by Ayre, Janice
"Next time you can come here by yourself and stay a few days," said Zebulon. This remark was greeted with a smile from Brock.
Zebulon and Brock were energised for a few days after their journey to Kotonia. Zebulon was motivated into making their little cottage more pleasant. He took some fallen trees and with the use of his magic, fashioned them into humble but serviceable furniture.
At the village Zebulon had purchased some spheres, hollow balls, used for decoration, and energised them with his power so that within the dark interior of the cottage they now had light. By the touch of the hand they would glow, bringing forth generous light, enough to brighten every corner of the room. Its magic luminance seemed to awaken the dreams of the cottage's past occupants, giving suggestions of the feminine touch in creating the structure into a home. In this light even the intruding tree roots took on special qualities as if they had been part of the furnishings.
At the end of that week they were rewarded with finding the first opal. Brock resented the tedious task of digging with caution so that the precious gem would not be damaged, but when his eyes beheld the splendour of the jet black gem, all negative feeling was forgotten.
Zebulon, after cleaning the gem, had placed it in Brock's hand, all the while observing the young elf's reaction to the gem. The dark body tone gave the red within the opal a greater vibrancy of colour. It had been cut into a teardrop shape by the one who first found the gem, to maximise the size of the stone. Brock could see nature's magic within the manifold opulence of the opal and his own face radiated a responding glow. As he gazed into the depth of its fiery centre, its playfulness with light mesmerised him with its continually changing display of colour. He felt drawn into its world of magical possibilities.
After Zebulon had tucked the gem into his pouch, Brock had a feeling of loss and dismay. The elf didn't understand these feelings. On observing the contrasting moods of his apprentice he suggested that Brock might like to go to Kotonia by himself in a few days time for supplies. Brock was pleased with this arrangement.
It was not to be. The day before he was to go into the village, dark storm clouds gathered and by nightfall had already begun to empty their contents with vehemence. It was to rain for many days, halting any work at the mine. Supplies had to be used with care so that they would last until it was clear enough to travel to Kotonia. It was also likely that the normally dry rivers that separated them from the village would be flooding.
The days spent crouching dismally in the hut added to Brock's isolation and loneliness. He found very little to do with himself. Zebulon, meanwhile had the ability to remove himself from his surroundings and spent his time either reading or going into a trance-like state. Even Brock's endless pacing did not disturb him.
Noting that Brock was wasting time in his frustrated state, he suggested Brock use the time to strengthen his magic skill. Brock made a half-hearted attempt but the exercise had little value for him now that the reason for his first interest had been removed.
"When are you going to teach me some new magic?" Brock asked.
Zebulon laughed. "What would be the point of that when you won't practice and develop what I have taught you? Besides, if you really wanted to do it you would be reading some of my magic books."
"They are too hard," responded Brock.
"Precisely!" Zebulon returned to his own studies.
"Can I hold the opal?"
Zebulon handed him the pouch. Brock did not have an interest in the diamonds. They had been placed into one of Zebulon's magic devices so they were never offered to Brock, but that did not matter to the elf. Brock loved the opal and he could sit for a long time gazing at the gem. The opal's black, intense body colour displayed the colours with great vibrancy. Its iridescence granted the viewer vision of the brilliant rich red and spectacular interplay of colour. All that it offered was in direct contrast to his life. He did not know anything of the composition of the gem or of its therapeutic or magical qualities, he just knew he felt possessed by its nobleness, that it transported him to places beyond his own experience.
The driving rain eventually abated but all was too wet and boggy to do more than allow the two imprisoned within the cottage to bask in the brief period of sunshine as its rays burst through the lingering darkened clouds.
The rivers between the mine and village dropped quickly, allowing passage over them. Zebulon decided to accompany Brock after all because he could not work in the mine until the ground dried out. He looked forward to visiting with Uri and his delightful wife Elvira.
They found Kotonia sparkling and refreshed from the recent rain and the inhabitants happy in their occupations. Uri placed a bowl of steaming food before his guests and stood back in satisfaction as he watched Zebulon and Brock eating. Elvira had learned to cook many elvan dishes and the results were pleasing.
"Why don't you come and live in the village and forget this mining business?" said Uri. He knew nothing of Zebulon's true quest and he also knew that a village such as this would not hold Zebulon for long, but he enjoyed teasing a little.
Zebulon smiled. He really liked Uri and knew he was content with a simple lifestyle that would not be conducive to happiness for himself.
"So what about you Brock, would you like that?" asked Uri.
"Huh, what?" answered Brock who had been so busy savouring the food to follow the conversation.
Zebulon and Uri laughed. "I think you would have a winner if he can eat Elvira's cooking every day," said Zebulon.
"Well we can arrange something like that. I have a lovely daughter who is learning to cook as well as her mother. She and Brock could marry in a few years time, " said Uri.
"The young lad has a lot of growing up to do before then," stated Zebulon as he ruffled Brock's hair.
The evening passed in a relaxed and pleasant manner. Uri and Elvira were glad to have new visitors to entertain. They introduced to them, their daughter Minerva, a sweet half-elf about Brock's age. Zebulon was more light-hearted than Brock had ever seen him, laughing often with a warm infectious laugh. Brock talked mainly with Elvira and Minerva telling them of his adventures and sharing food secrets.
"If Zebulon doesn't need you for some of the day, you can come and help me cook tomorrow," Elvira invited.
Brock looked expectantly at Zebulon.
"You can have him tomorrow, I'll be glad to have him out of my way for a while," said Zebulon with a benevolent smile."
The only thing that marred the time in the village is that Brock fancied he saw Orville in one of the streets as they were leaving. He said nothing to Zebulon, convincing himself that his imagination was playing an unkind trick as he contemplated the trip back to the mine.
On their return to the mine, work continued in earnest. Eventually they were rewarded with another opal. This one was also black with a predominantly blue centre. Brock thought it beautiful but it did not hold the same fascination for him as the one with the red centre.
"The last one we are to find is very similar to this one. It also has blue within the black," said Zebulon.
Zebulon was keen to continue working so he allowed Brock to go alone to the village. Brock's horse was reluctant to be caught because it liked roaming free. When it saw Brock it would shake its head in defiance, flicking its mane in contempt, and gallop off. After fruitless attempts to bring the horse in, it annoyed the elf to have to rely on Zebulon to catch it for him. He wasn't sure what spell Zebulon used but Brock decided it would be a useful one to learn.
Away from the mine, Brock's mood once more lightened. He was greeted by Uri and his family as warmly as when Zebulon was with him. There was little for him to do for the rest of the day so he decided to walk around the village enjoying the attractiveness of the trees and gardens. He had just begun to retrace his steps to the Four Star Inn when a voice called his name, and he froze.
Chapter Eight
Encounter
On hearing the familiar voice, Brock wondered if he could pretend t
hat he did not recognise its owner. He averted his face so that he would not be perceived to have looked in the direction of the sound, but from the corner of his eye he could see the familiar and intimidating form of the young red-haired man. As he turned to head towards the safety of the inn, he saw, coming towards him two young men. Looking back at the owner of the voice, he could see that Orville had quickened his pace. Brock's mind was in a turmoil. He doubted if he could outrun Orville and knew that he certainly could not outrun the three of them. The two men coming towards him were almost as big and as mean looking as Orville. They were not the same two companions that had been at the farm with him. Even as he had the thought that maybe they were not connected in any way with his enemy, Brock knew from the purposeful way they approached that they knew each other.
" Brock, where are you going?" Orville was quite close now.
In desperation Brock looked around to see if there were others around whom he might apply for help, but at this time of day most people had returned to their homes and the street was empty save Brock and the three men. Brock clearly saw that he would have to stay and take a beating.
"Don't tell me you are not going to talk to an old friend?" Orville now stood beside Brock.
As Brock searched for words to utter, the two young men drew alongside him and continued on without so much as a glance at either Brock or Orville.
"I didn't expect to see you here," Brock finally said.
"Nor I to see you," responded Orville. He placed a friendly hand on Brock's shoulder and then continued. " I hope you didn't take that thing back at the farm seriously. We were only playing with you."
"Clinton didn't seem to be playing. He didn't like me."
"That Pumpkin Head! I hardly know him, I just came along with the others because Clint said he wanted to show us something. So what is it to be, friends?"
"I guess so," said Brock hesitantly.
"What are you doing so far away from the farm?"
"We are travelling, and visiting friends."
"Well that's great, we can spend some time together. Where is your father?"
"Zeb... my father is with our friends."
"Didn't get to meet your father. Maybe later we'll catch up."
"Yes that's right." While Brock said this he was remembering back to the night in his hut when Zebulon had hurled Orville across the room. But now Orville was acting as though none of that happened. Maybe he was mistaken and it was someone else. It had been dark. Brock still did not feel relaxed in Orville's company.
"Instead of standing out here, let's go to the inn and we can share all that has happened since we last met."
It seemed unreal to Brock that he was befriended by someone who, but for a few minutes ago, had filled him with dread. He hoped very much that Orville would not want to go to the Four Star. He thought it better at this point that he did not introduce him to Uri and Elvira.
Orville led the way to another part of the village where there was a neat inn. It was not as big as the Four Star but it was comfortable and welcoming just the same.
"It's getting late, let me buy you a meal," said Orville as he ordered some ale for himself. Brock had declined the offer of a drink.
"My friends will be expecting me home for the evening meal," said Brock.
"I'm sure they will understand. I'm leaving here soon so it seems a pity not to visit together while we can."
Orville did not wait for any more objections from Brock but went ahead and ordered for them both. While they sat and waited, Orville sipped his ale and regarded Brock with an almost hungry look. This made Brock feel very uncomfortable. He would like to have known what the young man was thinking. He worried about Elvira preparing a meal for him and reasoned that if he did not eat too much here that he could manage a second meal and no one would be offended.
When the meal was placed before them, Orville set to it with gusto, asking questions between mouthfuls.
"You didn't say why you and your father left Brookfield Farm so quickly?"
"We had to, personal reasons."
Orville nodded his head as if giving Brock's answer serious consideration. "That was most unfortunate, old man Ambrose was very upset. Not only did he suddenly lose two workers but there was some other matter he was angry about."
"Do you know what that was?" Brock asked nervously.
"I am not free to tell you that."
"But I need to know!"
"Why is that? Do you think your father was doing something he shouldn't?"
"Of course not!"
"Then stop looking so worried and guilty and eat up. Here, have some more so that you can be big and strong like me." Orville ladled some of his food onto Brock's plate. "You know you can trust me. I'm your friend. If there is anything troubling you, just tell me and I'll put it right for you."
"Thank you." Brock didn't know what else to say. This was all too strange. He made feeble attempts to swallow food that was having a hard time making its way around the tightness in his throat.
"Don't be so serious. We should have some fun. What do you do for fun here?"
"I...don't know. We haven't been here very long."
"That’s no good. When you are young, you need to have plenty of fun. What is the good of life if you don't live it?" This was said in a tone and manner suggestive that the young man was many years older as well as wiser than Brock. Orville continued to stare at him with his pale blue eyes.
Suddenly he startled Brock by saying. "Zeb is not your father, is he?"
"Nooo,,, but he's like a father to me."
"So you like him?"
"Yes."
"We should go get him to join us then."
"We can't," said poor Brock. He was thinking hard how he could leave this uncomfortable situation.
"Why is that?" Orville would not be put off with any answers Brock had given him.
"He's away," said Brock.
"Oh, where would that be?"
"He had to go and see a friend."
"Another friend? It's certainly good he has so many friends. Are you sure you know what he is really doing? I mean, how well do you really know him? From what I hear, Ambrose is organising the soldiers to come after him, so he must think he has done something really bad."
Brock turned pale.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I'm a little concerned about you, that's all. Come on eat up and then we will have some fun. I don't want you to worry. It's probably just some misunderstanding, nothing more."
Brock felt no comfort from Orville's words. He just wanted to run away from this place. But where to? He felt confused.
Orville leant forward so that his head was not far away from Brock's and at the same time placed his large rough hand on Brock's. He studied Brock’s hand lying sweaty under his own before he said. "Looks like you have been doing some rough work for such a young one. Does Zeb treat you right?"
"Of course he does. Zebulon is a good man." Brock was dismayed at his own isolation. He needed a friend to talk to, one he could trust. But his friends and family were far away. There was no one. Of all the lonely months Brock had faced, this moment was the loneliest. It seemed that Orville had brought to the surface all at once, all the doubts and fears he had ever had.
In a softer voice Orville said, "When you have finished your meal, we can talk. I know you need a friend to confide in." He signalled to the girl serving the tables. "Bring us two tankards of ale."
Most of the tables in the inn were full of people enjoying the evening meal or sharing some ale with friends. The inn buzzed with conversation. The young elf found no comfort in their proximity. He may as well be sitting out in the desert with Orville his only companion.
When the girl brought the ale, Orville once more indicated for him to eat up and drink up. Deciding that the only way he was going to get away without offence was to eat and drink, Brock ate as much of his meal as he could and drank the ale. The drink was terrible, he couldn't understand how anyone woul
d enjoy drinking it.
Brock rose from the table as soon as he swallowed the last mouthful and Orville rose with him.
"You're in a hurry to go. Maybe I should see you home." He threw some coins on the table to pay for his meal and then throwing a heavy arm over Brock's shoulders, escorted him to the door of the inn.
"I need you to tell me what you know about what Zebulon is supposed to have done," said Brock.
"I am always opening my big mouth. I should never have said anything to you. Now you are upset and you look sick."
"I've got to know," persisted Brock.
" I'll tell you what. You go home and have a good night's sleep and then we will meet here in the morning and I'll tell you all I know. Go on now, I'm sure there is nothing to worry about."
Orville's breath smelt of stale liquor, indicating that he had had a good deal more ale than the amount he had drunk at the meal time. As much as he wanted to extract information from him, Brock couldn't stand being near him any longer.
"Would you like me to see you home?" asked Orville.
"No, thank you."
"We'll meet here tomorrow. And don't forget, I'm your friend. You can confide in me. I can take some of your troubles off your shoulders." With that he gave the elf's shoulders an affectionate squeeze. He gave Brock a smile which was partly lost in the dim light and released his hold.
Brock mumbled another thank you and headed off towards the Four Star Inn while Orville swaggered back into the inn.
Brock arrived at the inn just as Uri was closing the doors in preparation for locking up for the night. He looked at Brock with displeasure. "Where were you? Elvira cooked up a special dish for you but you didn't come. We have been worried, we thought something bad had happened to you. " He was aware of the faint smell of ale on Brock's breath.
"I'm really sorry, I didn't expect to be so late. I ran into a friend. Please tell Elvira I'm really sorry. I'll make it up to her." Brock's words of apology rushed out so quickly he wasn't sure he was making sense.
"Ok, be off with you," Uri said in a resigned voice. He shook his head from side to side in an indulgent way, as Brock headed for his room, wrongly thinking the thought that 'boys will be boys'.
