Ahren- the 13th Paladin

by Torsten Weitze

  Ahren was spurred on by the realization that the leather ball really hurt when it hit his face, which happened regularly at the start. Any time he dropped the ball he would have to follow it and then catch up with his master, who didn’t wait of course. Ahren never thought he would hate anything so much in such a short time as this small piece of sewn leather.

  It was almost noon. Falk had just placed the plants in front of him, which he brought with him in the rucksack instead of plucking them again. He looked at the position of the sun in the sky and said, ‘now we should be there soon, so be on your best behaviour’.

  ‘Be where soon?’ asked Ahren in surprise.

  ‘At Vera’s of course. Don’t you know where we are?’ Falk sounded genuinely surprised.

  Ahren looked around and recognized that they were in an offshoot of the forest that was known by the villagers simply as Herbal Grove. Vera, the village Healer lived here, and Deepstone itself was only a few hundred paces away. They must have been running in a wide curve. Ahren hadn’t been paying any attention to his surroundings on account of his exhaustion and perpetual concentration.

  ‘But what do we have to do at hers, master. Are you ill?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Who do you think she gets her herbs from if they grow in inaccessible places and can’t be raised in her garden?’

  Now that his master had mentioned it, he remembered hearing that Vera had been helped by the Guardian. The woman was over 80 summers old and couldn’t walk so well any more. But there wasn’t a family in the village she hadn’t assisted, healing an ill family member or saving domestic livestock. For this reason she always had a steady stream of visitors who supplied her with everything she needed. She also loved chatting and listening, which made her the best port of call, along with the tavern and the village well, if you wanted to hear the latest news – which only increased the willingness of the villagers to give her a helping hand.

  Falk looked at the boy sternly. ‘This will be your first appearance as my apprentice. Be polite, speak as little as possible and don’t get in the way’.

  ‘Yes, Master…’, Ahren stammered.

  He knew Vera. The old woman was always friendly to him and Falk’s harsh instructions seemed over the top. Unless he’s ashamed of me, he thought quickly.

  Falk seemed to realize what Ahren was thinking and he said in a milder tone, ‘the Healer’s house is a hot bed of rumours, I don’t want you to say anything that could be taken the wrong way. The beginning of your training was dramatic enough, and the bonding ritual I performed with you was unusual too. We don’t want to add grist to the mill’. And with that the Guardian threw the leather ball at Ahren, who had been staring at his master but instinctively raised his left hand and plucked the ball out of the air. He tossed the ball back to his master in triumph.

  ‘That’s a start’, said Falk and nodded.

  They went a little further and came to a small clearing that lay directly at the forest’s edge. Only a few trees separated the small, thatched log cabin with its large tidily cultivated herb garden from the first houses of the village. A well worn narrow brick path snaked its way between them. Everything was neat and tidy. The herb garden was surrounded by a thick wooden fence and there was even a luxurious flower bed just before the front door, wafting beautiful smells in the late afternoon sun.

  Ahren had only been here twice before and that was in autumn and winter. It looked so different now and it took him a few seconds to recognize the place.

  Falk gave him another stern look as they reached the front door. They could hear voices from the inside conversing cheerfully. Obviously the latest morsels of gossip were being exchanged and Ahren understood now why his master had insisted on a note of caution.

  Falk knocked on the door, the voices fell silent within and they entered the house. A friendly woman with a smile on her deeply wrinkled face was sitting in her rocking chair. Although it was warm, her legs were wrapped in a woollen blanket. A young woman had just risen from the stool and was picking up a basket. It was Senja. Her mother was the village weaver and she was the eldest daughter. ‘I’d better be going now, I’ve wasted too much time already’, she said. She nodded to the herbalist, smiled uncertainly towards Falk and Ahren and darted out before hurrying away quickly. The boy looked after her thoughtfully. Was he mistaken, or had she been afraid of them?

  ‘Now, now, don’t be brooding’, said the old woman instead of a greeting, and smiled at Ahren. She seemed to see right into him with her clever eyes.

  ‘You two with your leather gear and your knives are well capable of giving a right fright to a pretty young thing’. Falk snorted and bent down to give Vera a kiss on the cheek. ‘The boy worries too much about what other people think of him, but I’ll drive that out of him’.

  She smiled up at him and patted him on the cheek. ‘Don’t be too hard on him or he’ll run away from you yet’.

  Ahren was totally taken aback by his master’s friendly, even affectionate behaviour.

  ‘That would be pointless’, said Falk. I’m a Forest Guardian, I’ll find him. Anywhere’.

  At least that sounds like the Falk I know, thought Ahren. He positioned himself in a corner of the room and tried to be as unobtrusive as possible, while looking around with curiosity. The house was one-roomed just like the Guardian’s lodgings, and the beams in the roof were festooned with bundles of herbs. They were hanging from them at differing stages of the drying process. There were shelves on two walls, with pots, jugs and little jars, all labelled in tidy handwriting. A cooking area and a narrow bed filled the other walls. A table with two stools, as well as the large rocking chair Vera was sitting on, stood in the middle of the room.

  Falk began to empty his rucksack and to spread out the herbs he’d gathered the previous day on the table. Vera looked at him as he worked with a contented smile on her lips.

  ‘They’ll do for a while. You’ve brought an unusually large amount of plants today, even some I have here in the garden, although I have only a few of each sort’.

  Falk pointed with his thumb towards Ahren. ‘Basic training’.

  Vera nodded. ‘Typical Falk. Why give one task when you can do two or three at the same time’.

  The Healer waved Ahren towards her and pointed at the plants on the table. ‘And? Do you recognize any of them yet?’

  As Ahren approached the table he felt Falk’s penetrating look and immediately began to sweat. He took up the red plant that he had identified the previous day and said ‘Wolf Herb’.

  ‘Good. Keep going’. The old woman’s gentle eyes seemed to radiate total confidence in his abilities so that he felt unable to explain that he’d only heard of medicinal plants the day before.

  Instead he looked down at the table and tried to remember. Low Herb and Blue Head. And this one had to be Sharp Thistle. Ahren was pointing at the individual herbs which had individual characteristics or striking colours. He had tried to concentrate on the plants that had stood out during the break earlier in the day, and this was now helping him. But there were another thirty bundles in various shades of green on the table that said nothing to him. His two older companions looked at him fixedly. Vera patiently and Falk sternly.

  A gust of wind carried the sumptuous aromas from the flowerbed at the front door into the house and this gave Ahren an idea. He bent down over the table and immediately two intensive scents filled his nostrils. ‘Stink Weed, and Sneeze Root’. He had identified two further plants.

  Falk snorted contentedly and Vera gave a smile of encouragement.

  ‘You’ve found yourself a clever apprentice, you old fox’, she chuckled.

  Ahren beamed with pride and looked up at this master – only to be surprised by the leather ball, which hit his nose. He shot his left hand up far too late and only managed to give himself a blow under the chin.

  ‘A start’, said Falk drily while his apprentice angrily chased the leather ball and cursed silently to himself, using every bad word he had eve
r learnt.

  When he stood up again and turned around, he saw the old woman had a very serious look on her face.

  ‘Be careful out there, and take care of the boy. One of the woodcutters saw a deer last week that had literally been torn to shreds. As if by a Blood Wolf’.

  Ahren held his breath. Had he heard correctly?

  Falk snorted. ‘You know what the woodcutters are like, superstitious to the last. They’re always seeing things that aren’t there’.

  ‘It won’t do any harm to take a little care, though’, Vera added.

  Falk responded in a calm voice. ‘Blood Wolves rarely come so far to the east. The last one I saw was over twenty years ago. And anyway they’re unbelievably territorial. If there were one here, then there would be dead wolves and bears lying all over the forest’.

  Ahren gave a strangled gasp and Falk turned to look at his apprentice. The boy had gone pale with fright and was staring wide-eyed at Falk.

  ‘Look what you’ve started with your idle chatter. The boy is totally shocked’, grumbled Falk. He went up to the terrified boy and put a hand on his shoulder.

  Ahren looked up at him and stammered. ‘Can a Blood Wolf really kill a bear?’

  Falk led him to the table where the old woman was sitting and looking at the boy keenly. He gently pushed him down onto one of the stools and sat beside him. ‘This was really only supposed to be discussed much later on in your training but as the subject has now been broached we might as well get it over with’.

  Falk shot the herbalist an angry look, but she looked back at him serenely. ‘What do you know about the Dark Ones? Falk asked in a quiet voice.

  Ahren’s mind was racing. His head was full of the old stories that were told around the camp fires or late at night during the Winter Festival. ‘They…they can turn themselves into smoke, they eat the souls of their victims, and before you die, they make you go mad. They’re full of hate and teeth and claws and they’re the servants of Him, who forces’. He could only whisper the last few words.

  His master gave an amused look before becoming serious again. ‘That’s all true but not all Dark Ones possess all those powers. Otherwise the Adversary would certainly have won that time. There are more than twenty different Dark Ones that we know of. Each individual one has his own unique powers and they all serve Him.

  Vera slowly got up from her rocking chair and shuffled heavily to one of the shelves. From there she fetched a bottle and three beakers and placed them on the table. She filled the beakers with an amber liquid while Falk continued. ‘About a dozen of these Dark Ones are really relevant to us Forest Guardians. And only very rarely does one of them come into this neck of the woods’.

  Vera passed them their beakers and sat back on the rocking chair with her own. She closed her eyes and took a sip.

  Ahren carefully smelled at his beaker and his nostrils filled with the sweet pungent smell of honey mead. He looked at the beaker in awe. Only the wealthy villagers could afford this drink and then it was normally served in thimble-sized cups. Ahren had never been near a full beaker before. For a moment he even forgot his fear as he admired the priceless treasure.

  Falk absently raised the beaker to his lips and continued. ‘Blood Wolves were once normal ice-wolves, the largest wolves that exist in nature. The Adversary forced them under his control. He made them larger and stronger. The more blood they drink, the mightier and angrier they become. In the Dark Days, the first rule of thumb was to kill the opposing army’s Blood Wolves, before they had torn apart too many of their enemies and their frenzy had become almost unconquerable’.

  Ahren listened in fear and gripped his beaker of mead. Without thinking, he took a drink and felt a warm burning sensation spreading down his throat and into his stomach.

  ‘An adult Blood Wolf can easily defeat a bear, and that’s why I’m certain none has entered the forest. I would have heard it long ago and seen its path of destruction’.

  The mead was slowly having its effect and Ahren’s head began to feel light. His fear of the Blood Wolf disappeared in a gentle fog that seemed to envelop his thoughts. He had relaxed considerably. Vera gave a grunt of satisfaction as she saw the change in the apprentice’s appearance. Falk gave him another encouraging tap on the shoulder as he glanced darkly at the Healer.

  ‘It was completely unnecessary to upset my apprentice like that. A lecture on the Dark Ones is definitely not for the second day of training’.

  Ahren emptied his beaker. The deliciously sweet yet spicy taste of the mead, and the feeling of drowsiness and fearlessness that it gave him, gave rise to a leaden heaviness in his arms and legs, and he could feel his eyes closing.

  Suddenly there was an almighty bang that startled him, his eyes shot open and he saw the stern, weather-beaten face of the old Forest Guardian a mere hand span away looking at him. For a moment Ahren was back in his father’s dark hut, and as he screamed and shot his arms up in an effort to protect himself, he threw his body backward, his stool tipped over and he fell back in a tangle of arms and legs.

  He stared up at his master in a fog. Falk’s hand still lay flat on the table where he had let it fall in order to wake the boy. Vera clicked her tongue disapprovingly and Falk scratched his beard with an embarrassed look on his face.

  ‘I think we’re going to have to get to know each other a little more. I’m really sorry, boy. That’s how my master used to wake me up, whenever I dozed off doing my exercises. I still forget that you’ve grown up differently to me’. Ahren picked himself up off the floor, his heart was pounding and he could only nod, because he didn’t trust himself to be able to speak. Neither of them could utter a word and so the two Forest Guardians only looked at each other in embarrassment.

  Suddenly a high squeaky sound could be heard that broke the awkward silence and both of them turned around to Vera in surprise. She was giggling into her shawl. ‘You almost managed a summersault and your feet rubbed off the herbs hanging off the ceiling’, Vera spluttered, overcome by a fit of giggling and pointed upwards. Falk and Ahren looked up in surprise at the slowly swinging bundles of herbs and burst out laughing themselves. Their mutual embarrassment was punctured by the hilarity of it all.

  Falk shook his head, finished his mead and stood up. ‘That didn’t exactly go according to plan. You were supposed to learn something about herbs. Instead we frighten the life out of you with stories of the Dark Ones, pour alcohol down your throat, and you almost break your neck by falling off the chair’.

  Vera giggled again and also stood up. ‘Before we leave, I just want to ask if Ahren can drop by now and then and learn how to make the most important creams and compresses. That will give me the chance to do parts of my job which he can’t participate in yet and then he’ll also have the odd day when his body can recover’. He smiled in Ahren’s direction.

  Vera nodded. ‘Of course. The boy is a bright spark and I’m always happy to share my knowledge. It will only be enough to learn the basics, though. If he wants to learn more, I’ll have to keep him for one or two winters’. The three of them stepped out into the late afternoon sun and Vera and Falk gave each other a quick hug. Ahren gave an awkward nod of farewell and noticed the Healer whisper something to his master before breaking away from him. Falk nodded and strode quickly away with his apprentice in tow. The old woman stood in the doorway and, lost in thought, watched them leave.

  The return journey to Falk’s cabin was surprisingly short. Ahren’s master reminded him to remember the direct route so that he would be able to find his own way to Vera’s hut the next time. Again and again he pointed out way markings to the boy. These would help him to orientate himself. He also showed him how the position of the sun in the sky could also help determine the correct direction. He didn’t use the ball at all on the return journey, much to Ahren’s relief.

  They arrived at the cabin just as dusk was falling and Falk ordered him to go in and light the fire in the hearth. The night was drawing in and they were sitting at thei
r evening meal when Ahren asked a question that had occupied his mind before he had become Falk’s apprentice.

  ‘Master, where do you actually come from?’

  Falk looked up from his bowl quizzically and grunted, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, everybody knows that you arrived in Deepstone a long time ago, but there are lots of different opinions about where you came from’.

  ‘Is that so?’ His older companion’s face seemed to darken.

  ‘What opinions have you heard?’

  ‘Most people believe you come from the Knight Marshes. That you spoke their local dialect in those days. Others think you picked up your knowledge of the Dark Ones in the Border Lands. Still others are of the opinion that you lived among the elves of Evergreen’, said Ahren as he divulged the most popular theories.

  His master didn’t seem to take too kindly to his question but Ahren felt he ought to know as much as possible about the man in whose house he was now living.

  Falk was just about to rebuke him sharply but then thought better of it. ‘All those theories have a grain of truth in them but none of them hits the nail on the head. I received my training in Eathinian as part of a punishment. That’s what we call the territory of the forest elves and you should remember that. Evergreen is a very crude translation. The same as if an elf called Deepstone ‘a heavy thing that makes a clunking sound and falls a long way down’. It’s not only inexact but it’s not in the least aesthetic, it makes you sound like a complete idiot to them’.

  Although this little insight into the language of the elves was fascinating, Ahren was interested in something completely different. ‘Your training was a punishment?’ That would certainly explain his training methods, thought Ahren drily.

  ‘Not what you’re thinking’. I was a drifter when I arrived in Eathinian. I lit a fire in the forest where it was prohibited, I slaughtered an animal that was protected and I relieved myself in a river that provided drinking water to an elf village two miles further along. Even one of these misdemeanours could cost your head among the elves, or, if they were feeling charitable, result in banishment. Quite a few of them wanted to see me dead, but when was brought before the priestess of Her, that feels to receive my sentence, it turned out she had a finely tuned, if very dark, sense of humour. I had to bear my guilt in the forest until I had undone the damage I had caused. My fire had destroyed an old tree that had stood there for many decades. The animal I had slaughtered had been vital for the maintenance of the balance between predator and prey. The elves take such things very seriously. And so I spent many years learning everything about the forest to make good for this one tree, and to bring the wildlife back into balance, which is much harder than I had thought, certainly if you go by elf standards. Any time I thought I had done the right thing my mistress would point out to me what the consequences of my actions were. In the end and with her help I had made good for the tree and restored the balance and in the meantime I had become a Forest Guardian. I didn’t want then and have never wanted since to be anything else’.