Prelude (The Songs of Aarda Book 1)

by K Schultz

Laakea stared at the fire as troubling thoughts returned. He doesn’t know me, but he speaks of friendship. How could he be friends with a coward? Rehaak will turn me out...or worse...turn me over to Pa.

  He wanted to run screaming from the hut like a little child. If he had anywhere else to go he would have bolted out the door in an instant. The urge to leave almost overcame him, but his legs refused to respond. Something deeper and stronger than fear and the lack of alternatives held him here. Laakea floundered in a fog of uncertainty, but he sensed Rehaak’s great tenderness, and that sensitivity beckoned him to stay.

  The voice that had spoken to him in the forest echoed in his mind and flooded him with certainty. It drowned Laakea’s doubts in a wave of golden light. “You are safe here. You can learn and grow in peace.”

  Laakea summoned his courage. Rehaak looked up from the pot he stirred. Their eyes met. “Thank you for your offer of hospitality. I will stay as long as you’ll allow, and the gods will it,” Laakea said, completing the decision by giving voice to it. I hope I can repay my Life Debt while I stay with you.” Laakea stooped and placed a log on the fire.

  Honor and duty still matter to me. Perhaps I can redeem myself. I gave him my word, and I cannot keep what remaining integrity I have if I do otherwise.

  Rehaak smiled, straightened, and stretched. He got the wooden cup for his tea, filled it with boiling water, added the herbs, and set it on the mantel to steep. “I hope my friend Isil arrives soon. I would like you to meet her. Isil is an interesting woman. I met her in the grassland between here and Twinbridge on my trip from Narragan. Have you ever been to Twinbridge?”

  Laakea shook his head. “No, I never ventured farther from home than this. We went to Dun Dale many times, and I visited the market in New Hope with my father, Aelfric, once. Those are my farthest journeys until now.” Laakea stirred the embers with the poker and placed a log in the fireplace.

  Rehaak looked up from stirring the porridge. “You say this is your farthest journey, but I suspect you will go much farther than this. About a half-day east, the forest ends, and the grassland begins. The grass stretches out like a green ocean for two days’ walk. The vicious saw-toothed grass will shred your clothes and strip the meat from your bones if you blunder into it. However, once the grass dies, you can braid stout ropes and durable cordage from its fibers. I met some fellows at Twinbridge who did just that and earned a decent livelihood from their trade.”

  “You mentioned Narragan before. Is it a big city?”

  “Oh, Narragan is huge, and you can buy anything you want there if you have money, but it is a hard and lonely place if you don’t. Many people in Dun Dale and New Hope fled Narragan because life in the city was too hard for them. Narragan is a place of extremes. You will find the wealthiest and the poorest, the best and the worst of my people gathered within its walls. Narragan abounds in both dangers and delights, and sometimes a person finds it hard to distinguish one from the other.”

  Rehaak fell silent, and neither man spoke while the porridge bubbled on the fire. Laakea relaxed, and the icy tension in his shoulders vanished, but the knot in his stomach remained because of one thought. I might be putting Rehaak in danger with my presence here.

  Lessons in Trust

  Rehaak squatted by the hearth, stirring the bubbling mixture of grains and berries while Laakea’s stomach rumbled in eager anticipation. This stuff takes forever to cook.

  “Rehaak, I am so hungry I could eat a stink-cat’s backside and ask for seconds. It smells so good that if I stay here, I’ll drown in my own drool.” Laakea eased out of the chair. “I’ll fetch more wood until breakfast is ready.”

  He stepped out into the bright sunlight. The fog that hugged the ground earlier in the morning had evaporated, and the circle of sky, framed by the enormous evergreens encircling the clearing, sported a few puffy clouds. Sunlight created flashing multi-colored gems from the dewdrops on the grass and weeds swaying in the breeze beside the trail to the woodshed. Laakea stacked pieces of firewood in the crook of his arm, but before he finished, Rehaak called him.

  “Breakfast is ready. Come inside, and we will eat.”

  Laakea did not need a second invitation. As he sprinted to the cabin, damp foliage along the pathway soaked his pant legs. Lightheaded and clumsy, Laakea stumbled and almost dropped his armload of wood in his eagerness to satisfy his hunger.

  While Laakea washed his hands, Rehaak scooped a mound of porridge into each bowl as the boy dragged his chair to the table. Steam wafted from the bowl in front of him, hanging in the air like delicate perfume and made his head spin. Laakea grasped the spoon in a death grip, ready to attack the food in front of him, but custom demanded the guest could not eat without the host’s permission. I am weak and dizzy. If we don’t eat soon, I will faint.

  Rehaak lifted his hands and sang,

  Creator of all, seas, stones, and sky,

  our thanks we sing to you on high.

  We take the gifts that you provide.

  Your power graciously bestow,

  on all your creatures here below.

  Our thanks we give, our strength, and guide.

  When he finished singing, Rehaak nodded to Laakea, plopped onto the bench, and motioned for the boy to begin.

  Laakea jammed the first spoonful into his mouth, and intoxicating flavors cascaded across his tongue. He found it impossible to pace himself after the first bite, especially since he had eaten only berries and mushrooms for three days. Shelhera’s best feast-day meals could not compete with these boiled grains and fruits. Laakea devoured the porridge like a drowning man gasped for breath, and although his stomach cried out for more, courtesy would not allow him to ask.

  Rehaak smiled and watched Laakea scrape the last remnants from the bowl and lick the spoon clean. “I forgot the way a youngster can eat. Thank you for the reminder. Tomorrow I will make a larger portion for you.”

  The gentleness in Rehaak’s demeanor and tone set Laakea at ease; he felt more relaxed with this stranger than with his own father. In the tendays before he fled, Aelfric’s rage had increased, and Laakea lived in constant fear.

  Since he first encountered Rehaak, a question had bothered him. He summoned his courage and asked, “How do you always know what I’m thinking?”

  Rehaak’s green eyes flashed with humor. “I have much to tell you.”

  Laakea waited while he imagined a profound revelation.

  “Our two species may differ from each other more than you realize.”

  “I already know that,” Laakea retorted, his tone of voice sharper than he intended, but he was disappointed and suspected condescension from his host's reply.

  “Tell me what you know then.”

  “The Abrhaani are short, with greenish skin, emerald eyes, and webbed fingers. The Eniila are fair-skinned, blond, and tall. Father called you Greens and tree huggers because of your skin color and because you worship nature,” Laakea said with conviction.

  “True, but you have barely scratched the surface of our distinctions. The differences extend beyond physical appearances and the Abrhaani passion for the environment, although they make the Eniila and the Abrhaani seem incompatible.”

  “Could you explain what you mean by that?” Laakea’s tone and knit brows revealed his puzzlement.

  Rehaak replied, “We can discuss that later, but to answer your first question, I do not know what you think. You give me more credit than I deserve. You believe I can read your mind, and sometimes it must appear like I can. I learn a great deal from facial expressions and posture, and still more when I imagine myself in your circumstances. When I am near people, I can sense their emotions but not their thoughts.

  “This ability is easy for most of my species and effortless for me. I believed it was common to all the Creator’s children, but if you and your parents haven’t experienced it, the Abrhaani alone may have this ability. If you listen, I will explain more about our differences later. We must work today. If you help me and you are hun
gry for knowledge, I shall feed you as much as you can swallow, my young friend.”

  Laakea smiled at Rehaak’s wordplay, but it was the second time Rehaak had used the word friend regarding him. No one before today, Abrhaani or Eniila, had ever called him friend. He looked away to hide the moisture in his eyes. “It pleases me to work for you. I owe you at least that much to help repay my Life Debt.”

  “First, let us clean these dishes. Then we will cut firewood and prepare ingredients for our meals. Unlike the rest of my people, I have no scruples about eating meat.

  “Oh, and another thing, we should build a mattress for you unless you wish to sleep on the floor again. If we have time before dark, I will show you which herbs to gather so I can make fresh batches of my potions to barter for supplies in New Hope.” Rehaak stopped speaking because Laakea seemed puzzled. “Do you have a question?”

  Laakea hesitated. “Would it be impolite to ask if your toes are webbed as well as your fingers?”

  Rehaak laughed. “No, it’s not impolite, it’s just simple curiosity, and yes they are, but not all my people have the same degree of webbing. Some have almost no webs between their digits at all.”

  The boy nodded, satisfied with the answer. Laakea had completed his first lesson, a lesson called trust.

  History Lesson

  “There is honor in an ordinary task done well,” Rehaak repeated one of his father’s axioms before he and Laakea started work. Rehaak cut logs into short lengths with a bow saw, while Laakea split the blocks for firewood.

  As Rehaak watched the youngster work, it brought back memories of his own youth on the family farm. Laakea handled the arduous work at a steady pace and without complaint. He swung the ax in high arcs and split the logs with precision. When the pile of split wood grew tall, he gathered pieces in his arms and piled them neatly in the woodshed attached to the cabin.

  The boy, conscientious, whether he used the saw or the ax, seemed tireless. Sweat poured off Rehaak’s brow and stung his eyes as he strained to match Laakea’s pace. Despite the physical work Rehaak had done since taking up residence in the south, he could not match Laakea’s strength or stamina. Rehaak began asking questions once they switched tasks. “Why did your parents leave Baradon? And how did they get here?”

  “Ma and Pa never told me the reason, but they came on a ship that carried trade goods from Baradon to Khel Braah.”

  “No doubt that transition was difficult for you.”

  “No, it wasn’t, since I was born here on Khel Braah, in a house my father built near what would become the village of Dun Dale.”

  “How did your parents earn a livelihood?”

  “When people in New Hope learned my father was a blacksmith, they asked him for help since they had no smith nearby. Father’s tools always outlasted and outperformed the implements the villagers got from the city and at far less cost.”

  “Did you visit New Hope often?”

  “My parents seldom visited the town except to trade. Mother stayed home with me when I was young, but once I grew older, they took me with them to the market in Dun Dale. I helped Ma tend our garden when she was well enough, and I helped Pa in the forge. Then I spent hours in combat practice with Father once I was old enough to hold a weapon.”

  Rehaak sawed through the log, and the block rolled away. “Where did your father get the iron he worked? Did he dig it from the ground?”

  “No, he used bog iron. That’s iron deposited by water in a swamp. An oily film on the surface of the water, we call it jarnbrák, shows there’s iron beneath it. Pa built our house near the bog, and he refined the iron in a bloomery, then took the sponge iron and reworked it for tools and fittings”

  “I see.”Rehaak nodded his head.

  Laakea could see Rehaak did not understand the explanation. “You said you would teach me, not ask me what I know.”

  “The river of knowledge flows in both directions. I have been a scholar most of my life, studied, and learned many things on my travels, and I love discovering new things. You enrich me when you teach me about yourself, your life, and your family.”

  Laakea relaxed. The layer of good faith and trust already established made it easier for him to express himself to Rehaak.

  “Let’s rest for a while and talk about more important matters,” Rehaak said.

  “All right then.” Laakea nodded.

  “You spoke of gods earlier. What do you know about the gods?” Rehaak asked.

  “Mother taught me many gods exist. S’enkashaar, the god of storms, Ak’eldemea, the god of metalcraft, Jesh’zed’haak, the god of war, and S’ek’zekaar, the god of death, among others.”

  “So, you believe many gods exist and interfere in our lives?”

  “Yes. Mother taught me this.”

  “What about mankind?”

  “The Abrhaani and the Eniila are two separate species, different from each other in philosophy, physical traits, and abilities.”

  “Please explain what you know about our differences,” Rehaak said.

  “The Eniila have superior metalcraft, weapons, and warcraft. We know everything in Aarda exists for mankind’s benefit. The gods gave Aarda and everything in it to us, and Aarda exists to serve us. Pa called your people Greens because of your skin color and beliefs. I hope it doesn’t offend you.”

  Rehaak shrugged and shook his head. “We call you Whites, so I suppose we are even on that score.”

  “Ma taught me you Abrhaani think you exist to serve Aarda, rather than have Aarda serve you. You worship nature, and most of you only eat vegetables. You Greens build with earth and stone because you won’t cut down healthy trees. Abrhaani have a written language and write books, while Eniila storytellers or bards pass knowledge on through songs and tales. Your people once lived in Baradon before my father’s people drove them back to Khel Braah. I don’t know what part Pa played, but I suspect it was important.”

  “You told me your parents taught you their trades and skills. What were they?”

  “The crafts of the bowyer, the blacksmith, and the fletcher. Pa also taught me to fight with a sword, a spear, and a bow.”

  “Very useful. Did you also know we share many similarities, although we are different in appearance and abilities?” Laakea nodded, and Rehaak continued, “Did your mother ever tell you of a third species, the Sokai?”

  “I’ve never heard of the Sokai.”

  “I am not surprised. The Sokai are unknown to most people. The Sokai disappeared from Aarda centuries ago, but they used to dwell among us. They built the great city of Berosus in the far eastern plains of Baradon. No one knows if any Sokai still survive. I have read that their city lies abandoned at the edge of the Eastern Wastes.”

  “Is this written in books somewhere?”

  “Yes, and if I tell you I learned there is one God, not several gods... through those books, one God who created all things and sustains all that exists...what would you say?”

  “Are you saying my mother told me lies?” Laakea’s eyebrows lowered, and his lips tightened in a scowl.

  “No, not lies. She was merely mistaken,” Rehaak said. “Your mother taught you what she thought was true. My parents also believed in many gods, but I do not.”

  “And your books are the only source of truth?” Laakea tilted his head backward and looked down his nose with his chin and chest thrust out. Aggrieved, he spun on his heel, picked up the ax, attacked a block from the pile, and smashed it into kindling.

  When Rehaak cleared his throat, Laakea turned to look at him. Resentment and mistrust radiated off him like smoke from a smoldering fire. Rehaak stepped back and raised his hands with his palms stretched toward Laakea.

  “You told me about yourself, and I appreciate the trust you have in me. Trust is difficult for both of us. Now it is my turn to trust you.

  “My lack of familial loyalty disgraces me in the eyes of my people. I grew up on a farm, and farm life, dependent on fickle weather patterns, held no appeal for me. The livest
ock detested me, and I felt the same about them. I hated the hours of slavish labor in springtime when we prepared the soil, summertime when we tended crops, and fall when we harvested those crops. I left my home in Sanchal while still a youth. I visited many cities west of the mountains and explored a vast number of ancient ruins scattered there. But I will tell you the worst of my story after lunch.”

  Laakea’s brow furrowed, “I will hold you to your promise.”

  Rehaak’s History

  After a lunch of spicy braised rabbit, baked tubers stuffed with aged cheese, and a salad of mixed wild greens and berries, Laakea sat on a log as Rehaak rubbed his stomach, belched, and began his story. “My family were wealthy landowners. Now they are just farmers, although they work a large farmstead by Abrhaani standards. Since I was the eldest son, my father wanted me to manage our land, but I never cared about the farm. Grain and goats never interested me; knowledge and books captured my interest from an early age.

  “I drove everyone mad with endless questions. Even as a youngster, I read books on history, philosophy, theology, and everything else I found. I was a massive disappointment to my parents, who valued practical knowledge, the kind that would make the corn grow taller and its kernels fuller, so my learning had no value to them.

  “Abrhaani families are large; ours had five boys and one girl. Tano, my oldest brother, my sister Keria, and my other brothers, appeared content to follow in our parents’ footsteps. Around the time I left home, my older brother, Tano, the son who made Pa happy, ran the farm. Father said I had a wild heart and could never feel content. Father favored Tano because he knew Tano would be successful and care for him when he grew old. All my younger brothers had similar interests.

  “Keria, my sister, was fourteen summers old the year I left, and many suitors competed for her hand. Keria and my mother cried when I left, but Pa, stone-faced and indifferent, shook my hand. He had endured too many endless questions from me and worried I would squander my life. I am confident my departure relieved Pa since he wouldn’t have to witness me waste time on useless fancies any longer.