Fate of Thorik

by Anthony G. Wedgeworth

Just before the poem ended, the girl suddenly changed her pacing and jumped up at the right moment to grab several woody cones all at once. Winning that round, she stepped over to be part of the ring, while those standing without a pine cone walked into the center for their turn to catch a cone.

  This went on for a few more rounds until the girl left the game and approached Ambrosius. Three thick soul lines twisted into a simple, yet beautiful, pattern around her neck as well as around her wrists. Tilting her head in question, she looked him up and down for answers. “What are you?”

  Stunned at first by the brashness of the question, Ambrosius’ face softened and warmed up. “Dear child, I am a man just like those that live here.”

  “They aren’t nearly as tall as you, and you have no soul-markings.” Placing her hand on the back of his wrist, she felt its texture. “Your rough skin feels more like an old dried beaver skin Uncle Wess gave us.”

  Ambrosius chuckled at the comment. “Sometimes I feel like an old dried beaver skin.”

  “Uncle Wess says that you’re bad luck and the reason for the dead fish in the river recently,” she commented very openly without agreeing or disagreeing with him. “We were having our best fishing year ever until you arrived.”

  Just then, Thorik returned with drinks and food that he had acquired from the women’s tables. “That’s enough Avanda, go play with your friends,” Thorik directed as she removed her hand and quickly smiled before heading back to her group.

  “My apologies, Ambrosius.” After handing the older man a mug and plate, Thorik sat down to enjoy his meal. “She’s only a few years younger than I am, but she doesn’t always think about what she says before she opens her mouth. It doesn’t help that she’s living with Wess while her parents are in Longfield.”

  Taking a sip of the sweet juice, Ambrosius was pleasantly surprised by the drink. “She was just curious.”

  “The last thing she was curious about ended up at the bottom of the river this morning.” Thorik noticed Ambrosius’ confused look so he clarified his statement. “Mrs. Grenwicker’s nine-time award-winning pie is said to be so fluffy and light it can float on water. Avanda wanted to test that theory by seeing if it could stay afloat between our two main fishing docks.” He paused and smiled. “And that pie almost survived the voyage to the second dock before it was pulled sideways in the current, took on water, and then sank. Needless to say Mrs. Grenwicker didn’t have a second one to enter into today’s contest. So there are tongues flapping about who will take her place this year.”

  They both grinned at the thought of the youthful entertainment for a few moments before Ambrosius finally chimed in. “Perhaps if she added a rudder to the bottom she could avoid the side current next year.”

  They both went quiet and then laughed out loud at the thought.

  The day continued with contests for the children first and then the judging of the pies, fruits, vegetables and more. Fir Brimmelle was the head judge for the contests and by the end of the day his stomach stretched over his trousers as he began to wobble when he walked. Mrs. Grenwicker cried as the winning pie was selected, knowing that it would have been hers if it were not for Avanda’s failed experiment.

  Full of food and ale, it was now the men’s turn to compete in the games as the women and children cheered them on. Contests of strength, speed, and accuracy were usually made to impress the unmarried women of the village. Sometimes, a few married men would enter to show their spouse how young and vigorous they still were.

  This was the case of old man Trumette, whose soul-markings circled his mouth and chin and then continued straight down to his chest like a mustache and long goatee. Every year he entered the running contest from the grassy common into the woods, through the ancient cliff dwellings, up to the top of Dula Peak and back again. Red flags were made by Trumette’s wife, Sorla, and the village’s children placed them in the spiritual structure at the top of the peak earlier in the day. The runners would grab them for proof that they made it up to the top.

  Many years ago, when Trumette was in his sixties, he took one of the red flags from his wife’s bag the night before the Festival and hid it deep in the woods. During the race he fell behind and grabbed his hidden flag halfway up and raced back down to barely win the race. Each year after that, he hid the flag closer to the bottom of the hill and each year his wife made one extra flag for him to steal from her. It became a tradition to see him come in first place as the crowd cheered him on. Sorla always made a big fuss about the event for his benefit, as he would tell her how he was getting younger and faster every year. It was a joy to see him happy and everyone supported the ruse.

  The participants of the contests changed for each sporting event including the Dula Peak Race. This was the only event that Trumette entered as he stood at the starting line with all of the young bucks.

  Ambrosius glanced at the old man before peering up over the cliff dwellings, which once held their ancestors, and to the rocky peak that needed to be hiked to reach a stone spiritual building. He looked forward to seeing how an elderly Num, such as Trumette, could make his way up. “This should be impressive.”

  Wess stood next to Thorik in line, waiting for the race to begin. He attempted to talk to Thorik in an effort to distract him from the race. Thorik did not listen. Wess then pointed at Emilen. Her smile and charm filled Thorik’s chest with warmth and he couldn’t help but smile when he saw her. Shaking off his gaze at her, he looked back at the track to get his mind focused at the task at hand. Wess blew her a kiss and nudged Thorik to look at her blowing one back at him. Thorik glanced over to see her standing with her arms crossed, just as the signal was given to start the race. Thorik had fallen for Wess’ trick and was now several lengths behind him.

  Thirty-four racers ran along the grass field toward the trees with Thorik at the back as he followed Trumette who tripped and fell only a few paces out. Thorik stopped and helped the old man up before quickly returning his attention to the race.

  The group left the grassy field and ran into the woods with Wess in the lead and Trumette far behind. One at a time, they slowly disappeared into the timber going up the hillside. All except for Trumette, who only made it a few yards into the woods before he slowed down to find the flag he had hidden the night before.

  Ambrosius laughed as the crowd cheered Trumette on while they watched him through the trees. Wandering from bush to bush, he searched for where he had placed the hidden flag. Forgetting where he had placed it, he picked up a stick to beat at the shrubs to see if anything would fall out.

  The crowd roared with laughter.

  Meanwhile, the group of racers had worked their way above the tree line and into the ancient ruins of a Polenum dwelling abandoned long gone. Walls were mere stumps and easily climbable. Each runner was respectful of this spiritual land and moved quickly between the maze of short borders instead of stepping over them. The time lost was the same for all racers.

  They then raced up the rock face toward the peak. Wess was still in the lead but Thorik was right on his tail and gaining on him. Wess lost his footing when the small rocks gave way, causing him to roll down the steep hill.

  Grabbing onto one of the small bushes that grew on the hillside with one hand, Thorik snatched Wess with his other as he slid past. With Thorik’s help, Wess stopped and regained his balance. The added weight, however, pulled the small plant out of the ground and Thorik let go to prepare for his fall. As he began to slide down he reached back out for Wess who retracted his hand, allowing Thorik to tumble down the cliff.

  By this point the crowd was dismayed that Trumette had sat down and given up on his quest. Seeing her husband’s frail body exhausted and tired against a tree, Sorla worked her way over to Avanda. Whispering in the youth’s ear, she removed an extra red flag from her apron and handed it to her.

  Avanda ran off to the side, into the woods, and then turned sharply toward the old man. She quickly moved in behind him and quietly placed the new flag
on the bush just to his right, before sneaking back out the way she came.

  Meanwhile, Wess arrived at the top of Dula Peak, ran into the spiritual structure to grab his flag, and began his race down the hill before passing Thorik. As he glanced back and smirked at Thorik, Wess tripped and rolled down the hillside all the way into the cliff dwellings, stopping with a hard crash against the ancient partial wall.

  Thorik reached the top and grabbed his own flag. He stopped only a second, to help a friend up the last rock before he began his chase for Wess. Quick and nimble, Thorik made the loose rock face look very easy to descend.

  Collecting his dazed head and his battered body from the fall, Wess climbed to his feet and sprinted over the short walls to ensure his lead over Thorik. Tradition and respect would slow the smaller Num for he would weave his way through the ancient site.

  Back in the Common, the crowd chanted Trumette’s name in an attempt to get him started again. Trumette was still catching his breath and his poor vision didn’t allow him to see the obvious red flag near him. Finally he stood and turned to his left and began to walk. Everyone screamed, trying to tell him that he was going the wrong way. Looking for a few seconds more, he then followed the crowd’s orders by turning around. The villagers went wild with delight. The suspense was killing them as he took a few steps toward the flag while moving the thick fall leaves around with his stick. Just as he started walking past the flag, his stick hit the bush and it fell onto the ground before him.

  Trumette stood there staring at the red flag for a moment in disbelief. Picking it up, he started his walk out of the woods into the green grass as everyone chanted his name. Raising the flag over his head he walked slowly toward the finish line. His eyes were beaming and his cheeks were red while he passed the young children on his way to his thirtieth consecutive victory. “Never give up,” he told the children as he passed them. “You can make anything happen if you want it bad enough.” Trumette huffed as he continued the last stretch of grass.

  But it wasn’t over. Wess launched out of the woods and toward the crowd with Thorik in his wake. Dirt and cuts covered their bodies as they rushed in for the finish while Trumette stood in their way. Still several paces from the ribbon, Trumette made a move for it, but he was too late. Wess passed him by in a blur and crossed the finish line first.

  Thorik could see Trumette moving the best he could, so he slowed down, allowing the elder man to enter at a respectful second place.

  Following in third, Thorik moved to the side and bent over to catch his breath. He looked up to see Wess with his hands over his head holding the finish-line ribbon as his three brothers ran over to reward him with hugs and pats on the back.

  Sorla walked over to Trumette and gave him a big hug, explaining that she was still very proud of him. But it was an end of an era for him. His body language spoke volumes as though he suddenly felt as old as his ninety-two year old body looked.

  The crowd was full of mixed emotions. Most of the villagers had never seen anyone but Trumette win the race. Some cheered for Wess while others stood silent. Most of them still came over to Trumette to congratulate him. Being polite they also congratulated Wess in a more solemn manner, although Wess ignored them and continued to revel in his victory with his brothers.

  Fir Brimmelle stepped in next to Wess with the award and raised his hand in victory. He handed Wess a replica of the Runestone of Success while he read a few chapters from memory of the scroll about the meaning of the rune. Grinning at Thorik, Wess stood tall as he listened to Brimmelle’s words. Once the reading was finished, the Fir asked Wess for the Red Flag to which Wess looked down at his hands and realized he didn’t have it.

  Panicking Wess looked about the ground near his feet and then his pockets while questioning his brothers if they had taken it. But it was nowhere to be found, for he had dropped it during his tumble down the cliff face.

  The crowd began to chant Trumette’s name as the rightful victor of the race.

  Clinching his fist, he appeared to be ready for a fight. “You all saw me reach the top.” Walking over to several spectators, he used his height and broad shoulders to intimidate them. “I still made it there and back first, and you know it.”

  But they didn’t back down and screamed for his elimination from the event.

  Brimmelle tried to settle them down by explaining that Wess had made it to the top. However, he was finally pressured to give into the rules that the contestant must have a flag on their return.

  He reached to receive the Runestone from Wess who clinched his fist around it. “This is your own fault,” Brimmelle told him. “I know you’ve won, but the rules are the rules.”

  Looking at the group of friends and neighbors getting upset with him, Wess slowly opened his hand and allowed Brimmelle to take the awarded stone. He and his brothers then stomped off to get some ale as Fir Brimmelle awarded Trumette with the Runestone and then read the same passage again for him.

  Everyone cheered and Thorik beamed back to life for Trumette’s victory as he looked over at Emilen and winked at her. Caught up in the crowd’s enthusiasm, she smiled back at him.

  After the group dispersed, Thorik dusted himself off and made his way over to Ambrosius. Allowing himself to fall onto the bench, Thorik wiped sweat from his face. “That Trumette sure is fast.” A long thin smile grew across his face. “He’s like a gust of wind. I didn’t even see him pass me.”

  Ambrosius grinned. “Do you think you’ll ever beat him?”

  Still smiling, Thorik answered in a thoughtful tone. “I hope not.”

  “You are very lucky, Thorik. You live in this isolated lush valley, protected from the rest of the world and surrounded by wonderful friends and family.” Ambrosius looked upon the bright faces of the young and old. “Yes, you are one fortunate man.”

  Thorik eyed Wess who had walked over to Emilen and started a conversation. “Perhaps.”

  Stretching his back, Ambrosius contemplated his own life. “I don’t know if I would say that I have had as much luck over my years.”

  Thorik continued to watch Wess as he escorted Emilen to the next contest where he would compete for strength. Wess would win this contest just like he had for the past several years. He was obviously the strongest member of the community. “You’re lucky I found you.” He then returned his attention back to his patient.

  “Yes, my friend. I was lucky that you found me.”

  “My mother used to always tell me that things happen for a reason. So, we just need to find out the reason why I found you.”

  Ambrosius found the comments amusing as he looked about the crowd. “Where is your mother?”

  Thorik’s eyes tightened as he answered. “My parents aren’t with us anymore.”

  Ambrosius realized that he hit a sensitive nerve. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He let Thorik get some blood back in his face before he continued. “Do you still believe things happen for a reason?”

  Thorik nodded his head in a soft motion. “I have to. It’s the only thing that keeps me going.”

  “In that case, I will tell you why you found me.”

  Thorik’s face came back to life with a look of intrigue. “Go on.” His brow rose with curiosity as he looked Ambrosius square in the eyes. “Let me hear it.”

  “I cannot travel up the river valley to Kingsfoot by myself. You will assist my trek and help me determine who destroyed the Mountain King Temple and the Grand Council which held forum within it. Doing so can prevent the next such attack upon the innocent. Why else would you just happen to find me in the middle of the forest?” Ambrosius placed his hand on Thorik’s shoulder while finishing his thought. “I’ve seen you looking over your maps and notes. You want an adventure out of this valley. Finding me, gives you that opportunity. It is fate.”

  Thorik’s eyes widened, he had never been that far upstream. “I think not. Even if Brimmelle would allow me to travel such a distance from Farbank, you have not recovered enough to make
such a trip. It will take Gluic another few weeks to get you healthy enough.”

  “I would like you to ask Gluic if she will join us. She can continue healing me during our travels. While at Kingsfoot, you will see a true testament of your faith and once we are complete you can simply ride the river to bring Gluic home to Farbank.”

  “Do you realize how far downstream we are from Kingsfoot?”

  “It couldn’t be that far. Or how would I have floated down without drowning?”

  “You couldn’t have without a boat. By walking, I would assume it will take us several weeks,” Thorik estimated, not knowing how far Ambrosius could travel in a day.

  “All the reason to leave sooner than later.” Ambrosius twirled the hair of his beard between two fingers, feeling confident that he convinced the young Num to help him.

  “You don’t understand the dangers in such a trip. You will need to be stronger. The passes will be snow covered soon and the river cuts will be overflowing from the after-harvest rains. We should wait until spring.”

  “Thorik, I cannot wait until spring. Someone has killed the governing body of our world and destroyed a sacred temple of your faith. I need to find out who and how they did this, before they strike again.” Ambrosius’ passion came out stronger than he had intended. “As you said, the after-harvest weather will be moving in soon. We need to leave before it arrives.”

  “Do you need to be there by thirteenth day of the twelfth month?” Thorik’s scrutinizing look waited for an answer.

  Fighting to not display his sudden shock by this question, Ambrosius tamed his voice before replying. “What do you know of this date?”

  “I know you repeated it several times in your sleep. Is it important?”

  “Extremely, my young friend.” Ambrosius made sure no one was standing too near before leaning forward and continuing. “Keep this date to yourself. If we don’t stop the murderer of the council by that date, I believe they will unleash a devastating attack on the land which could wipe us all out.”

  Ambrosius paused until Thorik made eye contact with him again. “So you see, I will go on my own if I must, but I believe the reason you found me was to help prevent the deaths of thousands of innocent people. Children at play, loving wives and husbands, and the elderly all are at risk from this killer. Just because you don’t see it here around you doesn’t mean it’s not coming. It is, and you can help me stop it.”

  “Why me?”

  “You have a strong foundation which a significant future can be built on. Stronger than most I have met. Plus, there is something about you that I still cannot place. Something that tells me you have greatness in your future.”

  Thorik thought about it for only a few moments before shaking his head as he looked back at Ambrosius. “I’m sorry about what happened to you and about your challenges outside this valley, but there is no way my-”

  Brimmelle interrupted Thorik as he walked up to them, “It is time for the Rune Awards.” Towering over them as they sat, he made his presence clear and official, like always. “Come along then. We shall not be late for it.” Brimmelle stood firm as an oak tree waiting for Thorik to jump up and get his items ready for the speech.

  After a slight hesitation and a deep breath, Thorik slowly stood and did as he was told by walking over to one of the tents and grabbed various scrolls and bags. He then made his way to the stage and quickly organizing his items onto a table.

  Several children came up to look at what was on display. While performing his spiritual role for the community, he was known as Sec Thorik to his students, and his students wanted his attention. Showing them various replica Runestones that hung on leather necklaces, Sec Thorik asked them questions as though they were back in school. As they raised their hands, he called on them to give the answers about the rune symbols for each of the stones. Each stone was similar in size, shape and symbol to the ones used on Ambrosius, but without the radiance or gems embedded within them. Thorik’s personal Runestones were ancient and had been given to him from his parents. They were unparalleled in craftsmanship to any seen in the village.

  Sec Thorik beamed as the answers came from the children. His weekly teachings of the Runestones and the Rules of Order to the children obviously paid off. They knew every answer and went on to explain at great length the rune name, its external meaning on the flat side, and its internal meaning on the embedded gem side.

  Fir Brimmelle stepped onto the stage and walked to the center before turning toward the crowd. He spied his mother, Gluic, playing with the children as though she was one of them. He had always been uncomfortable with her unorthodox social skills which had increased during her elder years. Regressing to a childlike mind was common among the older Nums, but she talked to stones and plants, as well as people that didn’t exist. She had even informed him that she talked to the Mountain King. In addition, she would change from a playful child to a serious scolding mother in an instant. He never knew who he was going to be approaching. Because of the discomfort he felt with the situation, he never spoke of it, nor did he allow anyone else to. The villagers had learned to ignore her odd behavior if they wished to avoid his punishment.

  Sec Thorik quickly waved away the children and grabbed the first of many scrolls on the table before he walked out next to Brimmelle. A crowd formed in front of the stage as Brimmelle reached his hand out to his side, waiting for the placement of the scroll. His Sec removed the string from the scroll before placing it in Fir Brimmelle’s hand.

  Quieting the crowd, Sec Thorik made an announcement. “It is time now for Fir Brimmelle Riddlewood the Seventh of Farbank to present the Harvest Festival Awards. Can I please have the children come to the front?” Avanda moved to the front with the rest of her young friends and waved at Thorik as he waited for the few stragglers before continuing. “Over the past year there have been some special accomplishments by our youth. One of which is the saving of Marla Moondy’s grazers from a bushdog last spring by Norby Grenwicker.”

  Everyone cheered as the Sec motioned for Norby to come up on stage. Once there, Thorik placed a leather necklace over the boy’s head with a newly carved Runestone hanging from it. The Sec made sure that the gem face of the stone faced out as he adjusted it to the center of Norby’s chubby chest. Thorik then placed his hands on Norby’s shoulders and turned him toward the audience as they applauded. Standing directly behind Norby, Thorik asked him to read the rune and describe what it meant to him.

  Peering down at the stone now resting in his palm, Norby looked at the symbol in the center of it. “It’s the Rune of Symbiosis.” He looked out at his hefty mother and father smile from the back of the crowd. “It means that I have to help keep Mrs. Moondy’s grazers from being eaten, so my mom will have wool to make me clothes and to trade for food.” He scrunched up his lips as he worked his brain for more. “So, we all need to help each other to have food?”

  “That’s pretty close.” Sec Thorik smiled as he reached around and flipped the stone over to show the polished stone side. “Go on.”

  “Well, um.” Norby’s lips pushed to one side as he thought about it. “It means that each part of my body needs to help the other parts and what I do to one part can affect the others?” He looked up at Sec Thorik in hopes that he had it right.

  “Keep going. Give an example that you have experienced.”

  He thought for a second and then realized he had it. “Last week I ate a whole basket of blueberries that upset my stomach and I ended up getting sick all over Margi’s new dress,” he giggled as his belly bounced at the thought. “My mouth loved them but my stomach didn’t. I guess they weren’t working together.”

  Disgusted, Fir Brimmelle glared at Thorik who was responsible for educating the children on the Rune Scrolls. Apparently his Sec had not done his job.

  Sec Thorik let it slide. “That’s not exactly where I was going. So why don’t you listen to Fir Brimmelle as he reads from the Symbiotic Rune Scroll.”

  With that
, Fir Brimmelle uncoiled the scroll and began reading the meaning of the rune, while Norby stood proudly on stage displaying his award to his friends and waving to his parents. The Fir continued for several minutes in his monotone voice while his parishioners stood quietly and listened.

  Once Fir Brimmelle had completed his readings he coiled up the scroll and handed it back to his Sec who tied a string around it and set it back with the others. Thorik then handed Brimmelle the next scroll after removing the string from it.

  The crowd slowly came back to life with smiles and light chatter as Sec Thorik began to speak. “This past winter someone had stolen a large wall carving from the school. It had been made by last year’s graduate Benly Harcaloff in the shape of a huge Runestone of Trust. After several days of questioning we gave up our search. Not long after, it was returned with an apology. It had been taken by a child to be used as a snow sled. And after several successful runs down Turtleback Mound she lent it to another to ride. But on their way, they crashed into a tree and broke the wood sled in half. The person who returned it blamed herself and took the full punishment without making excuses or accusing others.”

  The Sec looked down at the children in front. “Avanda, please come up here,” he said to the eldest of his students. “This Runestone is for the lesson you learned the hard way and I hope you are wiser for it.” She stepped up on stage and he placed the necklace over her head. “Now, it’s your turn,” he whispered into her ear.

  Avanda looked down in her open palm at the stone. “It’s the Rune of Responsibility, and it means that you have to take responsibility for your actions to others and to nature. Even if you didn’t mean to hurt them.” She stopped as she turned the stone over. “And I have to be responsible to myself by knowing that I did something wrong and I did the right thing in the end.”

  “You’re getting there, keep going,” Sec Thorik prodded.

  Avanda looked behind her and asked, “Would I have still received this Runestone if I had told you that Uncle Wess broke the sled?”

  The crowd overheard and erupted in laughter as Wess’ face turned red and his brothers began to laugh and push him around. Humiliated, the youngest Frellican brother left the gathering.

  Chuckling at the scene and feeling in his element, Thorik realized the impact he was having on his community. The ability to teach a new generation various lessons for a solid foundation was a wonderful gift that he had the opportunity to be a part of. Gazing out at his students he thought about how he was instilling in them a higher level of reasoning through his words, but he questioned if that was enough. Fir Brimmelle spoke the words but didn’t live them. Thorik was frequently tasking himself to do both.

  After everyone settled down, Fir Brimmelle uncoiled the scroll and read the official meaning of the rune.

  Several more awards were handed out to the children before a few adults received some. The routine was the same for each with the Fir reading after each award was given. When they had finished, the crowd dispersed and went back to eating and drinking as the sun set on Farbank’s Common.

  Lanterns were lit and music began to play as Ambrosius sat on his bench and watched couples begin to dance. Partners changed frequently allowing everyone a chance to socialize with each other. The night was still young but his body was not. Gluic’s healing from that morning was wearing off and he was again starting to feel intense discomfort.

  Finally receiving a chance to dance with Emilen, Thorik glanced over at Ambrosius who was now hunched over. Regretfully, he excused himself and left the dance area to see what was wrong with his patient. “Ambrosius, can you walk?”

  “Yes, but the pain is starting to return with a vengeance,” Ambrosius squeezed out.

  Thorik helped him to his feet. He then acted as a crutch for Ambrosius as they made their way through the village and to Thorik’s cottage, where he laid his tall friend gently onto the bed. Gluic had been waiting there long enough to make herself a pot of tea and sip half a cup down. Her healing stones and gems were laid out and ready to be used as she moved them onto key points of his body.

  Chapter 5

  Leaving Farbank