The First Adventure

by Mark Boutros

  They would pound away at rocks for many sunsets. Smash, smash, smash to get the shape. Scratch, scratch, scratch the detail. Sculptures of kings and queens so perfect they had more of an aura than the real ones. Octo-eagles so detailed you’d think a live one was about to burst out of its rock shell and whip you with its feathery tentacles. Weapons, buildings, boats, dragon-scorpions and meals; the Oafs sculpted anything that came to mind.

  Hundreds of pieces of rock art surrounded ten sculpted rock huts, each elevated on four rock pillars. The Oafs loved to look down at their creations and out to sea. To the unfamiliar eye Reech looked intimidating and haunting, but to those who knew, Reech was beautiful.

  Cecil was only eleven and not yet ready to sculpt, but one of his great joys was watching his mother, Boofa, craft the most magical pieces. There was something different about what she made. Maybe it was because she was his mum, but he felt like the gods let a bit of themselves flow through her and onto the sculptures.

  As the years passed, quiet little Reech became busy little Reech. Travellers from all over Hastovia came to look at the sculptures. Some loved what they saw. Some feared what they saw. But always, every single time, someone wanted to buy one particular sculpture that they considered to be Boofa’s finest work – The Charmer; a grinning cat riding a dragon.

  Boofa turned to Cecil. ‘We’ve sculpted dragon-scorpions and not missed a scale, hair on the legs, or point of the tooth. We’ve sculpted castles where you can see the people in the windows. We’ve even sculpted strange vessels with flames shooting out of them that we jokingly say will propel us into the sky one day. But no, everyone goes crazy for the sculpture of the grinning cat on a dragon that we made in half a sunset when we ate too many rotten berries and got fuzzy.’ She laughed at the ridiculousness.

  Cecil smiled back. He was happy as long as his mum was.

  ‘Oh well. I guess art is subjective.’ Boofa hoisted Cecil onto her hump, her unique feature, and walked around the beach. Cecil touched his unique feature, a horn growing out of his right shoulder.

  Travellers offered gold, but the Oafs had rocks and sculpted their own homes. Travellers offered feasts, but the Oafs ate sand, berries, fruit and leaves. Travellers offered land, but the Oafs were content living on the beach. However, they believed creativity was something to share, so Boofa told all who wanted The Charmer the same thing, ‘If you alone can lift it, you can take it.’

  Cecil loved it when someone tried. All the Oafs would gather as another cocksure traveller limbered up, postured to the crowd and inevitably failed. This was the way of life in Reech. Sculpt, sculpt, sculpt, eat, sleep, watch a traveller fail and leave, get back to work until the next visitor would arrive and fail too. The Oafs began to love The Charmer for the fun it brought them.

  That soon changed.

  Cecil was fifteen and at an age where he should be sculpting, but he struggled for inspiration. While fetching rocks from the snowy cliff tops, he casually threw one down and it narrowly missed an armoured stranger riding a Cyclops. The stranger’s cold stare instantly found Cecil who raised an apologetic arm, but the stranger’s expression didn’t warm. The man turned his eyes back to the path and the Cyclops continued to trudge through the snow. Cecil had seen all kinds of visitors and all kinds of eyes, but the stranger’s had only hate in them. Most visitors came in the hot season, but the stranger was here at the harshest time.

  Cecil returned to see the stranger step off his Cyclops. What struck Cecil was his skinny frame stacked with muscles that tried to burst out of his leather armour.

  The stranger left his tired Cyclops and strutted towards Boofa while she organised rocks. ‘Which is the one everyone comes to see?’ he asked, looking through Boofa at the sculptures.

  She didn’t like arrogant folk, so just nodded towards The Charmer and continued organising.

  The stranger approached the sculpture. ‘Ha! I can see why everyone loves it. A grinning cat riding a dragon. Genius! I’ll take it.’

  Everyone stopped what they were doing. A wry smile crept over Boofa’s face.

  Cecil itched to say the words and ran up to the stranger. ‘If you alone can lift it, you can have it!’ he declared.

  All the Oafs cheered.

  The stranger’s eyes darted around Cecil yet his mouth remained still. Cecil worried he was about to be attacked, but the stranger simply removed and folded his cloak, set it down and sat on it. ‘It’s time we gave it a new home.’ The stranger turned to his Cyclops and whistled. It stomped towards him as quickly as it could, which was slowly. It stopped in front of the stranger and bowed. ‘Get me that sculpture,’ the stranger commanded.

  The Oafs gathered.

  The Cyclops planted its feet in the snow. It stretched its arms, got a firm grip on The Charmer with its giant hands, bent its knees and with an almighty roar…

  Nothing.

  The stranger cocked his head. ‘Correct your technique.’

  The Cyclops readjusted its stance and bent its legs a bit more. It strained, its feet slid back.

  ‘Maybe you should tell it to stop,’ Boofa said, concerned.

  The stranger tutted at her. ‘Focus,’ he casually told his Cyclops.

  Its grey face darkened, its legs trembled and its veins throbbed as though trying to burst out of its skin to wriggle away.

  ‘Stop!’ Cecil shouted.

  ‘Make it stop!’ Grifta, the elder commanded, slapping his tail against the snow.

  The stranger brushed snow off his trousers. The Cyclops’ breathing slowed. Its body collapsed onto the floor, head slumped against the sculpture. The stranger pointed for the Cyclops to go back to Reech’s entrance and it dragged its exhausted frame through the snow.

  ‘Very well.’ The stranger stood. ‘I didn’t want it to have to come to this, but I am the strongest living being in all of Hastovia, and now you will be able to say you witnessed that strength.’ He approached the sculpture, ran his finger along it and nodded. ‘No longer will they come here to see these sculptures. They will come to pay respect to the legend of my power.’ He stretched his thighs, then his arms.

  ‘Just get on with it,’ Grifta called out.

  The stranger narrowed his eyes at Grifta. He squatted and wrapped his muscular arms around The Charmer. There was total silence as even the Oafs thought this could be the moment someone lifts it. If there was one thing the stranger did well it was creating expectation. He steadied himself and…

  Failure.

  ‘What?’ he said to the sculpture, pointlessly. He barged it. ‘How?’

  ‘Typical. All that confidence followed by pure disappointment,’ Grifta said.

  ‘I never fail! What sorcery is this?’

  Boofa rolled her eyes.

  Grifta chuckled. ‘These are sky rocks. Not as light as the pebbles you play with. Now visitors will hear of another failure. What’s your name?’ Grifta moved to scratch it into the Statue of Failure, depicting a man crying, unable to lift a feather. Names were carved all over it.

  The stranger refused to answer.

  ‘Fine, you’ll be Lord Grass Arms.’ Grifta carved it on the forehead of the Statue of Failure. He turned back to the stranger. ‘You should know, the Oafs are the strongest beings in all of Hastovia, we just don’t need to show off to the world about it.’ Grifta lifted The Charmer with ease and put it on top of a small, sculpted hill. Pride of place for the joy it had brought Reech.

  ‘No!’ The stranger ran to The Charmer and tried to lift it using a different technique. There was the Jermalian technique where power comes from the calves.

  Failure.

  There was the technique made famous by the Barmashin tribe, where it’s all in the elevation from the shoulders and channelling power through the chest.

  Failure.

  Then there was the Believers’ technique of believing something was weaker than you. It explained why the Believers never won a war.

  More failure.

  It got tiresome. Soon only Cecil
watched. He wished the stranger would leave, but he kept trying. This was pure obsession.

  In the time the stranger spent failing, Boofa sculpted a tree and a table, while Grifta sculpted the stranger trying to lift The Charmer, but made the stranger fat.

  Finally defeated, the stranger wiped the sweat from his brow, stopped and stared at The Charmer.

  ‘Thank you for visiting our village,’ Boofa said.

  The stranger dragged his feet back to his discoloured Cyclops.

  Cecil couldn’t hide his smile.

  The stranger stopped and turned back. ‘I want to stay and learn from you.’

  Cecil willed Boofa and Grifta to reject him.

  ‘Teach me to be strong like you. To sculpt like you.’ He fell to one knee.

  ‘Don’t do it, Ma,’ Cecil whispered.

  ‘Why should we teach you?’ Boofa asked.

  ‘Because gifts like yours are given to be shared.’

  ‘I don’t like him,’ Cecil whispered.

  Grifta leaned in to Boofa. ‘He’s right though. We can’t deny sharing our talents with those who want to learn. It would be shameful.’

  Boofa nodded.

  ‘But he is the worst being I’ve ever met,’ Grifta added.

  ‘Maybe sculpting will bring him the joy he’s been missing,’ Boofa suggested.

  Why were they even discussing this?

  ‘Very well!’ Grifta said. ‘You may stay. And Boofa shall be your teacher.’

  Boofa gave Cecil an apologetic look.

  The stranger smiled.

  Twenty sunsets passed and Cecil still couldn’t think of anything to sculpt. Boofa told him and the stranger, ‘Let your first sculpture tell you it wants to be sculpted.’

  Cecil wasn’t sure what that meant so he didn’t sculpt a thing, while the stranger attacked the rocks daily.

  During breaks, the stranger wandered around the village and asked everyone questions. ‘So why do you love sculpting so much?’ he asked Grifta. ‘Why don’t I ever see any of you swim?’ he asked Boofa. ‘Why don’t you use your strength to take over all of Hastovia?’ he asked Cecil. However, while the Oafs loved sharing, they were guarded about why they did or didn’t do certain things. They always gave him generic answers, but that wouldn’t stop him. Daily he asked the same questions. Daily he was disappointed.

  Likewise, the Oafs had questions for him. ‘Where are you from?’ they asked, and he replied with a cocky, ‘Hastovia.’ He smiled but never gave the real answer.

  ‘What is your name?’ they asked.

  ‘Names mean nothing. Actions mean everything,’ he said, and then moved away.

  Cecil noticed Boofa was happier than she had been for a while. Teaching brought great satisfaction, even if the student was the stranger. She’d show him, smash, smash, smash, pound, pound, pound, scratch, refine, tweak. He would then attempt it. Smash, stop for breath, smash, sit down for a moment and tend to his cut hand, pound, lie on the floor in agony. Oafs were born with hands tough enough to take this kind of punishment.

  Over ninety sunsets passed like this, full of frustration for the stranger, as his sculptures never turned out the way he wanted. He tried to sculpt himself, but either the nose was too thin, the muscles were too small, or the face was too unwelcoming.

  Cecil watched from his bedroom as the stranger sat on the beach and stared out to sea. Cecil struggled to think of something to sculpt. ‘More than two hundred sunsets and nothing.’ He admired the glorious creations of the village. The royalty, the beasts, the novelties, and his favourite, The Knight With No Name. When dragon-scorpions roamed the land The Knight With No Name was the one who drove them deep into the ground. Cecil always wanted to be a hero like her.

  He thought of Boofa’s words. Let your first sculpture tell you it wants to be sculpted. The words whirred in his head. He saw Boofa go to console the stranger. He followed and hid behind the sculpture of the dragon-scorpion.

  ‘It’s not working,’ the stranger said.

  Boofa softened. ‘You have to stop making it an obsession and let it just be an expression.’ She sculpted a tiny bird.

  ‘That sounds like a great quote to carve into a wall, but I don’t understand.’

  ‘Obsession is a poison. You need to let it go before it consumes you.’

  ‘Walk with me,’ he requested.

  Cecil followed, hiding behind sculptures, trying to blend in as much as a hefty Oaf could. He overheard them speak about life, their dreams, and what they hoped for Hastovia. Cecil actually felt sorry for the stranger.

  ‘Thank you for taking me in, Boofa,’ the stranger said. ‘I have learned a great deal and wish I could be as strong as you all, but it isn’t to be.’ He showed her his trembling hands. The scars, lumps and deformities.

  In that moment it came to Cecil.

  The following sunrise, everyone gathered in the centre of Reech to marvel at Cecil’s creations. His mother beamed as the stranger slid the rock fists onto his hands. They were perfect, both soft enough to move, and hard enough to smash with. Cecil had found harmony between opposites. The stranger got straight to work.

  He and Cecil became great friends. All the scary things about the stranger became normal. The stranger taught Cecil how to ride a Cyclops, while Cecil showed him hazel berries – a berry that when rubbed into the skin felt amazing. The stranger fell in love with hazel berries. When he wasn’t sculpting, he’d be lathering it on himself.

  One day the stranger helped Cecil gather rocks from the cliffs. He couldn’t lift them, but he had a good eye for finding them.

  ‘Over here, Cecil!’ he shouted from beyond a sculpture of a bearded Oaf pointing back to Reech.

  Cecil stopped in front of it. ‘We’re not meant to go beyond the beards.’ The Oaf’s had sculpted themselves with beards to see what they might look like with some form of hair.

  ‘Why not?’ the stranger asked.

  ‘It’s just something we were told when we were little.’

  ‘Don’t you ever want to explore beyond the limits of your own village?’

  ‘We don’t need to. Hastovia comes to us.’

  ‘Some of Hastovia. Come on, the rock is only a little bit further.’

  Cecil wasn’t sure.

  ‘It’s just beyond those trees,’ the stranger reassured him. ‘It’s the biggest rock I’ve ever seen.’

  He wasn’t exaggerating. It was majestic. As well as being the biggest it was the shiniest. It would keep the Oafs sculpting for a long time.

  ‘I think I see another one.’ The stranger ran off before Cecil could shout after him. Cecil shrugged and readied himself to lift the rock when he saw it.

  Hungry eyes, hungry face, hungry mouth, and a horn in the middle of its head ready to skewer him. Cecil had only seen one in sculptures, but now he was face to face with a horned wolf. Cecil’s legs froze. The beast moved closer, rolling its lips to present its huge, jagged teeth. It growled and leapt at Cecil. The stranger’s rock fist smashed its side. It hit the floor, got to its feet and fled.

  Cecil collapsed…

  ‘How could you lead him beyond the beards?’ Boofa blasted, tending to Cecil, shaken and groggy.

  ‘I didn’t know,’ the stranger protested.

  ‘Those bearded Oafs are to keep us from going where it’s dangerous,’ Grifta added.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Cecil said. ‘I chose to go. And he saved me. I got greedy wanting the bigger rocks.’ He nodded at the stranger.

  The stranger smiled at Cecil.

  Boofa calmed herself. ‘I suppose we should be thankful to you, then.’

  The stranger won their trust and as days passed, unanswered questions were answered. ‘So why do you love sculpting so much?’ he asked Grifta.

  ‘Because it’s all we know. We’re not the brightest. We’re not the fastest, and we can’t cook. We tried once and accidentally poisoned a king. Now we stick to what will bring us no harm.’

  The stranger absorbed the answer.

  �
��Why don’t I ever see you swimming?’ he asked Boofa.

  ‘Look around you.’ She put a friendly arm around him. ‘How well do you think we can float?’ She smiled.

  ‘I can teach you,’ the stranger offered.

  ‘You’ve more chance of lifting a sculpture,’ Grifta called out.

  The stranger let himself chuckle.

  ‘Why don’t you use your strength to take over all of Hastovia?’ he asked Cecil.

  ‘We can’t intentionally kill. We love life too much,’ Cecil replied.

  ‘Isn’t that a waste of being the strongest people in Hastovia?’

  ‘Mum says a waste is doing nothing but evil with your gifts. If you look through all of history, no Oaf has ever purposely killed another being. Sure, an Oaf may have sat on a small creature by accident, but Mum says the preservation of life must always come before a desire for death.’

  The stranger nodded.

  Finally, he completed the sculpture of himself. The face was friendlier, the muscles were bigger, and he stood proud on top of what looked like the whole of Hastovia. Despite being more pleasant, he still had a warped view of himself.

  The Oafs applauded him.

  ‘Thank you for everything,’ he said to Boofa and Cecil. ‘I arrived an arrogant idiot, but I leave…’

  ‘An arrogant idiot who can sculpt,’ Grifta joked.

  The stranger smirked. ‘I’m sad to say goodbye.’

  Cecil frowned.

  ‘But I shall return to visit, with a gift.’ And with that, he climbed onto his Cyclops and rode away.

  That year in Reech was as normal as could be, but Cecil missed his friend, someone he even thought of as a true friend. Whenever he heard the creaking of wheels, or the thudding of a creature he would run to the village boundary to join Boofa. ‘Is it him?’

  His mother would shake her head. Cecil concluded that the stranger would never return.

  Two hot seasons later, while Cecil and Boofa gathered rocks, a light humming carried in the air. It grew louder and louder, closer and closer.