But that night, when the others were silent and sleeping, I heard a faint creaking noise. I crept around in the dark like a cat, investigating the sound. It seemed to come from all around me. I put my ear close to the ground, close to where I thought the sound was coming from. It sounded to me as if the roots were growing, continually spreading outward. Then I saw it with my eyes. At the pace of an ancient snail, the roots were slowly extending outward from the tree in all directions.
#
We awoke to a light drizzle of rain that accompanied some fast moving clouds above, which became a welcome refreshment as we continued our vigorous training. After the clouds passed over our heads and moved to the east, we noticed that they had grown darker and thicker in the distance, producing blinding streaks of lightning and a low rumbling thunder that shook the ground from afar. I imagined the rains would help the mysterious tree to grow even wider and faster, making the way for life to return to the barren desert.
A short time passed and we came upon a downward slope and rolling hills of tall olive-colored grass. From there we could see far out across the landscape. As we gazed outward, the sun began to lower in the sky, giving the hills a warm and inviting tone. I felt a sense of comfort that reminded me of the short days in the cold season, when the sun hung low in the sky for much of the day but seemed to cast everything in a gentle, golden-orange glow that melted the cool, brisk air.
“An old river meanders its way down from the Hem’l Canopy in the north.” Patreus broke our silence with a brief explanation of what we could see ahead of us in the distance. To the right I could see a faint brown and green wall of darkness, which was the giant wood in the distance. It stretched up into the sky like the face of a cliff. “We will cross the river on a small raft that the townsfolk of Kal’Adria have set up. If you look ahead you can see the small town just on the other side of the river.” Soft pillows of smoke gently billowed out the quiet chimneys of the quaint town ahead of us. It was peaceful, serene. “Beyond that, far to the west, you can see the city of Mir’Dinaas, the stronghold where Scievah has a palace.” Several tall spires rose up from the horizon like vacsteer antlers, forming a dark silhouette against the setting sun, frightening and powerful. I assumed they were palatial towers.
“Scievah lives there?” I asked.
“When Scievah is in Ahaareta, he stays there. But otherwise your grandfather, Pere, lives there. He controls the citadel.”
I had to think for a moment, temporarily forgetting my lineage. Pere was my father's corrupt father, and also the father of Hadlick, the malformed barbarian I had seen in the woods on the other side of the Great Divide.
“Let’s make our way down to the raft,” said Patreus, with a motion for us to follow him down the hillside.
At the foot of the rolling hills we came upon a well maintained wooden dock. A few different rafts crafted from logs and cut timber were fastened to the pilings of the dock with rope and twine. One raft was so large that it looked sturdy enough to carry a few horses or heavy stone boulders. It was connected to a crank and pulley system above our heads that reached across the river to a dock on the other side. Several oars and paddles were kept in an old empty wine barrel on both sides of the river for use with the smaller rafts.
Patreus and Peitus each grabbed an oar, and the six of us stepped onto one of the smaller rafts. We untied the rope from the dock and started paddling our way across. When we reached the other side, we tied the raft to the dock and placed the oars in the barrel. A path led away from the dock and into a thicket, beyond which was the entrance gate to the town of Kal’Adria.
The path circled along a log wall that surrounded the town. The wall was about twice my height, and the tops of the logs were shaved into points. I could see that it had been moved outward and updated in parts, expanded to accommodate new homes that were being built on the other side.
“We must be cautious when we enter. Although the townsfolk here are pure at heart, the proximity of this town to Mir’Dinaas means that an impure guard is often posted at the gate," warned Patreus. "The townsfolk must be secretive since they are only a day's journey from one of Scievah’s palaces. Valdren, I want you to stay behind us and remain inconspicuous,” he instructed. I nodded in agreement.
The gate to Kal’Adria was was made of thick, wide planks of a solid, dark wood. It was wide open as we approached.
“Is this wood from the Hem’l Canopy?” I whispered.
“No. This is from a strong tree that only grows in the Needle, a peninsula in the southeast. It is rare, but no other tree compares to the sky scraping behemoths of the Hem’l Canopy. They are like mountains, like the Great Divide and Ahaareta Falls. Truly amazing. You will have a closer look at the feast of Di’Veridae. Then you will understand that no one could fall such a majestic tree,” explained Patreus.
“Good evening travelers. What is your business here?” questioned the gate guard, a heavy man with a large curled moustache and cheerful demeanor.
“Good evening. My name is Patreus and we are here for,” Patreus searched his thoughts a moment for a suitable answer, “a night at your inn, and to take in the good food and company at the Lion & Lamb.”
“Ah yes. Patreus, of course. Up from the south again, are we?”
Confused, Patreus responded. “Yes. You must forgive me. I do not recall your name, though your face is somewhat familiar.”
“I am Brimbley. And fear not, your secret is safe with me,” he leaned in with a wink. “I’m one of the good guys.”
Patreus glanced at Fiama and me with a questioning concern.
“The feast of Di’Veridae is upon us!” Brimbley cheered, as he drew up his sleeve to reveal an inked marking of a spear tip, which resembled the design on the spine of the Hope.
“Ah yes! Of course. The secret is safe,” Patreus responded, half suspicious that this was a trick of some kind.
“You’re not used to meeting a pure Haareti at the guard post are you?” asked Brimbley.
“I was expecting someone different,” Patreus answered cautiously.
“Well, we’ve managed to convince the powers that be that our protection, as they call it, was no longer needed from Mir’Dinaas.” He scoffed with sarcasm. “And Scievah needs all the bodies he can acquire for his army anyway. So, when the old impure guard left this post, I took over the responsibilities of opening and closing the gates each day. We don’t get too many outsiders coming to visit, so I can still run my woodworking shop while keeping an eye on the gates from across the square.” He pointed to his shop. “We’re all a bit relieved that we can be more open in terms of purity around here.”
“Ah Brimbley’s Woodworks! Now I remember you.” The worry left Patreus’ face. “And I see you’ve been busy with the wood working business.” Patreus pointed to a few new cabins being built.
“Yes. The children have grown, and now they want homes of their own,” he said as he struggled to close the heavy gate. His face turned red and his breathing became labored in the effort to secure it with a large wooden brace to lock it from inside. “Well then, have a good evening and I’ll see you at the feast,” he said between breaths. He gave Patreus a formal goodbye.
#
Inside the gate was a cobblestone town square. A few narrow roads led outward, away from the square toward what looked like cabin homes, though much closer together than Patreus’ and my parents’ cabins. These were only a few strides apart from one another. It reminded me of the streets I saw in Sanji, only here it was much more clean and pleasant. Sanji was a filthy place in some parts; crowded and smelly, and plagued with crime and misdeeds.
The square was encircled by several oil burning lamp posts. A man was walking to each one and lighting them for the evening. Around the edge of the square were several businesses. There was a stable with horses, a blacksmith, Brimbley’s Woodworks, and other such businesses like a butcher, fruit and vegetable vendors, and bread makers. One man had a birdcage filled with some of the floating fruit we
saw in the desert. Some of the shops were closing up, and many townsfolk were making their way to the tavern. In the center of the square was a statue of a roaring lion and a young man riding on top of it with one hand above his brow as if to shield his eyes from the sun.
“Is that Tillius?” I asked.
“Yes. This was carved out of one piece of stone many cycles ago when the town was first being built,” explained Patreus.
“Quick, let us first go into this trinket shop before the jeweler closes it for the evening,” said Patreus, pointing to a small storefront across the square.
Upon entering the shop a bell attached to a string above the door chimed to alert the shopkeeper of our presence. An old man with a flowing white beard and wispy white hair sat behind a cluttered bench, hunched over as he worked. He was surrounded by several tools and lamps, and he wore a contraption around his head that held a glass lens fixed in front of his right eye. When he looked up at us, his eye was magnified by the lens, and it looked as if his right eye was thrice as large as his left.
“Patreus!” he exclaimed softly, with much effort and even more sincerity.
“Hello again, old friend,” Patreus said, as the old man struggled to stand up from behind his bench. “No, no,” Patreus insisted. “You stay. We will come to you.”
The shop walls were lined with shelves, and on them sat trinkets, statues, and various types of beaded and metallic jewelry. One could have easily spent an entire day gazing upon them all, getting lost in the detail of their artistry. I wondered if he was the man who carved the statue in the square.
“Such a beautiful family,” said the man as we approached him. “What are their names?” he asked with a smile.
“You remember my wife Fiama, of course.”
“Yes, yes of course. Fiama, of course,” he repeated himself as he swung the lens upward on a squeaky hinge from in front of his eye.
“And this is Peitus, our oldest son, and our twins Deius and Lunaris,” Patreus introduced.
“What lovely children.”
“And this is Valdren, son of Reyne and Croyan,” Patreus continued. “Everyone, this is Fulton.”
Upon my introduction, the old man stood up, struggling, and introduced himself.
“Children, Valdren, I am Fulton. It is truly an honor to meet you,” he said as he took my hand with both of his frail and wrinkled paws, setting aside his work to give a formal greeting.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” I said.
“If you haven’t noticed, Fulton is a very skilled artist and craftsman,” explained Patreus.
“Did you create the sculpture of Tillius in the square?” I asked, receiving in return a laugh from the old man that filled his face and revealed even more wrinkles on his weathered brow.
“No, no my boy. I only helped maintain it through the cycles. It has been an honor doing so, I might add,” he said as he craned his neck to look past us, eyeballing the statue in the square as if to check up on it and make sure it was alright. "Those corrupt scoundrels always try to deface it or have it removed, but I tell them that the artistry is worth preserving even though it depicts their ancient enemy." Once satisfied that the statue was in good order, he sat back down, his knees weakened. He let out a breath of relief as he settled back into his worn chair.
“I have some items for you,” Patreus said.
“Oh?”
“Yes, though I fear that with them will come some rather bad news,” Patreus said as he removed a handful of jewelry and trinkets from his pocket and placed them on Fulton’s bench. I noticed that the ogre’s dark item was not among these adornments.
“What bad news?” the old man asked.
“I recovered these from a cave, where a poisoned man killed their owners. I know some of the crests and recognize the filigree work to be yours. Only a skilled hand such as yours could craft such beauty. I was hoping you could help me return these to their kin,” explained Patreus.
“Oh, what a vile and dreadful world it has become,” grumbled the old man with a furrowed brow as he rifled through some of the trinkets, placing the lens back in front of his eye. “Yes. Yes I remember some of these. Many are not my work, but these... these are my work.” He separated a few. He continued looking through the jewelry with increased haste. Then he paused. He slowly pulled the lens contraption off his head and his jaw dropped open in sadness.
“What is it Fulton?” Patreus inquired.
“My son. This one here.” He held out a trinket as tears welled up in his eyes. “I made this for my son Tholl many cycles ago to mark his thirteenth. He’s been missing for some time now. He took a journey to the south and never returned. I had it in my mind to ask you about him just a moment ago. It appears my fears of his demise are true.” He wept.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Fulton. I knew Tholl well. He was a good man and a dear friend to me, and important to us in the resistance,” Patreus added.
“In my old age, Patreus, I have grown weary of resistances, secrecy, and revolutionary plotting. Such is for the young, and I wish it to be over with already. And now, here I am, nearing my seventieth cycle, while my only son did not live to see his fortieth.”
“I can imagine your grief, Fulton. If it makes you feel any comfort, the evil that killed your son is no longer alive to harm another. I too pray for a swift end to this.”
“Yes. Pray. That is all I can do now. My wife is no longer here to comfort me; she has passed on to Eterna. My fingers grow weak, my work suffers integrity, and my bones ache,” he complained. "What will I do when I can no longer work?"
“Why not let us walk you to your cabin if you struggle,” Patreus offered.
“That is very kind of you, but it is no longer necessary. After my wife passed, my legs began to weaken, so Brimbley generously built a back room for me here at the shop to sleep in, there behind the bench,” he motioned. "Some of the others look in on me as well, and bring me food. They are very kind. If it weren’t for them I would die of loneliness.”
“Is there anything we can do for you Fulton? I am sorry to be the bearer of such sad news,” Patreus said with pity.
“It is alright, Patreus. You mean no harm at all. In fact, I will work through the next few days to craft you all something very special from the unidentified jewelry, as a way to thank you for bringing me closure about my missing son,” Fulton offered.
“Do not trouble yourself any further, Fulton, please.”
“It’s no trouble. It would be an honor. I don't sleep much these days anyhow,” he reasoned. “It will do me good to keep my mind occupied.”
“Well, if you insist.”
“Yes. I insist. Come back before the festival; it will take me a few days,” said Fulton.
“Will you be attending?” Patreus asked.
“No. I refuse to be taken there in a wheelbarrow. I have too much pride for that!” he joked, managing to make himself chuckle through his sadness.
“Are you sure? It may be good to lift your spirits.”
“I’ll be alright. I’ve lived with worry for so long now that I feel I have already dealt with the grief of my son’s death,” he explained.
“Alright then. We’ll see you again soon. Goodnight Fulton.”
“Goodnight to you all,” he said, and the rest of us exchanged pleasantries.
As we exited Fulton’s shop, we could hear the music coming from the tavern across the square. It was night. The moons were high and bright, and the air was brisk and cold.
“I feel very sad for Fulton,” Lunaris lamented.
“I know Lunaris. I feel the same way. I can now understand what it feels like to lose one of you,” Patreus said as he placed his hand on Lunaris’ shoulder. Just then, a young man passed by us with a large steaming plate of food and entered Fulton’s shop. “But it seems like he is in good hands here,” Patreus added as he watched the man. “Come,” he continued with a brighter countenance, “let us go to the tavern to warm our spirits by the fire on this co
ol night. Is everyone hungry?”
“Yes,” we all said, and we walked across the square.
Then, from behind us we heard a man call out. “Patreus! You made it!”
“Kalvis!” Patreus greeted the man with excitement as he trotted over to us.
“I didn’t think you’d make it! You’ve brought the family I see,” smiled Kalvis. Deius, Peitus and Lunaris seemed to know him already, as they greeted him without introductions. “And who is this fellow?” he asked, looking at me. “Let me guess; Valdren?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” he said as he formally grasped my hand with both of his.
I was starting to get used to being greeted this way by strangers who seemed to already know everything about me. It was odd, but genuine. To them, knowing me was like knowing that the sun provided light or that the sky was blue.
“What are these sorry looking swords?” he inquired, noticing our weapons.
“We recovered them from an evil ogre that attacked us in the desert,” said Deius, proudly.
“Ogre you say?” pondered Kalvis.
“Yes. We managed to put him down. Him and his wretched giant scorpfang pet,” explained Peitus.
“I’d heard something about that,” said Kalvis with a familiar tone. “I don’t travel south very often anymore. As you know I only see you once or twice per cycle in Sanji for trade purposes and secret meetings. But, if I recall, the ogre seems to have caused southward travelers to take a different route that brings them across the foot of the Lapis Mountains, rather than across the Locht Span Bridge. Though I don’t know which path is more dangerous," he explained. "Well, it's good riddance! Now the route to the bridge is a bit more safe thanks to you,” he praised.
The Return of the Fifth Stone Page 15