by Doug Kelly
His sword had been patiently waiting in a dark corner of Aton’s cabin for its owner to reclaim, but Hauk did not retrieve the sword today. The sword stood there like a proud, disciplined soldier standing at attention, waiting for an order of dismissal that had yet to come. As the time passed from when Hauk had finally stopped routinely wearing it, which had been many weeks since he had propped his trusty weapon of war into that dim corner of Aton’s cabin, a thin layer of dust from the dirt street had collected on it. He had no longer found use for it in his easy life. No one could command him into battle, so he did not feel the constant burden to practice with the blade. Therefore, no longer hampered with honing his swordplay, he had unofficially retired his weapon of many victorious battles. His most recent victory was on the battlefield of love, and Aniku meant everything in the world to him. She did not like it when Hauk continually brought the sword to the schoolhouse. Its presence provoked the children to inquire about stories of battle and conquest, which was something that Aniku did not tolerate. Hauk had understood that he would have to make concessions for Aniku to accept him as a worthy suitor. The decision had been simple; he wanted Aniku more than he needed the blade, so he had left it in Aton’s cabin.
Aton was still in a reclusive mood, brooding around the old log house alone as he wondered about his family and Esina, while he continually burdened himself to devise a safe plan to get back home, or at least go visit Esina, so that he could explain what had actually happened to her sister. If not that, he thought that it would be nice to see just his family, even if he could only look at them from a distance. His heart deeply ached for Esina and his family. He desperately hoped that they were safe and well. Recently, not a day had gone by when he had not regretted leaving her and his clan to flee across the great lake. He regretted not staying to fight against the false allegations that Lanzo had spread, and he cursed himself for allowing Lanzo to get away with murder. Although he had been thinking frequently of the love of his life and his family, more recently his thoughts had turned dark and vengeful.
Without a doubt, Lanzo’s actions had drastically altered Aton’s life, and Aton hated Lanzo for what he had done, murdering Esina’s sister, Malina, and accusing Aton of the crime, making him leave behind his family and everyone who was important to him, but Aton had bittersweet feelings for his life’s metamorphosis. He knew that he was a better man now, more confident of himself after surviving fierce battles, gaining an understanding of the evils of warfare, and obtaining great wealth and power. Regardless of all that, Lanzo’s horrific action was still an unforgivable act of cruelty. Aton would have given up everything just to be able to turn back the hands of time, but he could not do the impossible, nor could he stop fantasizing about using the wealth, power, and influence that he had recently attained, to vanquish Trahan and Lanzo Brill. With fervent desire, he also wanted to remove Olar from power. All of these things that he craved could have a violent outcome and cause warfare among the clans, something that he despised very much. These obsessive thoughts persisted, only fading when Hauk visited, or during trips into the peaceful woods as he met with the migrating hill tribes, who were still settling into the nearby territory. Although his vengeful obsessions sometimes diminished, just like the calm that follows the storm, they always returned, and he could sense dark clouds forming on the horizon of his future.
Aton was the closest to his clan that he had been since he had fled Olar’s domain to escape across the massive lake. Two days on horseback was all that separated him from Oberlin, the village nearest to Olar’s stockade, and that town was where Lanzo and his father had established their permanent residence. It was so close, but Aton had done nothing, not even devised a plan to visit Oberlin, get word of Esina and maybe, if he was lucky, glance at her from a distance. Less than a day’s ride past Oberlin was his clan’s enclosure. It was all so close, but it seemed so far away. His own lack of action frustrated him the most. In his troubled mind, he knew that all he needed was more time, and then a plan would come to fruition. To return safely home, he needed to devise a strategy that would not bring attention to himself or those that he might ask about, his loved ones. The weeks went by, and the gears in his clever mind kept relentlessly turning.
Early one morning, two cats fighting in the street near Aton’s cabin disrupted the tranquility of his slumber. The ruckus stirred him awake, and a pang of hunger kept him from going back to sleep. His stomach growled loudly, but his cupboard was bare, so there was nothing in the cabin to eat. He needed to get out of bed and buy some food, which was not a problem, because he had plenty of money. He sat at the edge of the bed, rubbed his eyes, then he reluctantly rose, stretching his arms high into the air and yawned widely as he did. He did not want to leave the cabin. The source of his hesitation was simply that he did not like to participate in useless chitchat with the merchants while he had so much on his mind.
He dressed near the table that he used for reading and drawing, and he cast intermittent glances at the strewn papers on top of it. Recently, he had spent much time sitting at the table, jotting down mental notes, scrawling designs for improvements to mechanical devices that he had seen in the village. The black ink of useless doodling had filled the thick sheets of parchment when his mind was at a loss for a solution to a problem. Hauk had left his iron skillet here, so Aton decided that he should return it and visit the betrothed couple’s newly constructed home, then find a bakery and buy himself a hearty breakfast. He put on his cloak, grabbed the pan, and left his lonely cabin.
It was early morning. Not many people were on the streets. Other than the serenade of the early morning songbirds, it was quiet as he walked along the lane. The still air suspended the puffs of silent dust from his heels in slowly descending gray clouds as he went down the road, swinging the iron pan at his side, timing each oscillation of the skillet with the rhythm of his steps.
Hauk and Aniku had selected the far end of the village as the site for their new abode. At that location, there was plenty of room to build a new schoolhouse on the other side of the dead-end road, just across the street from Hauk and Aniku’s new home, which would be very convenient for her commute to work.
At the end of the street, Aton easily found the betrothed couple’s new cabin. He stood in the yard and admired its fine construction. An awning with wood shingles covered the front porch that went the width of the little house. Wood chips from broad axes and thin shavings from a sharp drawknife still littered the ground surrounding their new domicile. Hauk had shut all of the windows and the front door. Through the translucent glass windows, Aton could see the distorted images of two people moving inside the cabin. Apparently, they were adjusting the location of the home’s furnishings. A sad realization finally occurred to Aton. If he ever left Tarply, which he desired to do, Hauk would stay here when he moved away. The circles around his eyes grew darker from the sadness of possibly losing his best friend. As he stood outside, ankle deep in woodchips, he felt the melancholy of loneliness clutch his heart. He needed to get back to his clan now more than ever, but he was so afraid of what his presence might do to his loved ones. Olar’s wrath was undeniable. It felt like a gloomy rain cloud had soaked him all the way to his bones.
He had stepped in horse manure on the way here, and he did not want to track it into their new cottage. He was sure that they would offer him a tour of their home, but he did not have time to waste on idle conversation. Rather than step onto the front porch, knock on the door, and foul the hewn planks with the mess on his shoes, he put the pan onto the porch, and slid it toward the front door. He whistled loudly to get their attention. The door swung open, and two pairs of curious eyes saw Aton standing outside.
“Good morning, Aton,” said Aniku.
Hauk had already greeted Aton with a nod.
“I returned your pan.”
“Oh, I thought that might be your wedding present to us,” said Hauk, facetiously.
Aton could hear Aniku sternly warning Hauk not to be rude
, but Aton understood it as a jest; it was harmless banter.
“Your wedding is just a few days away, isn’t it?” asked Aton in an indifferent tone. He already knew the answer. He was just trying to initiate a conversation.
“Yes, it is, and we expect to see you there,” said Aniku. “Why don’t you come inside and visit with us? Please stay, won’t you?”
“I really can’t. I should be going now. My stomach is growling for food.” He was happy for the couple, but this morning he was just making up an excuse to be on his way. Any other day might have been different. Today, he did not want their happiness to remind him of his own sadness, and hunger was calling him. The bakery would be open now, so he thought it would be best if he just went on his way. He needed to stock his shelves with food, and he just wanted to get something to eat, alone.
“Nonsense. We can feed you. Come inside and see the furniture Hauk bought for our house. Eat breakfast with us. Please?”
“I really need to get along. Maybe tomorrow I’ll accept your invitation.” He lifted his leg, revealing a stinking shoe. “Besides, I don’t want to track this into your clean cabin.”
Before Hauk or Aniku had a chance to tell Aton to stop making excuses and take his shoes off, a horse-drawn wagon coming down the street distracted everyone. Aton turned to see that it was Larn at the reins, encouraging the two horses onward. As the clan leader passed, he gave them a nod as a greeting. At the end of the dead-end road, Larn steered his animals to make an abrupt U-turn, heading back in the direction from where he had come, but as he got close to Aton, he pulled back the reins, and his beasts halted, snorting foggy breath through their wide nostrils.
It was a wagon of gray weathered wood. Its length was twice the height of a man, and the width was only half of that dimension. The sides gently sloped outward from the base of the floor. A series of four arched hoops, made of metal bands, bridged the width of the cart. Larn had attached canvas over the domed metal bands, which provided shade and protection from the sun and the rain. The front portion of the wagon had a small bench where Larn sat. The seat was slightly elevated to give him a better view of the road ahead, because it was critical that the driver could look over the team of animals in front of him. If not, he might guide the horses over a large stone or into a deep rut, which might injure the beasts of burden and slow down the cart. Like all of the other wagon wheels that Aton had seen, these were made of wood, but what made these different was that Larn had a blacksmith wrap a thin strip of steel around the circumference of the wheels, increasing their durability on the rough roads.
“Congratulations,” said Larn. He lowered his head in a courteous way.
“Did you come all this way just to wish us well?” asked Hauk.
“Actually, I just wanted to test my wheels. Look, I had a thin strip of metal wrapped around each one.”
Aton stroked his beard and went closer to the wheels. As he stared at them, he wondered if he could improve the design.
“What was wrong with them?” asked Aton.
“Nothing. They’re just better now. It’s a two-day trip to Oberlin, so I’d rather not have a problem with my wheels that far from home.”
“Oberlin!” Aton tried to conceal his excitement. “Why are you going there?”
“It’s not just me. A lot of us are heading that way. We need to buy grain. I heard that Oberlin has an abundance of grain this year from their irrigated fields. If that’s true, we hope to get it cheap, because this year’s profits are lean, and we still have a debt with Olar.”
Autumn had arrived, and Tarply’s farmers had harvested their crops, but the village’s inventory of grain was lower than normal. Because of this, the town needed to import more grain than usual this year. The village had picked the cotton first to keep the looms busy, and then harvested all the food crops, which were scant. It was not enough to feed the town, which was usual and expected, but during former years, the village’s inhabitants had been able to purchase grain from local communities using the profits from their businesses. This had been a very bad year in the comparatively peaceful history of Tarply. The nomads had intimidated people, keeping them from the trade routes, and they had boldly attacked Tarply, severely damaging its protective barrier. Although the hill tribes had settled in the local region, and the nomad tribes that had consolidated to harass the clansmen had disbanded, it was too late, because the road bandits had already done the damage. The lull in economic activity had driven the village to beg for credit from Olar, and this debt was compounding. After the hill tribes had arrived, the village’s economic outlook had improved, but money was still scarce, and the town still had mouths to feed. The people from the hill tribes needed food, too, which compounded this dilemma.
“I want to go!” exclaimed Aton. “Hauk, come with me to Oberlin.”
“I need to stay here. I’m sorry, Aton, but Aniku needs me. Our wedding ceremony is just days away.”
“Aton, you can ride with me,” said Larn. “What’s your business in that town? Do you know anybody there?”
Aton wanted to avoid the details of a lengthy explanation. He simply replied, “I just want to visit.”
“Well…it’s none of my business anyway. Just be ready to go at daybreak. We need to be back in time for their wedding. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
“Neither would I,” said Aton. “I should be going now.” He began to walk away. “Fresh bread is waiting for me at the bakery, and I need to get some food for the trip, too.”
“Hop on, Aton. I’m headed that way.”
Aton accepted the invitation and jumped into the wagon. Larn smelled the mess on Aton’s shoe and regretted offering him a ride to the bakery. He wrinkled his nose as he urged the horses forward.
Just after they began a slow trot, Hauk yelled to Aton, “I’ll watch your cabin.”
Aton yelled back, “I’ll be gone right after daybreak.”
The wagon train left just after dawn the next morning for the two-day journey to Oberlin. Larn was in the lead wagon, and Aton sat next to him on the uncomfortable wooden bench. At the end of the first day, under a bright evening sun, Aton could see the dusty road stretching forward in the distance. The trees along the roadside stood motionless in the still air. As the wagon train got closer to the stream that marked the current border of Olar’s territory, the noise of the horse-drawn wagons penetrated deep into the surrounding woods and lifted the blanket of silent tranquility that had covered the adjacent meadowlands. As the column of wagons advanced on the wide arch of the mortar and rock bridge that spanned the stream and adjoined separate domains, the first day of the two-day trip was ending.
In the limpid waters of the lowland brook, spanned by the little stone bridge, small fish hung motionless above the dark pebbles in the stream, and a dragonfly sat quite still, perched on the sharp tip of a wild rose thorn, with its wings glistening in the sun. Clomping horse hooves and the clatter of wagon wheels echoed under the bridge as they crossed its uneven, rocky surface. Leopard frogs that had hidden in the reeds lining the stream leaped into it, leaving a cloud of muddy water in their wake. The men of Tarply camped near the creek, so the horses could graze and have fresh water.
They left early the next morning. On the return trip, they would have considerably more weight to pull, so they had left as early as possible this morning to maximize the amount of daylight that they could use for their journey home. It could take a while to get all the grain that they needed for the winter months and make it back to the stone bridge before nightfall. Larn wanted to camp at the bridge again this evening before finishing the return trip home, preferring not to travel at night.
Near the end of the second day’s journey to Oberlin, the bumpy road and hard seat had taken its toll on Aton’s body. He fidgeted on the stiff wooden bench, which the pants of the numerous former passengers had rubbed as smooth as glass, because they had also continually fidgeted on the same uncomfortable seat.
“Anything wrong?” asked Larn
, with a tone of genuine concern.
“Nothing,” Aton simply replied. “It’s just that this seat isn’t comfortable.”
“You look like you’re going to a funeral.”
When Larn had said, “Funeral,” Aton felt that word tug at all the dark feelings that he had tried to suppress, and they raised to the forefront of his mind. He felt an irrepressible urge to tell Larn about the origin of his predicament, hoping that it would purge his melancholy after sharing troubles from his past with someone he had grown to trust.
“Maybe I am,” said Aton, in a serious tone.
“What’s this nonsense about a funeral? Whose funeral?”
“Maybe mine.”
“By the gods, Aton. Stop speaking in riddles.”
“You should know that I’ve been to Oberlin, many times. If you keep following this very road, my clan is less than a day past that village.”
“I always thought that you weren’t from the other side of the lake or from the northern territory. It wasn’t any of my business, so I never asked.” He turned his head from the road and locked eyes with Aton. “What’s this talk of a funeral?”
