First to rise from the table as a signal announcing the official end to our dinner, instead of moving with complete silence, my father spoke, “I think tonight would be a good night to spend in each other’s company. What do you say to a night of stories?”
Instantly my sisters both showed their agreement by boisterously and simultaneously announcing their favorite stories to both hear and tell.
“Now, now, now my two little ones. You will both get your chance to speak, but I think it would be better to tell stories about your bother,” my mother said in her soft and encouraging voice.
“You are right my Son’ame,” my father offered his support. “Let us all retire to our family room and make ready with our favorite stories about Drin.”
“I get to sit next to Drin!” stated my sister Hithelyn.
Quick to add her claim to my other side, Jinola too spoke up, “I want to sit next to Drin too!”
“Very well you two, you can both sit next to him. He has two sides, one for each of you,” my mother stated and ended an argument that was sure to develop.
“That is true, My Eklirin, but only if we stop talking and retire to our sitting room,” my father said while he strode away from our dinner table. My sisters were quick to follow in their excitement. My mother rose next and was about to follow my father and sisters, until she noticed that I had not risen from my seat.
“Why is it you hesitate on this evening, My Eklirin?” she asked tenderly as she gathered the dinner’s dishes.
When my father rose and directed the deviation from our routine, it finally descended upon my consciousness as a weight strong enough to numb my legs. All the force of tomorrow’s journey previously hidden by the daily routine re-established after the first day of The Festival of the Moon, was again given passage into my emotions. “I cannot rise just yet, Mother. I find my legs lacking strength.” And in truth, it was all I could do to remain in an upright position. My whole body had succumb to a type of shaking, though unobservable, preventing me from executing any voluntary movement. “I am not sure I will be able to join everyone else in the sitting room for a few minutes.”
“Oh My Eklirin, take as much time as you need. I will inform your father and sisters to carry on while we are talking,” my mother indicated. She was always so thoughtful for the security of those around her. True to her word, I saw her walk into the other room, whisper into my father’s ear, and return to sit next to me. She softly and maternally kissed my cheek while she placed a reassuring hand upon mine. “How do you feel?”
“Truthfully Drashin, I feel as though my insides have been used as the rope that bind beasts of burden to their appointed cargo,” I said as a forceful nausea began to develop. “I cannot ignore a deep foreboding I have regarding our journey tomorrow morning.”
“It is natural to fear the unknown. The greater the unknown, the greater the fear. And in truth, My Eklirin, this is the greatest unknown I can possibly imagine. I do not know what you face. The Silver Selection has been closed to women since its beginning and because of that, no woman knows what the men of this nation face when it is their time. But I do know this: Fate has a way of working out to benefit what we cannot see. Think of it this way, had it not been for the Selection, you and your sisters would not be here. And as much as your father feared it, I am quite certain he is eternally grateful for the selection and would never wish it differently.”
“I know, Drashin, I know. But that is my father looking back upon fate’s decree after he has had knowledge of what he has already gone through,” with the sentences my mother spoke, I felt some feeling return to my legs.
“Drin, you have always been very smart and have always known just the right question to ask to dismantle any argument you wish. All I can tell you is this: Fear does not reveal our ability to know the future. It does not reveal right from wrong, nor does it reveal fate from chance. It simply reveals what we have inside. Do you fear the future? If so, then you, on the inside, cannot see a good future. That is something you will have to face within yourself, My Eklirin.”
“Drashin, I cannot imagine any part of my life without all of you; father, my sisters, even Hithelyn, and you. I do not want to leave, not because I fear the future, but because I love the past and the present. The stories we will soon hear are stories I wish to have repeated every day that I live. Not the stories that will be told, but the ones that have not yet been lived. So I do not fear what might be, I fear only that which will not because of the Selection.”
“But do you see the danger in that? How can you fear that which will not be over that which will be? You do not know either, yet you fear one over celebrating the other. Let me ask you this: What if you live, as a result of the selection, and all you wish, all the wealth, health, and family is yours? What then can give you fear, let alone pause for all the goodness you could be in line for?” Her questions provided me with the mental distraction from my dismay to allow more strength to return.
I offered a heavy sigh in return, “When Drashin, when will my understanding allow me to have your strength?”
“When you are most in need, My Eklirin. Fate has a way of returning to us all that we have previously given up and accepted. Are you able to stand yet?”
“Yes, I can stand and probably make it into the next room without assistance.”
“That is good because you have two young sisters who are anxious to tell their favorite tales of their Brasosis.”
Placing my hands firmly on the table, and judging my legs fit for travel, I used the strength in my arms to aid my legs in my rising. Pausing for a moment when fully upright to sufficiently judge my legs as adequate, I walked slowly, arm in arm with my mother, to the sitting room where my sisters were excitedly motioning me to sit as if they needed to remind me that my ultimate destiny would be fulfilled by sitting between them.
The rest of the evening progressed with stores mostly from my two sisters. Hithelyn told the tale of how I save her from a bear when she had wandered too far from her sister and had gotten lost in the Breckenwood. Though in reality, her confrontation was with a bear cub that was infinitely more afraid of her than she of it. Jinola told the tale of how I saved her when she was drowning in the river. Again, the embellishment of danger was similar to her sister’s because had she but stood up, she would have been only waist deep in waters that were as still as the wind the morning following a spring storm. My mother and father decided to forgo their turn to allow my sisters more indulgence into their remembrances.
I remember both of my sisters falling asleep in my arms, but I do not remember falling asleep myself, though I must have while I was sitting between them because I do not remember walking to my bed chambers. Looking back on that evening, I had not considered my father’s and mother’s thoughts, let alone emotions, while they watched their three sleeping children until my years were much advanced. I never had the chance to speak with them regarding what they felt, though I can only imagine their conversation as we slept.
Early the next morning, well before the dawning of the sun, my father and I began the three day trek from our farm and humble way of life to Lord Hanchat’s manor in our Province's capital city of Twin Oaks. By all reasoning, the first two days of our journey met with little friction other than an untimely storm that forced us to seek shelter in a cave we hoped was not currently occupied by another creature. Fortune, at least I saw it as such, was on our side. The cave was empty and dry. The cold we could manage by the warmth of the fire my father had just instructed me to set. We gathered some wood kindling lying in the cave, again something I attributed to fortune, and with the use of my tinder box, started a fire to prevent the chill of the cold rain from delving more deeply than just our wet clothing.
My father was never quite forthcoming with details of his life. He never refused to answer a direct question, but he never volunteered information that was extraneous to answer what was directly set before him. And he certainly never offered
information under the influence of his own inclination. Perhaps this abruptness bled into his communication patterns directly from his inherited work habits from life on the farm with his father, and his before him. When instruction came regarding new tasks my father was teaching me, it came in quick sentences with an expectation that it would be learned and followed. He was not a sever man, nor was he impatient. Rather, he was just concise. Possibly, his efficient communication came from his efficiency of completing physical tasks, that even during the mildest of days, were still taxing. And to undertake these tasks with extra and unnecessary movement would compound the day; consequently, making the next day’s tasks more difficult, and the next, and the next. So when he decided to speak regarding his experience with the Silver Selection without a question uttered from my lips, I again felt fortune was with me.
“Drin,” he said in his all too familiar fatherly voiced laced with a concern based in the unknown, “you have never known life beyond our farm. Nor have you seen people for what they really are. You are a good boy, and an even better man.”
Sensing his worry I said, “I know, Drahin. And I want to stay that way too.”
“Yes, I am sure you do,” He said with a slight grin on his face, “especially with me sitting across the fire from you.” His grin slowly faded and I could tell the conversation was going to become one-sided and serious. “But the fact is Drin; I will not be there to see that you do. During these next years, you will see things that you thought you would never see. You will be given opportunities you never dreamed, nor would anyone raised on a farm for that matter. Much like I did, you will have to figure it out on your own. Some things will be good, and some things will not. The measure of a man is knowing the difference between the two. Listen to your insides, Son. Follow them, and at the very least, you will be able to say that, even if you did bad, you did the best you could.”
Sensing that he was going to continue, I remained silent and listened, “I have never been really smart. And I have not had very big dreams. When I served for the Lord Henchat’s father, he needed people to run one of his cousin’s farms on the outskirts of his land. I was never really pressured by everything in the cities. I just fell right into life on the farm as if it was my own. I was never pushed, never stressed, and never had to worry about not doing something right. But I fear that is not going to be the case with you, Son. Because you are strong and fast, I think you might be placed in his garrison. But he might still need people for one of his farms. I do not know. But what I do know is that a man is as great as he believes.”
And with that, he paused long enough for me to respond, “What do you mean?”
“I do not know. Maybe I am just a worried father thinking about all the mischief his son can get into while he is away,” at the finish of this sentence, he shot me an affectionate grin and winked. “I know you are a good boy Drin, and growing up quickly. I just want you to become everything you want to become. By that I mean, do not feel you have to follow in my footsteps. Do not feel you have to take the exact path I took. If there is an opportunity and you like it, then take it. And certainly if that opportunity leads you to a lovely young lady,” he paused while I grinned, feeling my face flush, “then follow her too.”
“Drahin, you know I want to come back home. I could not imagine life without the farm and my family.”
“I know, Drin. And that is exactly what I am worried about. Now get some sleep. The journey will be slower because of the storm and we need to get an early start. We do not want you to be late to your Silver Selection. Who knows where you will end up then?”
And with that, we laid down on the makeshift beds from our travel packs. My father seemed to fall asleep quickly as I heard him ease into a sleep induced, slow and steady breathing. I, however, did not ease into my own relaxing rhythm until well into the night. My mind was spending its time floating between wondering what my father had meant, where I would be placed and to whom that placement would be attached, visions of young lovely ladies while I was blushing, and returning home to the farm I loved. Somewhere between wondering if any lovely young lady would like to tend the farm while I was still under the Silver Selection, I fell into a slumber that was equally vivid with dreams.
I dreamt of many things that night, all of which were related to my conscious thoughts from earlier; however, one dream in particular both shocked and surprised me. It was surprising because it was the last thing I wanted to do, and shocking because, while under the influence of slumber, I enjoyed it. I do not remember much of it except for looking down on the land and watching it pass by at an alarming rate. At first, I was confused, but after the initial period of confusion faded, I saw that I had become a large type of bird soring over the land. Flying! I had never given thought to it before. Why should I of course? I was a human, and humans were not meant to fly. Nor was any other creature void of wings. But there must have been something in my existence that longed for that sense of freedom, because while it was my first attempt at flight either consciously or subconsciously, it was exhilarating.
True to his word, my father woke me well before the dew on the leaves and grass had the chance to reflect the rays of the morning sun. I stretched slightly while I tried to grasp the remaining aspect of last night's dreams as they quickly became mist between the slowly moving fingers of my still groggy mind. After a moment, I yielded to the impulse of not sitting up and received a few more moments of rest before beginning what would certainly be an unpleasant final day of travel. However, when I heard my father begin packing with a purpose, I did not succumb to the temptation for long, and found myself, in short order, packing as well.
When the sun did rise, at least a full hour into the last part of our journey, it did so by extending brilliant gold fingers over the countryside. But in all honesty, there was not much beauty on the rest of our journey. Because of the strength of the storm, any and all patches of dirt were transformed to a soggy mixture of earth, rock, and water. The rain must have been more vicious than we had first thought because the mud was deep, thick, and had an odd, almost rancid odor. After stepping into it and sinking several inches, it seemed to congeal around my foot as if reluctant to let it go. It’s resistance to releasing its grasp was met with a slight “puff” possessing an almost groaning quality to it the way a beast grunts after realizing that its prey was still seated securely up a tree and out of its reach.
As illustrated by the increased pace my father set, the mud was an unanticipated development existing outside of my father’s calculations for the final day of our travel. I am sure he planned for the possibility of a storm, but this mud must have reduced our speed beyond his expectations. Consequently, I heard the occasional “Let us keep pace Drin”, or “The Sun has moved more than us,” or “Even our beasts cannot move fast in this.”
The mud wasn't the worst part though, it was the bugs. As if rising up from the ashes like a mighty Phoenix ready to release its new found strength, these bugs were multiplied and invigorated by the remnant moisture of last night's deluge and seemed to be unaffected by the thickness of the mud. Each had a body about the size of a gold pence, their wings spread twice as far, and the legs, twice as far again. They were slender, black to blood-red, and took no worry to land and attempt to bite on anything that moved. They seemed to be greater in number and greater in voracity the closer we came to one of the stretches of mud. When my father had had enough of swatting at them with his hand, he reached in his pack and pulled out an oval shaped ring about a foot in diameter with a one foot handle attached to it. Inside of the oval were thick strands of horse hair pulled taught and tied around the edges of the ring. He began swatting at the bugs with it and when he struck one with the strung taught horse hair portion of the object, the bug would either fall to the ground dead, or wounded from losing part of its body, wing, or leg.
When one of the bugs was successful at getting through our defenses and reaching its ultimate goal of sinking its demon like fangs (t
hough no bugs of any sort possesses teeth) into our flesh, it felt like there was an intention beyond satiating a voracious hunger driving its actions. Intrigued to the point where I was willing to endure a slight sting, I pinched my skin at the entrance point of the bite to see just how much it would feast. To my surprise and equaled disgust, it did not stop feeding until I was forced to manually detach it from my arm. I watched its body swell well past the point of bursting until it reached the point of absurdity. The resulting disproportion between its grossly swelled abdomen and other parts made it appear entirely unnatural and even more grotesque. I was so fascinated and horrified at what I was seeing that I did not notice I had stopped walking altogether and, consequently, fell behind the pace my father had set. Moments before hearing my father bellow a loud sentence from the distance, undoubtedly designed to increase my failing pace, I felt a sort of malaise. Though it did possess the physical symptoms of nausea and fatigue, they were but minor indications of something deeper, the way the beginning drops of the storm, while just as wet, were only a precursor to its full intent when assembled all together.
So deep was I affected, I neglected to notice not only my father's voice until he was standing right next to me with his hand on my shoulder, but all sound all together. It was as if the subtlety with which my awareness faded from all things without was in direct proportion to my enhanced awareness of the bug still feeding upon my skin. Just as the fog set in and all the sharp delineation between things blurred, my ability to see and know this bug reached a clarity I can compare only to those rare few moments of certainty when, by some chance of fate (I was still reluctant to acknowledge anything greater), we are able to come to the exact conclusion we need in the moment we need it.
I saw it, and by it I mean its intent and therefore, its purpose. I could smell a faint odor emanating for the bug, and for a moment, knew it was connected to the mud. Though I did not understand why, there, faintly unveiling itself to me, were small, wispy, black smoky threads extending from the mud to each of the bugs. This vision, for I can call it only such as I was not consciously aware, resembled an evil, menacing, black and ever changing spider' web. The mud was connected to the bugs, and the bugs were connected to each other all the while being fed by an unnatural and purely evil source.
Convergence (The Dragon Within Saga Book 1) Page 38
