“What? What do you know that I don’t?”
Tage shook his head and his face turned red. It was then Ivar noticed Amleth had stopped talking. The room was quiet. Ivar bolted when his foster father patted him gently on the knee.
“Come with me.” Aren whispered.
“What? Now? I’ll miss the discourse. Amleth is giving us our quests!” Ivar grinned, his anxious smile planted permanently on his face. “Sorry, father, but I need to be here.”
“You’ve heard all you need to hear, Ivar. This Crossing is going to be different for you than for the others. Don’t worry, we’ll come back.”
“But Amleth will scorn me if I leave,” Ivar whispered.
“He knows.”
Hesitantly, Ivar stood. He and his father slipped out the door into the night air. They took the path that followed the stream, stopping a short distance away. The yurt they left glowed from the lantern light, silhouetting the people inside.
“What are we doing?” Ivar’s whisper was filled with angst, but Aren stood calm.
The babble of the creek swallowed the silence. Patches of grass sprouted through the layer of fallen leaves on the ground. Though the fragrance of frost permeated the air, Ivar guessed it would be spring soon. Already the mountain was showing signs of new life. Buds laced the trees, specks of green peeked up from under the ferns, and spider webs hung low over the trail.
Ivar canvassed Aren’s face, hoping for an explanation. A strong man, taller than Amleth, and stockier in build, Aren’s blond hair shone in the starlight. A man of few words, tonight Aren’s eyes spoke for him. Tonight they told Ivar to be patient. Of all the virtues the Kaempern children were tested with, Ivar hated patience the most.
The youth paced along the creek bed, kicking stones into the water. “Why won’t you tell me what’s happening?”
Aren stood silent, eyes closed, arms folded against his chest. Time, for the youth, seemed to have slowed. After a long moment of silence, Aren opened his eyes. “Do you trust me, Ivar?”
The boy faced Aren. Of course he trusted him. Aren was a faithful father. He took care of him, taught him to hunt, to forage, and to respect nature and the people of his tribe. Aren raised Ivar to be proficient in every skill a Kaempern needed, and he even taught him some skills most Kaemperns didn’t have, like lance fishing and making a raft. Aren was a good man, faithful to his family, loving, and kind.
“Yes,” Ivar whispered. “I just don’t understand.”
Aren nodded. His eyes scanned the stars as though he searched the heavens for words. “This ritual is going to be different for you.”
“How? Why?”
“Your past is different.”
Ivar held his breath. Very rarely did anyone talk about Ivar’s past. He had been adopted as a youngster. That’s all that he really knew, though curiosity tormented him to learn more. No one had ever told him where he came from, who his parents were, or what his life was like before he had received the two scars across his heart, and even that story was vague.
“What about my past?” Ivar asked.
“Amleth wanted to talk to you personally about the quest. I’m not so sure you’ll be taking a Crossing. We’ll have other challenges here at home for you.”
“At home?” Ivar stood stunned. This was not news that he wanted to be hearing. “Why? Why at home?”
“Your skills with the bow excel above that of any other young man here. You’ve truly impressed the elders with your talent. We believe that you’re ready to join the men.”
“No. I’m not going to skip the Crossing.”
Aren’s blue eyes penetrated his. “Ivar, you don’t have a choice. This is something that’s decided by the council. They’re men who know the peril involved, and who know your strengths and-” He hesitated when Ivar pivoted to face him, rolling his eyes, “-and your weaknesses. Amleth will talk with you tonight. I want you to listen to everything he has to say. Everything. Keep your mind open. Respect him. We want only the best for you. Believe me, we’ve discussed your situation in depth.”
Ivar’s shoulders dropped, his head fell back as he looked at the galaxies far above. His body quivered in distress. “We? Who has been talking about me?”
“The elders.”
The stars sparkled brilliantly against the backdrop of the night sky. The air smelled fresh, the pepper scent of watercress floated on the breeze. An owl hooted softly in the trees somewhere, but Ivar failed to enjoy any of these solaces of nature. Tonight the world was against him. “Why am I always different?” he asked the heavens more than Aren.
After what seemed forever, Amleth open the door to the yurt and wave for them to return. Ivar ran, and when he entered, the room bustled with conversation. Ivar was estranged from the excitement. His friends had their instructions, and were probably given maps. He had naught.
“When your assignments are complete we’ll partake in the ceremonial hunt together.” Amleth announced. “All of you will join the leaders when the trees are fully budded and the snows from the mountains no longer flood the waterways. That will be your sign to return, wherever you are.”
With that, his friends rose and walked toward the door. Tage gave Ivar a cordial smile, but his eyes glinted sympathy before he stepped outside. Amleth stepped around the bench to join Aren and Ivar.
“I don’t understand.”
Amleth positioned himself in front of Ivar, the evening’s pleasantry still lingered in the chief’s smile.
“What does this mean for me?” Ivar shifted his weight, trying not to grimace, but his heart pounded in his chest, and heat rushed to his temple.
“You’re exempt from the quest, Ivar.”
“I don’t want to be exempt.”
“Ivar,” Amleth rested his hand on Ivar’s shoulder. No doubt he sought to sooth the fire raging inside but it wasn’t working. “This isn’t about what you want. This is about what’s best for you. It’s about wisdom.”
“Wisdom? You mean the Songs? The Songs told you to keep me from my Crossing? Look, sir, maybe I’m just too young. I’ll wait. Maybe I’m supposed to go next year, instead. Just tell me. I’ll understand. I’ll wait.”
“No, Ivar,” Aren whispered.
Ivar looked steadfast into his father’s eyes as Aren exchanged glances with Amleth. “What are you not telling me?”
Amleth cleared his throat. “Your friends are going on a journey into their past so that they can better face the future. Because of your more unusual past, we’re not going to lay that burden on you. The council decided it’s better for you, and for everyone involved, to have you skip that part of the ceremony. There are other things you can be doing.” When Ivar opened his mouth to protest, Amleth interrupted. “The decision has been made. You’ll wait out the Crossing, or rather use the time here honing your skills. When we gather for the hunt, you will be our lead archer.”
Ivar mouth dropped open. “All I ever wanted was to know my past. I want to discover my ancestry, my roots, where I was born. I want to know who I am, who I was. Who my parents were. How can you keep that from me?”
Amleth shook his head.
Ivar rolled his eyes. He shook with anger but swallowed his feelings and took a breath. “It’s ludicrous. Of all people . . . of all people! Why should I be exempt? I’m the only one in the Kaempern Village who doesn’t know where I was born, or who my parents . . .” Tears trickled down his cheeks and he turned his head away, ashamed that Amleth might see him cry.
Aren broke in. “Son, Amleth, the Sage, and I have all agreed that a quest into that part of your life would be counterproductive. It’s too complicated. Perhaps when you’re older, when you’re a man, you can take that journey on your own. But for now, we want to spare you the frustration.”
“Ivar.” The Sage, Alex, walked up to the three. Taking the youth by his shoulders he lifted the boys chin so that Ivar was forced to look into the man’s hazel eyes.
The Sage was the only other dark haired person in the vill
age whose skin was olive colored, not pale and freckled like the Kaemperns. He had come through a portal years ago from a mysterious world. It was Alex’s son Ian who had sacrificed living here with his father in order to expel the dragon. Alex stayed on as the Sage once Amleth’s father Vilfred died, to teach and guide the Kaemperns.
“Trust Wisdom, my son.” Alex spoke with a comforting voice, like a man who had seen more than Ivar could ever hope to see. “The Kaemperns have never before had an adopted child. When we accepted you into our tribe, we allotted you full privilege to grow and thrive with our people. It’s been a good an honest life for you. You’re growing into a fine young man and we’re proud of you. We know you have questions. There are secrets that are buried, yes. But some secrets are meant to be buried.” He shook his head, a deep sorrow in his eyes. “Trust me. You don’t want to dig them up.” He paused.
Ivar didn’t want to hear those words.
“Some forces in this world are better left to rest. Don’t stir the dust when the field’s been plowed for planting. Trust me. There are other rituals that will bring you into manhood.”
Ivar knew better than to argue with the Sage. Being obedient wouldn’t change his disappointment though, and it didn’t help him to understand the secrecy, either. If anyone were to discover his roots, it should be him, for he was the most distant from them. He wondered about the reasoning of the elder’s decision, or if they were just afraid of what he might uncover.
Ivar looked at his hands as he rubbed them together nervously. They were brown, not the pale freckled color of the people he lived with, or the tan tone of the Sage’s. Ivar’s dark hair hung straight and shiny, unlike the other Kaemperns whose hair sparkled reds in the sun. His eyes were deep brown, not blue like the sky, like everyone else he lived with. No. Ivar knew he came from a different tribe, and he wondered if he’d ever know from where.
It hadn't mattered much to him before this. His friends used to tease him and he'd laugh and tease back, never ashamed of what he looked like. He wore an endless smile that shone like the moon on a dark night, at least that was how his friend described him. And to Ivar, the Kaemperns shone like the sun. But tonight this exemption separated him from those he called family. Tonight Amleth’s gentle smile and pat on his shoulder, told Ivar to accept the difference, but as Ivar followed Aren home, his stomach was so sick he couldn’t sleep.
He tossed in his bed until he finally lay on his back and stared out the open flap of the yurt window. The moon’s rays shone over his sheepskin, the breeze whispered in the trees, and Ivar let its murmur silence his brooding. He rubbed his tongue against his front teeth, letting it rest in the gap, a habit he found himself doing when he was deeply distressed.
How often had he lain in his bed at night and stared at the moon as though it held his secret? Ivar would spend many quiet hours carefully listening to the wind, in hopes its songs would bring him news of his real mother and father. But the world was silent to him, his ancestry buried in stillness. Envy would wash through him when his friends recalled their younger years, laughing about the experiences they had as children. But for Ivar, all he could do is wish. He prayed to the Wind to help him remember, but his prayers were never answered.
Ivar glanced across the room at his adoptive parents sleeping peacefully in the shadows under their fleece. They never had any other children. Aren and Britta insisted he was their chosen one, and they were honored to raise him. He wished he could be happy with that knowledge, but as much as he loved them, and his village there was something missing.
Ivar wet his lips and tried to change the direction of his thoughts. When his friends got back from their quest, when the snow on the mountain melted and the waters ran clear again, they would all go hunting.
He closed his eyes, and that was when he heard the Song, the one he had been waiting for all these years. Afraid to exhale, he held his breath so as not to miss a note, as its melody rang clear in his ears.
Time has ridden on chariot wheels
Flying on clouds for your heart to reveal.
Your scars uncovered
Your wounds exposed
The boy once was, the man disclosed
Your treasures lure
Your heartaches are cured
The past is your call
But fear is your fall
The journey will soon uncover your shield.
The journey will soon uncover your shield.
Ivar lips moved in rhythm, repeating and whispering and remembering the words so that he wouldn’t forget a syllable. He sat upright, singing the song aloud. Aren stirred from his bed across the room, and finally and rose.
“Ivar?”
“It’s a Song, father. The wind is speaking to me.” The light of the evening sparkled on his smile when he turned to face Aren. “It’s the Songs of Wisdom. It’s singing about my Crossing. It wants me to go on the quest. The wind is calling me.”
Aren pulled away his blankets, rose quietly as not to wake his wife, and came to his son’s side.
“Ivar, dress. We’ll go and talk to Amleth.”
Song of the Sea
“It’s dangerous, Aren.”
Ivar couldn’t help but overhear Amleth, even though the Kaempern leader whispered with his back turned to him. The youth waited at the door as his adoptive father stood across the room facing the chief. Aren’s sigh was both audible and visible as his shoulders sank into it.
“The Songs, sir.” Aren reminded Amleth.
“Yes, I know, I know. The power of the wind has always held a special place for your boy. And indeed we need to take guidance. But . . .” He shook his waist-long strawberry blond curls, a mane any Kaempern warrior would have been proud to bear. “Ivar.”
The boy stood straight as the chief addressed him.
“It’s not the will of our people to let you go.”
Ivar swallowed his disappointment and looked to Aren, hoping Aren might interject but his father said nothing.
“Why, if I might be so bold?” Ivar’s response was meek compared to the anger that boiled inside.
Amleth walked to him and looked into his eyes, the chief’s were as blue as the sky at high noon, lined in red. Ivar knew that Amleth was a passionate man, and often his concern for his people would draw his emotions to the surface, still he was surprised to see Amleth actually shed tears over him.
“Your name is Beloved, Ivar. Ever since we brought you here, you have been a special addition to our village.”
“I only want to go on a quest, sir. I’m not planning to leave permanently . . . Even if . . .” his voice tapered as he took a quick glance at Aren. “Even if I do find my parents, I’ll still be your son, I’ll remain a Kaempern. Forever. I promise.”
Ivar couldn’t quite read Amleth’s nod. It seemed as though the chief didn’t believe him, that he wasn’t convinced of Ivar’s loyalty. Ivar rolled his lower lip under his teeth, bracing himself for disappointment.
“I understand your heart, son,” Amleth whispered.
“Is that the decision then?” Aren asked.
“No. I haven’t made a final decision, yet.”
Once again Amleth and Aren exchanged glances. The temperature of the room slowly rose as Ivar stood and waited. The only sound was Amleth’s occasional tapping of his fingers on the wooden table as he paced by, or his heavy sigh after he started to speak, and then retracted and looked out the window instead. Eventually he stopped walking, folded his arms across his chest, and stared at the moon.
It had been late when Ivar and Aren rushed off to Amleth’s yurt, well past the middle of night. Now, after hours of discussion, and waiting, the placement of the moon had fallen toward dawn, yet still no final decision had been made.
Amleth shook his head and breathed another long sigh. He first turned toward Aren, who seemed to have woken from sleep, and then to Ivar. He spoke, his words as quiet as his breath. “I can’t argue with the Wind. Its power is not mine to restrain.”
He ste
pped closer to Ivar whose heart beat rapidly in anticipation of Amleth’s next words.
“Go. If indeed you must take the Crossing, then let the sea set your course.”
“I won’t disappoint you. I promise.” Ivar held his breath to contain the excitement.
After Amleth nodded, his eyes penetrated deep, piercing Ivar’s inner being. He’d never been examined like that before and it stung. What does he see that I can’t? The man turned and said nothing, nor did his eyes rest on Ivar again. Instead, the Kaempern chief lowered his body on the bench by the table, leaned low, elbows on his knees, his head buried in his hands.
Aren quickly grabbed Ivar’s arm and hurried him out the door through the woods.
“I don’t understand. Why was Amleth so hesitant to say yes, and so remorseful when he gave consent?” Ivar raced to keep up with Aren.
His father didn’t answer. Aren held the door open for Ivar, the oil lamp flickered as a breeze followed them inside.
“Is he worried about something? My skills?” Ivar studied the shadow on Aren’s face as he passed him.
Aren shook his head.
“Why is everything such a secret?”
Aren shut the door and pulled a leather bag from the rack where their coats hung.
“What does he know about my past? What do you know?”
“Son, we don’t have the answers that you need. There are some things that we do know, but to tell you in part would be a disservice. It would be like handing you a piece of kindling while attempting to describe a cedar tree.”
There they were again. Riddles. Ivar was always answered in riddles whenever he asked about his past-riddles that were difficult to understand. If Aren and Amleth, or anyone else in that village knew something about his former life, they refused to tell him.
Aren laid the bag on the table. “If you’re certain it was the Songs of Wisdom, then follow its lead.”
“I’m certain I heard them.” He could not have been more sure. Even now the melody was ringing in his ears.
Diary of a Conjurer Page 10