's death is your father's fault," he replied in the same steady, soft voi
ce I was becoming accustomed to.
Hearing his accusations against my father increased my rage and I responded by yelling, "Do not say that about my Drahin!"
Again the boy responded with his calm and centered demeanor, "Vennesulte means no offense, but the truth stands. Your father's death is your father's fault."
This had become too much for me to process and instead of verbally responding, I lashed out from the pain I was feeling. I lunged at this young boy who had accused my father of what seemed to be a horrible lie. Like lightning, he spun while still seating cross legged and allowed me to harmlessly plummet to the ground after I had lost my balance from missing my target.
"Vennesulte will not harm you, but neither will I allow you to harm Vennesulte," he said.
I did not hear him completely as landing upon the ground was very symbolic of hitting the bottom of a pond having been dried up by a long and terrible drought in the dead of summer. Though the heat of my anger directed at this Vennesulte was still smoldering, the jolting collision with the dirt had allowed my grief to again assume its frontal position within my suffering. I began to sob again, not as deeply as before, but still of a consumptive nature. I simply could not shake the image of the two wolves closing in on my father with their teeth barred. And yet, more guilt compounded my soul because I had selfishly thought only about myself and had considered not my father and the horrible experience and emotions he felt in the moment of his death.
For reasons I did not understand in the moment, this young boy, Vennesulte, continued in his soft yet confident insistence that I let go, "My Friend, it is time now that we leave this place and continue on to the city. If we do not leave now, though Vennesulte will accommodate the coming darkness with preparedness, Vennesulte is not confident in your preparation of the same. We leave now and will be in the city by dusk. Come, let us go."
Concluding his sentence, he fluidly stood from his cross-legged position and began to walk toward the city, not looking back to see if I was going to follow, but expecting that I would recognize his position as the only possible truth we could grasp and hence, continue my journey with him.
True to his calculations, we reached the city just before dusk. For me, the remainder of the journey passed through my senses in a heavy, sorrow induced haze deadening its presentation to any of my now limited awareness. The city was fortified by a large wooden wall extending around the entire perimeter. The wooden tree trunks used to create the wall were hardened in place by a thick resin between them. There were reports that it had been magically sealed and fortified to be as strong as stone, though none of those rumors were ever confirmed as either true or fabricated. At the large gate, we were halted and questioned by the guards.
"What is your business here in the city?" said a rough, deep voice from the first of five guards visibly positioned in close proximity to the gate.
Vennesulte spoke first, "Vennesulte was not aware he had to have a reason beyond wanting to see it to be allowed within it."
"With the rumors of something unnatural stirring the winds, The Lord Henchat decided to increase our wall defenses. And part of that is knowing why everyone is coming and going. Now, if you would, what is your business here?" replied the guard in a more stern voice than he had assumed for his first inquiry.
"Vennesulte means only to continue his studies within the Monastery of Detached Enlightenment. Is it not within the walls?” he asked as he tried to look past the guard.
"How do we know you are here for that monastery? Do you have any papers proving your claims?" continued the guard now showing annoyance with the young boy's arrogant tone.
"The monks within will verify that Vennesulte is one of their own. But if that is not sufficient, I can demonstrate the prowess of our training if you wish," again he spoke with a quiet confidence mixed with innocence. Unfortunately the guard had continued to interpret this as arrogance and continued to press.
"Did you just challenge me? Hey boys, get over here. I think this young boy just challenged me."
The four other guards walked slowly over to their friend, hands on the hilts of their swords. Vennesulte waited for them to arrive and position themselves between he and the gateway. Then he addressed all of them, "It is not Vennesulte's desire to fight, though if it must be, then it must be. It is Vennesulte's only wish to continue in the peaceful propagation of the mission of my brothers and to gain entrance to your city wherein I will gain entrance to The Monastery of Detached Enlightenment."
After hearing Vennesulte's response, the guards, in unison, moved their collective hands from the hilts of their swords and took turns looking at each other. After a moment's pause, the head guard spoke up and said, "Fine. You can go in, but stay out of trouble." Turning his attention to me, he asked, "What about you? Are you here for the monastery too?"
Through a hoarse voice made so because of the combined effects of grief and maintaining a solitary silence for the final duration of my journey, I managed to speak after clearing my throat, "No sir. I am here to participate in The Selection." My eyes began to tear up as my thoughts drifted to my father and the events earlier in the day.
"Do you have any one else with you, boy? A parent or family member?" he said in response.
The guard must have seen me struggling with keeping the tears in my eyes confined to their current location because he did not allow me the time necessary to form a response, and I am not sure I could have even if he had given me several minutes of silence. "Very well, boy. It is uncommon, but not unheard of for the Selectee to make the journey alone. Make sure you report directly to the Office of Skills and Trades when you enter the city to register. That building can be found on the right side of the main street after you enter through the gates. You will need to go up the stairs when you enter and ask for Artrus Deamon. He will give you further instructions. And do not miss The Selection. The city does not take kindly to those who dismiss their responsibilities."
"Thank you, sir," I said through a weak voice avoiding eye contact.
When I crossed the threshold of the gates, behind a rather large merchant caravan, I saw Vennesulte standing off to the side of the main road, leaning on his staff. I had not anticipated he would be waiting for me, but I had to admit that I felt the beginnings of relief because I was not ready to face the rest of the evening on my own. After the visage of Vennesulte faded into the massive confrontation of the city background, I saw what I had never thought to see. Well, not that I never thought to see it, because I had heard stories of the city from merchants regarding its enormity, but I had never thought my mind would not be able to instantly appreciate it.
The vastness of the city streets, each lined with building upon building, and making intersection upon intersection, with the buildings stretching skyward to what must have been four levels, was more than my small, farm-boy's mind could comprehend. Being from a farm and having been raised there my entire life, I understood all aspects of it. I understood even the smallest details and could, if needed, run the farm in my father's absence. There was nothing I was not familiar with in my life, and because of that, I never felt small when compared to my surroundings. Even during the festival, when thousands of people would descend upon my small town, bringing with them the entirety of the Lord Henchat's holdings, I never felt lost in the confusion, because I was not part of that confusion. However, the magnitude of the city in which I found myself alone, without the guidance of my father, expressed clearly to me just how small and insignificant my life on the farm had actually been.
What did it all matter? The summation of my life up to this point had meant so little when compared to this one city, which was not even the largest city in the Silver Empire, that I was physically staggered by the task of living the rest of my life as nothing. Would my involvement in the Silver Selection amount to the difference I was lead to believe over my entire life? Seeing the multitude of people, all going about their daily duties without regard or thought or effect upon m
ine lead me to believe that whatever direction my life progressed, it would amount to only a miniscule addition, rendering it of no more importance than if it had been obsolete.
"Vennesulte cannot afford to wait for you all day, but neither can I leave until your journey for this day is complete," his words cut through the spinning of my mind to bring me back to the reality that neither could I stand here and admire the city all day allowing it to mesmerize me into an enthralled stupor.
"I need to go to the Office of Skills and Trades and speak to Artrus Deamon. The guard said the building was over there," I pointed in the rough direction of several large buildings just inside and to the right of the city gate.
"Then Vennesulte will go with you until you find Artrus," he said as he began walking in the direction of my indication without hesitation.
I had to quicken my steps to catch up to him during the first twenty feet, but was able to easily close the distance. It was only a matter of moments before we saw the rather prominent sign with Office of Skills and Trades written on it. As our eyes drifted from the sign to find the entrance, we saw a long line of people extending out of it, and because of the amount of people resembling my age, they were all here with the intent to see Artrus and receive their instructions for The Selection. All of my peers appeared to be accompanied by an older adult, in most cases a male, but there were several women with some of the Selectees. I was instantly grateful for the company of Vennesulte whose inclusion in my journey was allowing me a few hours of reprieve from fully facing the death of my father. We accepted our place in line, at the end, without speaking, after which, several other Selectees did the same.
Convergence (The Dragon Within Saga Book 1) Page 56