“I’m afraid not,” Patreus said soberly. “Erdus informed us that the impure are using the ruins of the Earthstone altar as a meeting place of sorts, so it is not safe in that area. And secondly, the bridge is destroyed. It gave way during an earthquake as Valdren crossed; he barely survived!”
“I will make this information known to all here at Kal’Adria,” Kalvis said. “We will either have to continue using the passage through the Lapis Mountains, or construct a new bridge at a safer location.”
“Good idea,” Patreus affirmed.
“Now. Back to these dreadful swords,” Kalvis joked, playfully nudging Deius with an elbow. “How about I take them and get you some new ones instead? Something a bit more fitting of such noble adventurers?” he said with a wink.
“Yes!” Deius cheered excitedly.
“Are you a blacksmith?” I asked as we handed him our swords.
“Finest in town!” he responded. “Well, the only one in town.” He chuckled. “Come by before Di’Veridae for your replacements.”
“Very well,” said Patreus. “Would you mind sharpening mine and cleaning it up a bit?”
“No problem at all,” answered Kalvis as he carried the blades off toward his shop. “Sleep well,” he shouted back with a smile.
It was comforting to be in such a welcoming environment. All my life I had to hide. Everyone was a potential enemy. But it was different here. We were among friends, not in hiding. It was a glimpse of what things used to be like before Scievah had everyone living in fear. A hint of what it could be like once again.
CHAPTER 10
Cheerful music spilled out across the square from the Lion & Lamb Tavern, which sat on the ground floor of a large two story cabin. The second floor was an inn, where we would sleep for the night.
A warm tangerine glow emanated from the tavern windows, beckoning us to the establishment. The light of a nearby lamp post danced upon the carved wooden shingle that swayed in the breeze just above the door. It read “The Lion & Lamb Tavern,” and boasted elegantly painted depictions of both animals.
A log bench sat beneath the window outside, where burly, rosy-cheeked men sat, holding large clay mugs of mead, grog and ale. They cheerfully laughed and saluted one another with hysterical glee. They must have had a few too many mugs of brew. The men began to stumble about and heartily laugh at each other's lack of footing upon attempting to pleasantly greet us at the door, like a belligerent welcoming committee.
The door opened and we were washed in a wave of warmth, bathed with a cloud of sweet pungent pipe smoke, invigorated by the fragrant woody smell of the fireplace, and uplifted by the sounds of minstrel music and tavern songs. Our senses were bombarded by a blast of cheer and good tidings.
To the left was a long bar where patrons sat on stools, drinking from stone mugs like the men outside. At the end of the bar was a potted plant that looked like a smaller version of the tree we saw growing in the desert.
On the right were rows of long wooden tables, where tavern folk were eating meat off the bone, drinking, and even dancing on the tables to the unified chants and cheers of their friends.
The king lives in all of us
King watches over us
Stone that provides for us
Lion that fights for us
The king lives in all of us
King watches over us
Lamb that dies for us
Spirit prophesies for us
They repeated this as they swayed and crashed mug to mug with laughter. Their merriment clashed with the more pleasant, well composed minstrel music that came from a small elevated stage area just past the bar on the left. Strings, a drum, a flute and a singer joined in a tune.
Four cycles from today; Four daughters, name of Mae
Oh the prophecy does say; Tis the Dark Times’ last day
A stone uncut by Haareti hands
A stone untouched by deceivers of Gelande
King and subject, pure as the eastern shore
Spirit and stone, one with all four
Of flesh yet stone, to drive out the impure
Of rock yet bone, the throne to be restored
In the rear was a massive fireplace that roared with a toasty blaze inside of stonework that spanned the entire back wall. Around the fireplace were smaller, round tables where patrons sat and ate a more proper supper. A staircase led upward to the inn in the far left corner, and in the far right corner there was a gathering of small children who watched and listened in awe and amazement to stories told by a salty old bard. His expressive face and body gestures made me chuckle to myself even from across the room, where I could not hear his words but only watch his mannerisms. He seemed to be telling a silly tale, as the children periodically erupted loudly with laughter.
We made our way past the rowdy rows of tables and came to the end of the bar, where Fiama inquired with the barkeep, Ostler, about the small purple tree that was growing in a clay pot on the bar.
“Is this like the one in the desert?” she asked, assuming the townsfolk were aware of its existence.
“Yes, only much smaller,” he replied. “The fruit is like a sweet and chewy candy that bursts with flavor." He plucked a few small pieces from the tree. “Try some. When they are this small you can eat the skin and all. It’s a treat!”
We all tried one, and he was right; the small nuggets of fruit, which were no bigger than a fingernail, were a chewy and juicy snack. The skin was easy to break down and eat.
Fiama continued her inquiry with Ostler. “How fast does it grow?”
“You could almost watch it, and in only a few days it will bear fruit. The tree in the desert is not even a cycle old yet,” he explained.
“It seems to spread wildly. Is it a danger to other crops?” she asked.
“It will keep growing unless it is contained by other vegetation or rock and stone. It does not threaten other plants, but rather it limits its size to its surroundings.”
“That is amazing!” Fiama exclaimed.
“Yes. Many of us have planted them around our homes here in the village. They are delightful, and good for the soil!”
We moved past the bar and the minstrels and sat down at one of the round tables near the fireplace.
“What would you like to drink?” a barmaid asked us.
“I’ll have a mug of ale,” replied Patreus.
“A small goblet of mead please,” answered Fiama.
“And for me, a large chalice of grog fit for a king!” Peitus proudly bolstered.
“Better make it a cup. We don’t want you stumbling around like the men outside.” Patreus chuckled.
“And what about you three?” the barmaid asked Deius, Lunaris and me.
“Water is fine for them.” Fiama instinctively assumed we were not old enough for the more potent beverages, though we actually were. But when the drinks arrived Patreus let us taste them all a few times. The mead was bubbly and sweet, like honey. The grog was thick, dark and bitter with a sweet aftertaste. The ale was light, refreshing and had a flavor that seemed like a mix of the other two.
“Come, Let us chat up some of the fine womenfolk that are here,” said Peitus to Deius and me.
Patreus erupted with maniacal laughter. “The crowd is filled with homely men and their even homelier women!” He bounded, roaring with a grin.
“There is one I made eyes with when we entered,” Peitus retorted.
“Go on. Enjoy yourselves until the food arrives.” Patreus laughed again.
Peitus, Deius and I strolled over to the tables where people danced and sang, slamming back small glasses of brown liquor in some sort of drunkards game involving hand gestures, odd movements, and, of course, loud bursts of laughter. Peitus and Deius approached two young women and began to chat with them. I stood back, looked over my shoulder, and stole a glance at Lunaris as she sat with her parents.
With concern she looked up and all around, until her eyes met mine. Then relief swept across her face with a r
elaxed smile, glad to see I was not courting someone. The thought of other girls did not interest me. Lunaris was the one for me, and from the look of her smile, I had hope that the feeling was mutual.
Peitus was leaning in close to one of the girls, whispering in her ear. She smiled and Peitus planted a quick kiss on her cheek. In a flash she emptied a glass of mead on his face, though she was still giggling with her friend. Deius joined in, poking fun at his brother’s misfortune. The girl playfully mussed Peitus’ hair and, with a smile, said goodbye to him. We returned to our seats.
“She will be mine." He wiped his handsome, wet face on his sleeve. "You will see,” he said as we sat down to Patreus’ laughter.
Soon the barmaid came over with plates of food; hot sausages, mashed tambo root tubers, and steamed aspersprouts. Since we were closer to the bard, I was able to listen in on one of his stories. I overheard him telling a fabled tale about the ancients. His eyes were wide and wild.
“And for my last tale,” he began. “In the olden days, the days of old; in the golden days this story is told. In the ancient times when the land was sublime; the time of times where,” he paused, “I’m all out of rhymes!” He sighed, receiving laughs from the children who lampooned him. “Creatures of renown, of lure and of legend, of myth, might, mystery, and, why yes, even fantasy!” The children laughed again.
“There lived the Nelefem,” he said as his countenance became upright and proud. “Majestic and powerful, the sons and daughters of Divinae and Haareti; children of angels and men,” he explained. “They crushed the impure armies and brought Scievah’s towns to ruin, but as they grew older their powers faded. They could no longer float in the air. They became weaker. They could no longer foresee the future, and they could no longer see and hear over long distances as they once could,” the bard lamented. “So Scievah went to the Nelefem one day to talk of peace and a truce between them, but really he had other motives. Scievah still feared the might and majesty of these powerful beings, but he knew that their powers were fading, and he lied to them to fulfill his own mischievous plan.” He scowled. “You see, the king had planted a tree on Haaret.”
The old scop reached behind his chair and pulled out a small clay pot with the purple floating fruit tree planted in it. He presented it with such force that the tiny beads of fruit came loose and flew out into the air, suspended above the children’s heads as they sat and watched the bard. The children clamored over each other to snatch the floating chewy snacks from the air, gobbling them all up almost instantly.
He continued in a more serious tone. “He planted a very special tree whose roots grew far and wide, deep and strong. The Sacred Willow.” He whispered its name with reverence. The children oohed and ahhed. “It was draining Scievah’s powers but not the powers of the Nelefem. Their powers just faded with age,” he explained. “Scievah told the Nelefem that he wanted peace and that his powers were also fading. He told them that if they helped him to destroy the Sacred Willow that their powers would return." The bard leaned in. "You see, the tree was too big and strong for Scievah to destroy all by himself, and if he went near it, the roots would attack him and try to grab him and pull him underground! But the Nelefem foolishly agreed to help Scievah, not knowing the doom they faced,” he uttered with a deep and ominous voice. The children gasped in fear.
“When they all went to the Sacred Willow, Scievah stood at a distance, beyond the reach of the roots, and he sent the Nelefem out to tear it down. They carried tremendous axes and torches, but as soon as the tree felt one swing of an axe and one lick of flame it became angry!” He growled, roaring as he reached his arms out, as if to lunge at the children. They jumped and then giggled bashfully.
“The roots of the Sacred Willow curled upward and wrapped themselves all around the Nelefem.” The bard mimicked the cragged roots with his arms, wrapping them around his body into a tangle. “The roots snapped their limbs like twigs and pulled them under the ground. None survived, and Scievah watched all the while,” he said in disgust. “He stood there, fearful of the tree, but delighted that his powerful enemies were being crushed and could threaten him no longer. When the deed was done, he returned to his castle and marveled at how he fulfilled his plan.” The bard stood motionless for a moment, staring out at his crowd of listeners. “The end,” he said abruptly. “Minstrels,” he called out, “strike up a dirge for the Nelefem.”
The minstrels began to play a sad, soft and somber tune. Seemingly on the fly, they made up words to the song.
Eternal peace, grant unto them
Good king absolve the Nelefem
Take them into your arms
Treat them as brethren
Their lives in Ahaareta
Majestic as the Pure Shore
In death, in sweet Eterna
May they dwell forevermore
Sons and daughters of angels and men
May they return to grace again
The room applauded the bard and the minstrels, and then one of the children asked the bard a question that had been on my mind all along.
“Is that the Sacred Willow?” she asked, pointing to the potted purple tree.
“No,” he answered. “The Sacred Willow is said to have withered away and died long ago.” The children seemed upset at this. “Or perhaps it is!” he proclaimed. “Perhaps it has returned!” The children laughed and cheered.
“Is that a true story?” I asked as I turned to Patreus.
“It is a classic old bard’s tale, usually done without the purple tree prop of course. It is more like a myth or a legend. Something that may have been factual but was lost through many cycles. No one knows for sure if this is a true story. There was brief mention of the Nelefem in the ancient tomes, but the story seems to have been a device used to teach the Haareti not to trust Scievah,” he explained.
By the time we finished eating, the rowdy crowd had gone home or fallen into drunken slumber at their tables. The tavern was more at peace. The minstrels played softly as we sat around the fireplace on some more comfortable leather seats. Patreus lit up a pipe and relaxed as he gazed into the flames.
Peitus’ lady friend gave him a coy wave of her fingers and shot him a mischievous smile from across the room as she left the tavern. He responded with a nod and a wink.
“You see? I told you so,” he bragged pompously as we all laughed.
After Patreus finished his pipe, he placed some silver coins on the table for the barmaid and we went upstairs to the inn. There was only one room available, as other travelers had arrived for the festival, but it had three bunked beds. It felt good to have the comforts of home around us once again. We fell asleep quickly after our long travels in the wilderness.
We stayed there for a few days, and those days and nights brought similar times. Peitus even seemed to be making progress with his lady friend, who we learned was named Allewyn, daughter of Brimbley. She no longer threw her drinks in his face.
CHAPTER 11
One morning I awoke to the sound of tinkering outside. I presumed it was Kalvis at his blacksmith shop, working on some swords. The others were still asleep, but soon woke as the town square became more active. I looked out the window to see many townsfolk loading up carts and preparing for the feast.
Then there was a smoky, sweet smell in the air, and a knock on our door soon followed. Patreus opened the door to reveal Ostler standing there with a tray of food for us; bellyfrits, bread, and booloo bulb tea, a sweet and hot morning drink.
“Good morning travelers,” said Ostler. “Joy to you all.”
“Joy to you as well, Ostler,” Patreus replied. I assumed this was the way Haareti greeted each other on special celebration days; it was Di’Veridae.
“Here are your morning meals,” Ostler said as he handed us the food tray.
“Thank you,” said Patreus, paying him with some silver coins.
After we ate, we cleaned ourselves up in the washroom and dressed for the day. Patreus told us we could leave our be
longings there at the inn, since we were going to stay another night. I only brought my valuable items with me; the gifts from Patreus and my father, and a map. Patreus told me we would need the diary anyway to show the council members the sketch of Hemela from my dreams.
When we exited the tavern we crossed the town square to Kalvis’ blacksmith shop. He greeted us warmly.
“Good morning! Joy to you all on this holiday!” he said.
“Good morning Kalvis. Joy to you as well,” Patreus responded.
“Here you are.” He approached us with several swords. “I fixed three of them up and put them into newer and better handle settings.” He passed them to Deius, Lunaris and Peitus.
The swords were in leather sheathes with waist and shoulder straps. Their handles were ornately designed with leather and fabric for easy and comfortable swordplay. Deius slowly unsheathed his. The blade glinted in the sunlight and danced in his brightened eyes.
“Wow!” he exclaimed, as he took on a fighting stance.
“Patreus, here is yours, all cleaned up,” said Kalvis as he passed Patreus his sword. “And what about you?” he uttered to himself while looking upon me with a false pondering expression on his face. “I must have forgotten about yours.”
“That’s okay.” I shrugged with a smile, knowing he was joking with me.
“Come,” he motioned, “I have something special for you already made.”
He led me to the back of his shop where he had about a dozen swords mounted on the stone wall, and various pieces of armor, horseshoes, and other metallic works strewn about. He reached behind some items and retrieved a sword in its sheath.
The sheath was leather, like the others, but it had images burned into the hide depicting various battle scenes. There were images of sorcery and what I guessed were the Divinae. The hilt extended to form two spear tips pointing outward just above the handle, which was ornately wrapped in leather and dyed fabrics.
He tugged on the handle, and with a faint clicking sound he unsheathed the sword. The blade shimmered with a bright yellow radiance that seemed magical. Kalvis then formally presented it to me, bowing his head and handing me the sword with both hands extending outward, handle first.
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