The Long Journey Home (Across The Lake Book 2)

by Doug Kelly

  Until recently, Tarply had been a free village, absolutely unencumbered by the reign of a warlord, which was unlike so many other clan communities. Until the town had accumulated a debt with Olar, it had been completely unaffiliated from the belligerent whim of a warmonger. Since the village of Tarply was in debt to Olar, and if they could not repay, he might annex them under his absolute control, burdening them with perpetual taxation and the misery of servitude. If the town could not repay its debt, Olar and Trahan’s sick breath would soon be breathing down the town’s neck. A change in liberty might be coming to Tarply.

  Although most of the businesses were as vacant and quiet as the village’s main road was wide, one structure where Aton and Hauk had stopped to water their horses was full of activity and the sound of happy, young voices as children dashed from the dirt road and entered the building. It was a school. Unlike other villages, this one encouraged education, and their children were literate because of it. The pupils had been on a recess break, and they had played while watching the reconstruction of the protecting wall during their mid-day intermission from learning. The young students crossing the street were returning to resume their studies. Aton peered into the classroom. Inside were children of all ages, who shared the single room. Some industrious students had lashed a flat, black sheet of slate, which had jagged edges, to the wall behind the teacher’s desk. The instructor, who was a beautiful young woman, had smeared the scribbled lines of white chalk across the dark slate when she used a handful of damp wool as an eraser. Using their fingertips, some children had written their names in the smudged dust on the chalkboard. Above the jagged slate was a plank of wood with letters of the alphabet carved into it. To see people not shunning, but actually embracing, education was an unbelievable sight. When Aton turned to look behind himself, he could see that Hauk and Larn were impatiently waiting, so he decided to return later in the day to determine if the school might have any books that he could read. He thought it might, because it was obviously a school, a rare place of learning, and reading was the foundation for knowledge.

  At the intersection past the school, they turned to the left and went down a side street until it ended near a protecting wall. There was a gap consisting of scruffy grass between the side road’s dead end and this section of the enclosing barrier. The log cabin at the end of the road was close enough to the barrier that the cottage would be in the wall’s shadow each morning. After arriving at the cabin, Larn gifted the unoccupied log home to them, because the nomads had killed the previous owners during the last raid, and it had remained abandoned since that tragic event. Some townspeople thought the cottage might be haunted, so there was no desire from any of the villagers to occupy it due to their superstitious tendencies. Aton and Larn went inside to continue their discussion.

  Hauk had taken the horses’ reins. He wanted to hitch them near the front door, beside the watering trough, and remove the saddlebags. He really wanted to find a place to hide all of their valuables. After removing their possessions from the travois sled and placing them all in a neat pile near the front door of the cabin, he removed everything from the horses’ backs and placed those bundles beside the front door, too.

  As Hauk opened the door, the metal hinges pleaded for oil. When he stepped inside, the planks of the wood floor groaned for mercy as he walked across the room. Aton and Larn had found a table near the dark fireplace and were sitting on opposite sides, casually speaking, sharing stories. Although Larn had already opened the shutters to allow some daylight into the one-room cabin, it was still dim. The dark planks of the wood floor made the room appear even darker. There was a stone fireplace centered in the wall to the right of the front door. If a fire were burning, there would have been some additional light, although the added heat was not necessary during the warm months of summer. Regardless, there was no firewood in the cabin, so starting a fire was irrelevant.

  After the nomads killed the cabin’s former tenants, most of the previous occupants’ furnishings and possessions had slowly disappeared, covertly requisitioned during the dark of night into some neighbors’ thieving, greedy hands. Now, all that remained was the furniture, which was a table and four chairs, and two sets of bunk beds that had mattresses stuffed with goose feathers. Normally this type of mattress was a desired type of bedding, but because of the prevalence of lice and bed bugs, scavengers would usually take those items last, after the infestation had time to end. On the table, there were several large, unlit ceremonial and spiritual candles. Any of them could have easily illuminated the cabin’s interior. Most likely, scavengers had not taken them from the cabin because of superstitious beliefs. Someone must have left the candles, four of them, one for each of the perished former occupants, to light and burn, to honor the memory of the cabin’s previous residents. To pilfer the candles would have been like stealing someone’s soul. With the ceremonial candles, the cabin had transformed into a mausoleum of haunting sprits; therefore, the candles remained on the table, as if they were on an altar.

  A man of few words, Hauk wanted to avoid the conversation at the table. After leaning his sword into a dark corner of the cabin, he decided to venture outside and walk around their new home. The cabin was near the log wall, and at this location along the barricade, a ladder for the armed sentries connected to the scaffolding, which surrounded the wall’s interior perimeter. He climbed it to attain the platform from where the town guards had surveyed the land and archers had repulsed the village’s enemies. It was a clear, beautiful day. To his left he could see someone using a horse to drag another log from the forest. A beautiful pasture surrounded this side of the village. The other side was near the stream and closer to the forest’s border. From the top of the wall, looking across the pasture, he could see the men of the Greenhill tribe building something.

  Tig and his men had already begun constructing shelters in the pasture. They had found flexible branches, had bent them into dome huts, and were almost ready to begin thatching the exterior of their newly constructed lodgings. Apparently, they had no desire to remain stagnant and seek shelter inside the walls of Tarply. They had migrated here to expand their tribes. They had always lived near their animals, and their goats and sheep were on the way, so it made no sense to move inside the stockade when they had to be close to their livelihood. Staying so near to a permanent barricade, Tig and his men did not have a sense of vulnerability, because with an expanded network of tribes, they could quickly share any news of invaders, and if needed, they would have time to seek shelter behind the tall wooden walls. The herders from Greenhill had little fear of the lonely cannibal, who never attacked large groups this close to a village of clansmen. Tig was quite content with their new location. Water was nearby. They were adjacent to a familiar road, and with the continual removal of trees from the perimeter of the forest, their grazing land could only expand. Because of all this, he thought that Aton had made a wise decision and that he was a competent leader.

  Hauk returned to the cabin, swung open the door, and it slammed against the wall. To keep it open, he put a large stone at the base of the door, and then he went inside. The rock pinned the door open and kept its creaking hinges silent. The open entrance allowed more sunlight to enter with the gentle breeze that flowed through the doorway to the open window, and the propped door enabled Hauk to keep their horses in view, but more importantly to him, it allowed his watchful eyes to spy on their saddlebags, which held the most valuable of all their possessions.

  During Hauk’s brief absence, Aton and Larn had remained seated at the table, informally discussing village protocols and sharing sentimental stories of travel and hardships. Between them, in the center of the tabletop, Larn had placed the golden broach. During their discussion, while Hauk had been outside, Aton had removed the silver signet ring and placed it next to the broach as another gift to his newest friend. Curiously, Larn picked up the ring and fondled it, casually admiring it in the dim light.

  “Hauk,” said Larn, with a joyful
tone. “My friend, please tell me how you plan to earn a living in your new village.”

  Hauk stood still for a moment, almost as if he were standing at attention, and then scratched his head. The simple question had perplexed him.

  “I don’t know. I suppose I could be a soldier or a cook. I’ve done my share of killing and cooking.”

  Larn had not intended it to be a serious question, but more as something to say that would encourage Hauk to join the conversation. Larn briefly considered the dichotomy of Hauk’s response and the lack of emotion expressed in his answer, in which Hauk had had casually replied that he would be comfortable with either killing or cooking. It was chilling. Larn’s eyes went to the dim outline of the sword Hauk had propped against a dark corner of the cabin. It was the very weapon Hauk had used many times to kill enemies during battles, but Larn could not have known that was not how Hauk actually defined himself. Hauk was not a cold-blooded murderer, and he had only gone to battle because his master had forced him. He had never had a choice, because for a slave-warrior, it was kill or be killed. In battle, at least he had a chance to survive another day, which would not be true after a visit to the gallows as a disobedient slave. Hauk seemed to be a serious man; a man very capable of doing what he had just told Larn, but the clan leader did not surmise that he should fear Hauk. He considered the former slave-soldier a friend and hoped that he would get to know the cook rather than the killer.

  Hauk was a man of few words. He would have preferred to answer Larn’s question by simply stating that he had no intention of ever working again, but that would have led to questions with complicated answers. Aton had warned him not to brag about their newfound riches, and Hauk agreed that being discreet would be the safest thing to do. Now, he wanted to rest more than have a conversation about occupations, but thought that he should wait to relax and recuperate until their guest left the cabin. The featherbed had already caught his attention. It was beckoning to him. With one eye on the saddlebags, he began to meander across the floor, testing the sound of the old wooden planks under his feet, and listening to the distinct noise made by each creaking board. To a tired man, the soft mattress appeared too inviting. He could not resist any longer, so he went closer to the featherbed and finally sat on it, and it felt like he was floating on a cloud.

  “Whatever you and Aton choose to do, please let me assist both of you,” said Larn. “I want to help. Whatever you need, charge it to me. Any shopkeeper will extend you credit in my name.”

  “Clothes,” grumbled Hauk.

  “Yes. We need new clothes,” said Aton.

  The wool tunics and leather pants worn by the Greenhill tribe were not as comfortable as the cotton fabric the clansmen were used to wearing. Wool was itchy, too warm in the summer, and the leather pants were too heavy for hot weather, but goatskin pants were tough enough to withstand the abuse of thorns and the dense shrubbery of the forest, so in that regard, leather pants did serve a year-round purpose. They also felt that they would fit better within the community if they dressed in attire similar to that worn by the town’s inhabitants.

  “On the way to your cabin we passed a skilled tailor,” said Larn. “His wife is a talented seamstress. She makes some of the cloth he uses, and I should add that the fabric they use has very beautiful patterns. She made my wife’s wedding dress…” His voice trailed away and his expression went from joyful to one of profound sadness. His wife was gone now; he had tried not to think about her, but that was very hard to do because he loved her so dearly. All that remained were fleeting memories, which rose from time to time and pulled his heartstrings. He cleared his throat, feigning a cough to disguise the sudden, gloomy emotion he was trying to suppress. “His shop is by the moneychanger. We only have one moneychanger, so you should have no problem finding him, but—” Larn abruptly stopped speaking. His gaze went out the window for a moment before looking back down at the table, watching his fingers fidget with the silver ring.

  “And?” said Aton, trying to encourage Larn to continue with what he was struggling to say.

  “The truth is…our village is in trouble. Maybe more than what is apparent at first glance. As you can tell, the nomad raids have deeply hurt my community.” Larn shook his head drearily to punctuate the profound sadness in his heart. “I told you to charge what you need to any merchant. I just don’t know if that’ll work any longer. No one is traveling along the trade routes. Business is slow. Everyone is afraid of the nomads. People don’t have money, and I don’t know if the merchants will continue working for credit.”

  “Tell your people not to worry any more about raiding nomads,” said Aton. He was ready to propose that Tarply form an alliance with the hill people. The population of the extended tribes was comparatively immense, and if they settled around the countryside surrounding this village, their presence would offer some protection against an attack. If nomads returned, the sheer number of hill people would help to repulse the bandits.

  With a look of utter disbelief, Larn asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Hauk and I have lived with the Greenhill tribe. They developed a fondness for me, as I have for them. Individually, many of the tribes wanted me to be their chief, but I declined and suggested an alternative proposal. I chose to unite the tribes and lead them during warfare. I have a special power over them, and I can use my influence to propose an alliance, possibly forming a coalition with your town and the hill tribes. If they settle around your village, you’ll have thousands of men ready to counter any attack against your walls. A network of hill tribes in your vicinity could quickly alert you to any hostile force traveling in your town’s direction. I’m sure the nomads are already aware of the united hill tribes. I don’t believe they’ll be coming back to this vicinity, at least not with any hostile intentions. Have you seen them since they attacked your city?”

  “No.”

  “There. Spread the word. Tarply is open for business again.”

  “Many people think with their hearts and not their minds,” said Larn. “They’re afraid.”

  “Just give it time. You’ll see.”

  “Thousands of men?” asked Larn.

  “Thousands. Can I tell them they have permission to settle near your village?”

  “When will they arrive?”

  “Not all will arrive at once. It’ll be a slow migration.”

  Larn slapped the palms of his hands on the tabletop. “Tell them yes. We have never had a problem with any of the hill people. We have frequently traded them metal for wool. Why shouldn’t we form an alliance?”

  “You should. They’ll fight unconditionally for your village, if you do the same for them.”

  “I agree. Tell your friend…what’s his name again?”

  “Do you mean Tig?”

  “Yes, Tig. I’m sorry for forgetting his name. Where is he?”

  “Outside the east wall with the others,” Hauk interjected. “They’re making dome huts with tree branches.”

  “They’re making dome huts with tree branches?” asked Larn, repeating what Hauk had just stated, but inflecting his voice like it was a question, and furrowing his brow, which made him appear thoroughly confused. “Invite them inside. Tell them they are welcome to stay inside our walls.”

  “The nomads aren’t returning, so don’t worry about them. Besides, that’s how Tig and his people are used to living. They want to be near their animals in the fields.”

  “I suppose so. Tell him and the others that they are always welcome, won’t you?”

  “I promise.”

  Larn pushed himself away from the table and stood in a way to make it obvious that he needed to leave. He had the gold broach in one hand and the silver ring in the other.

  “I need to go,” said Larn. “I should go straight to our moneychanger. He is the only person I would trust with these.” He held up his hands, tightly holding the jewelry, and smiled.

  “Be careful,” warned Aton. “Precious metals can turn honest men into vici
ous demons.”

  “Not this man. I would trust him and his son with my life. He can change things like this into usable currency, but if you use him, remember one thing. Never accept paper money. It has no intrinsic value.”

  Without saying goodbye, Larn bounded to the doorway, and he kicked the stone doorstopper across the porch. With a heavy hand, Larn slammed the door closed, and then went to the moneychanger. The door had shut solidly behind him, and when it had slammed against the jamb, the noise of it striking the doorframe echoed off the adjacent barrier wall.

  Hauk could not have been more pleased that their guest had left. He was tired and wanted to rest, but first he wanted to move their possessions inside, so that he could hide their loot. When he had paced across the floor, he noticed that the floorboards creaked, and the squeaking sound resonated as if it was hollow beneath the gray wooden planks. He suspected some of the floorboards were loose enough to remove.

  After moving all of their possessions inside, closing the front door, and retrieving his sword, he went to an inconspicuous location under his bed and tested some of the floor’s planks with the tip of his blade. They were loose, just as he had suspected. With a little encouragement, the tip of his sword pried up a few boards, revealing a space large enough between the joists into which they could slip their cache of valuables. Aton helped carry the bulging saddlebags to the rectangular gap in the floor. Before dumping the leather bags of jewelry and coins into it, they put two handfuls of loot into their pockets. It just seemed to happen, like a reflex; they had each grabbed two handfuls and put them into the deep pockets of their goatskin pants. It was comforting to be so close to using their great wealth.

  The bags of jewelry disappeared into the dark hole and landed with a dull thud. Hauk replaced the boards, completely hiding the treasure. They were ready to spend their wealth and were in need of food, clothes, and many other things, such as furnishings for the cabin, but using jewelry as an item of trade with these local merchants might not work well, because of the great value associated with even the smallest piece of jewelry. Was a loaf of bread worth a gold ring? Of course not. They also had American coins of a standard weight. Any merchant would readily accept them, but some of the ancient coins were gold, which made them extremely valuable. In fact, Aton and Hauk possessed enough wealth to repay the town’s debt to Olar many times over, but most of what they had was in the form of jewelry. They needed coins of smaller denominations, silver coins, so they would not attract suspicious attention when trading with the village merchants.