“If logic and strength were the only attributes that defined a warrior we’d live in a society without compassion, compromise, and loyalty.”
“Bullshit, loyalty is part of strength,” Devon said.
“I’ll admit it’s a strength,” Kirin replied.
“You see, I’m right,” Devon said proudly, inflating his muscular chest.
“I’m not finished; although it’s a strength it is rarely logical. Logic is self-serving. It is cold-hearted and cannot exist in the same realm as emotion. Loyalty is an emotional bond not a logical thought.”
“Whatever, I’m not trying to philosophize with you, plus you just had two months to think on these things.”
“Two months and a day,” Kirin corrected feeling a smug smile creep onto his face.
“You know what I’m saying! Anyway a boy needs a father, that’s all.”
This silenced Kirin and the smile that graced his features faded like the warmth of a dying fire. Devon had a point, a boy needs a father. Silence enveloped them once more in its quiet grasp. Their minds worked as the sun began its slow descent through the heavens.
Chapter 4
“Words are but spoken memories waiting to be remembered.” The First Kovor
A week passed by entirely too quickly.
Kirin had spent the evening after supper along the hillside alone. Simple tombs containing the ashes of the fallen were enshrined within stone, resting peacefully on the earth. A gentle wind stirred the tufts of green grass sprouting from the sun-kissed ground. Lenton’s feminine energy was both warm and soothing and Kirin basked in its tender glory.
Kirin wiped a tear from his face and glanced once more at the statue before him. It was a stone carving of his mother. His father had spent months carving it himself. Although this was normally a job for a stone mason. The kovor felt that it wasn’t right for another man’s hands to create the final resting place of his beloved’s remains. So after several failed attempts he finally finished the monument to his deceased wife.
The statue was crude but elegant. Its simple lines showed a beautiful woman with a broad smile. Upon her shoulder was an angel of sorts. It spoke of the countless hours the kovor had spent lovingly crafting it, a shrine to a lost love.
Kirin leaned forward to look more carefully at the angel. It was in the shape of a baby girl. It was strange his father would choose to add an angel to his mother’s statue. The Thane knew of angels from the stories of other lands, but they themselves didn’t believe in them. They believed in the power of the thirteen gods. They believed that all life was part of a greater cycle of balance. When one died another was born. If the death was caused unjustly a revenge killing was necessitated to restore the proper balance. Once properly avenged the lingering soul would be allowed to pass through the gates of the thirteen and be admitted into the afterlife. Kirin knew that his mother had passed through the gates and was watching down upon them with love in her heart and a smile on her lips.
Kirin had often wondered what she was like, but his father never spoke of her. He heard a few stories from Gosselin about her, but only after she’d drunk too much ale. One interaction in particular clung to him with an unusual tenacity. He remembered coming home from apprenticing with the village’s main armorer, Jarin the Fist. He was a tough man who had earned his nickname from once knocking out Merek, a rather large man, with a single strike.
That night Ayleth was already asleep. She often began her days early, rising with the sun. Gosselin on the other hand would often stay up late drinking spiced ale and slowly mend clothing while staring at the fire. He remembered her old wrinkled hands working diligently with the mending needles as if they had a mind of their own. She worked them as she talked. Her eyes were far away. And she spoke of his mother.
“… so strange your father would choose a foreign woman to marry. Everywhere she went her snow-shite hair garnered attention, we all knew when he brought her back that there was love between them, but there was something more, something unspoken, something that danced and hummed in the air about her like a second skin…”
Gosselin had at that moment made eye contact with Kirin. Her old, tired eyes narrowed and she seemed to catch herself.
“I’ve said too much my boy, off to bed and not a word you hear, not a word.”
He knew better than to repeat her words. The Thane rarely spoke of the dead, it was better to leave them in peace.
In regards to his widowed father, people whispered. It wasn’t natural for a kovor to be without a wife, but he never took another. Kirin simply believed it was because he was stubborn, but when Kirin let his anger subside he knew that his father still held his wife close to his heart.
He wasn’t sure why he still came to the Thane cemetery. Maybe he felt if he spent enough time at her resting place he would learn more about her, feel her, know her. Perhaps it was one of the few places he could be left alone with his thoughts.
Most of the Thane Sagan believed it wasn’t right to visit the dead except for on their name day. This, however, allowed Kirin time alone to ponder on the wider world, the reasons for why things were, and to daydream. He would find himself asking his mother questions. Often they were simply the idle wanderings of a growing mind, but at times they were dilemmas he felt were too big for him to handle. Today, however, he asked for her guidance and her strength for the upcoming trials.
With a final prayer he stood and walked back to the cluster of buildings. They were cast in the mountain’s shadow as the sun had set, illuminated by the wash of light that fell upon the sky before night truly descended.
Large fires burned in central pits to keep the shroud cats, bears, wolves and other animals away. He passed a group of adolescents who had already completed their coming of age trials. They were drinking watered down ale and joking by the fire. Their easy countenance and nonchalant attitude bespoke a quiet confidence. They ignored him as if he were nothing more than a feral cat.
Kirin slipped into the building where Ayleth, Gosselin, and Dimia lived. They occupied one end of the building, while Kirin had been given a small room on the other end. He was soon to take a new name and become a man.
He removed his boots and lay atop the furs of his bed. He closed his eyes and attempted to wrestle sleep into submission. He failed miserably.
There was a light knocking on the door. Kirin rustled out of bed. He opened the door half expecting a raiding party to take him bound hand and foot to his next challenge. It was only Devon.
“You awake?” He asked.
“Can’t sleep,” Kirin responded.
“I probably wouldn’t either,” Devon said entering his room, “I just wanted to let you know Dannon saw the Medicine Man preparing something yesterday, it might be for your ritual.”
Dannon had captured Kirin’s eye some time back much to the chagrin of her father. She was young, lively, and spirited. She was just becoming a woman and her gentle curves bespoke a hidden beauty that yearned to be embraced, touched. When Dannon had been younger she struggled to make sure all games were fair, sharing the same uncommon desire for universal rectitude as Kirin. Devon on the other hand would often try to circumvent those rules in an effort to win. The challenge with Dannon was she was unpredictable and Kirin had the hardest time figuring out what she wanted or what she was thinking.
“Dannon?” Kirin said trying to mask his buried desire. “Did she ask about me?”
“Yes she asked. For some unknown reason and despite her father’s wishes, she seems to be quite smitten.” Devon said as if relaying some annoying bit of news. “Although who knows with her, she’s always changing her mind.”
Kirin blushed and looked away trying to hide his discomfort before responding, “Did she tell you what she saw the Medicine Man preparing?”
“No, that was it,” Devon said offhandedly.
“Well next time you see her tell her,” Kirin paused to think of something good.
“I don’t want to be some messenger boy between
two love-struck, smooches,” Devon said with exasperation.
Kirin smiled and continued as if Devon hadn’t laid bare his discomfort, “Tell her that she filled my thoughts and dreams, distracting me from properly finding peace in the Shrine of Patience.”
“Lame,” Devon uttered under his breath.
Kirin fixed Devon with a stare of pleading desperation.
“Fine, but if Borin follows through with his promise and beats you silly I’ll stand there laughing.”
“Really!” Kirin said attempting to sound hurt.
“I’d take you to the Medicine Man afterward of course,” he said as if to make amends.
“Deal,” Kirin said almost too quickly.
“Alright, I better let you get some rest.”
“If I can,” Kirin said as he watched his friend leave the room.
The morning came sooner than he had hoped. It was the incessant chirping of the birds that had jostled him out of a rather disturbing dream. He was able to get some sleep, just enough to make him feel groggy. Kirin stumbled as he dressed, splashed some water onto his face and stepped out.
He almost ran headlong into the looming figure of the kovor. He needed to stop daydreaming and pay more attention. He was liable to walk off a cliff one day.
“Let’s get some breakfast,” his father said formally.
This took Kirin by surprise. Despite the cloud looming in his mind he stood up a little straighter and did his best to hide the surprise from his face. The prospect of sharing breakfast with his father on the day he was to begin a new trial caused his stomach to turn. Although he had shared many a meal with him, rarely was it just the two of them, and never at his personal request.
The two walked in silence to the dining hall. The morning was cool and crisp. Birds sang their birdsong as the sun struggled to rise over the distant mountains. Long shadows stretched across the stone hewn path lending a surreal air to the scene.
Kirin fidgeted as he watched the tall, strong figure of his father walk ahead. He always felt nervous around him. He feared him almost as much as he was angered by him.
Too quickly they arrived at the dining hall. Once inside Kirin positioned himself behind a wooden chair opposite his father. He took a moment to study his stern features. There was now a touch of gray to his otherwise blonde hair. His graying hair was tied back with a simple leather strip as was the custom of all warriors who had passed their trials. The white fur of a shroud cat graced his broad shoulders, marking him as the leader of their people.
“Sit, you needn’t stand on formality with me today,” he said with a hint of emotion in his voice.
Kirin sat without hesitation glancing across the hall toward the adjacent kitchen hoping to catch sight of the Master Cook. Instead he glimpsed the Medicine Man. His father’s voice stole his attention.
“How was the Shrine of Patience?” he asked.
Kirin glanced about unsure if this was yet another test. He didn’t like being alone with his father, although part of him had craved it since he was a boy. He reflected momentarily on how odd and conflicting emotions could be.
“There is no one else here, you may speak freely,” the kovor’s voice split through Kirin’s head like a hammer upon ice.
At first Kirin thought of refusing to answer just to stir an emotional response from his father, but he knew that’d only make his next trials more grueling. He needed to think of an answer to placate him all the while showing that he didn’t really care.
“It was challenging, but a good lesson,” Kirin finally responded.
His father raised his eyebrows at this, “and what lesson was that?”
Kirin’s hadn’t anticipated that question, but he hadn’t thought through his response either. On a better day he wouldn’t have fumbled so carelessly with his words, but today he was tired and nervous. Anger bubbled quietly beneath the surface as Kirin’s hands unwittingly balled into fists. How was it that simple words from his father could cut through him like a Sagan blade through fresh wool?
“Patience,” was all he managed to spit out.
His father regarded him with an austere look, “patience, how would you define this newfound knowledge?”
“Awareness of the passage of time without attachment to each moment,” Kirin blurted out.
His father leaned back bringing a hand to his jaw rubbing it for a moment.
Kirin wasn’t sure what this meant as he eyed him with a nervous stomach and a vacuous expression.
“Do you know why I’ve invited you to breakfast?” the kovor asked.
Kirin looked at him then about the room, his eyes once more wandering to the kitchen looking for the Master Cook. It was strange to not see him there.
“Honestly?” Kirin asked.
“Of course, I expect nothing less.”
“You lacked good dialogue and wanted to start the day with a thoroughly good conversation,” Kirin said flatly.
“You are the kovor’s son! You make light of the situation in some failed attempt at humor yet no one is amused,” he said heavily.
“I am,” Kirin whispered.
The kovor decided to ignore the last statement and instead fixed him with an angry glare. Kirin’s anger boiled over and he spoke.
“You have lured me here to begin the second phase of my trials. We are awaiting the Medicine Man for it to begin.”
It was at this moment the Medicine Man stepped into the dining hall with two plates of food. Kirin watched him enter, surprised at the uncanny timing of his words. The kovor’s look of surprise lasted a moment longer and gave Kirin a moment of satisfaction, albeit fleeting.
Without a word he placed the dishes before them and stepped back but didn’t leave the room. The kovor nodded to him in greeting then looked back to his son.
“Anything else you wish to say?” the kovor said with genuine interest.
“Good morning Medicine Man,” Kirin said turning to the older man, purposefully sidelining the kovor’s question.
The kovor narrowed his eyes momentarily before also turning to the Medicine Man.
“Should we eat this while still hot?”
“Please do,” he replied.
Kirin didn’t say anything. He was still angry at being talked down to. The sooner the breakfast was over the better.
The kovor had already dug a fork into his food and began eating. Kirin decided to do the same. His first bite was aromatic, tasty, and quite different than anything he had eaten before. It was quite easy to shovel the food into his mouth.
Before he knew it he had finished his meal. His stomach was pleasantly full and a mild sense of euphoria settled over his mind. Strangely his anger had dissipated like a late morning fog.
As his emotions softened he glanced about. His father and the Medicine Man were watching him closely. A slow smile crept onto his face as amusement sought to befriend him. For some reason he found the whole situation ironically comical.
“It’s time,” the Medicine Man said.
The kovor nodded and stood. Not knowing what to do Kirin stood as well. He felt slightly dizzy, maybe he had overeaten. He burped aloud and giggled.
“Let’s go,” his father said gesturing to the door.
Kirin stepped past him and through the doorway into the early morning. Three tall men in ceremonial leathers stood waiting for him. Their faces were painted with white stripes. The lines resembled the pattern found on the shroud cat. Their leather armor was segmented covering most of their bodies giving them an insect-like appearance. Kirin’s demeanor changed as his mind struggled to comprehend the significance of their presence.
Without warning they moved forward placing heavy hands on his body. He could feel the years of training in the strength of their grip. Had he struggled he would have only managed to injure himself, despite years of body hardening exercises. Kirin managed one quick glimpse of his father stepping out behind him. The kovor gave the briefest nod before a black hood was placed over Kirin’s head.
&nb
sp; Chapter 5
“The mind is a fragile thing, waiting for a single event to crack its shell.” A common saying of the Gwhelt
Kirin’s mind began to spin. Being carried with a black hood over his head wasn’t his favorite way to travel. His body began to break out in a cold sweat despite the warmth of the rising sun. A pit was developing in his stomach despite having eaten his fill at breakfast. It was a bad start to an unpleasant day.
He struggled to guess where they were traveling. The sunlight was filtering through the black linen on his left letting him know they were traveling south. It felt as if they were traveling down a hill. His mind churned over possibilities trying to figure out where they were taking him. The harder he thought the more his growing headache intensified. He didn’t want to think about what they would do once he got there. His muscles tightened in fearful anticipation. The image of his father’s angry, stern face flashed through his mind. Was this a trial or a punishment?
The group began to slow their hellish cadence. It seemed Kirin was going to get his answer before he desired. His heart was already beating quicker and he was feeling simultaneously a surge of energy and an intense desire to get some sleep. Nausea was beginning to settle deep within his stomach.
The cloth covering his head was suddenly ripped free and the light of day temporarily blinded him. A startling display of colors danced in his vision as his eyes fought to focus. The world came together in a collage of blurry images.
“How are you feeling?” one of the men asked.
Kirin opened his mouth to speak and instead vomited onto the tough mountain grass. The three men were no longer holding him, but instead formed a circle about him. Kirin was on all four heaving for a moment before struggling to regain his bearings. It had now become abundantly clear that he had been drugged. His mind was ablaze and unable to resolve thoughts into the focus needed for clarity.
He pushed himself to his feet and staggered. The men’s faces looked fierce with their white war paint. He took a couple of steps and steadied himself suddenly feeling an incredible urge to defecate.
Tears of a Heart Page 3
