The Statue Maker

by Oliver Kennedy

  Chapter 4

  When Falk awoke his eyes found sanctuary in the stars. He was lying on the cold hard ground at the edge of the western wood, the sneering trees loomed over him still so he got to his feet and moved to a safe distance. The words of the master of the wood still echoed in his mind. Falk could not forget them, nor could forget the cryptic wish he'd been granted. He swore then to never speak it aloud, that tainted talisman which the statue maker had given him. Shocked, cold and bedraggled the lateness of the hour suddenly hit him. Falk ran back towards the Northfold and started to climb the side of the gulley, it was a slow mission for in the light he'd spied every welcoming sturdy rock and foothold but lack lustre illumination of the moon did little to highlight this difficult path. After an hour or so of hard climbing he hauled himself over the top.

  After only the briefest of respites Falk hurried towards the holding pen where he'd left Skel and the flock. Given the mysterious talk by the stranger of the wood regarding time he could only guess how long it had been since the sun had set. Likely his family and many others from the village were out looking for him by now, wandering the hills with brands and calling out his name. Falk stopped every now and then to see if he could hear such but the night was silent.

  When Falk reached the holding pen a tragedy met his eyes. For as if the boy had not endured enough of this day now the night brought him new woes and terrors. A sight of carnage met his eyes. There lay Skel, dead beneath the moonlight but not alone, around him were four of the red-wolves, all bloody and torn to death themselves. Inside the holding pen was worse slaughter to be found, no red-wolves in there just his herd, every last member of his flock, threats torn out, meat consumed and blood painted on the rocks. Shocked all Falk could do was kneel and stare at the end of his families only means, and of Skel who had been a good and loyal guardian of the flock right up until his final bloody breath. A voice from the darkness pierced Falks melancholy.

  “Been some hours since the incident, going by the tracks there must have been a full pack, a dozen or more, Skel did well by us boy”.

  “Father” Falk cried, he raced to where his father stood and without words embraced him and buried his tears in the old mans shoulders. “I am sorry father, so sorry” sobbed Falk. Aldwyn of Alesven, son and grandson of sheep-herders who were sons and grandsons of sheep-herders comforted his own boy with quiet acceptance of his grief and sorrow. Then after a time he spoke again to Falk.

  “Tell me the way of it boy, what befell our herd”

  “A lonely member fell father, down into the gulley yonder, I sought to go down to the animal, to return it or end its misery, but I could not find no sign, and I searched and searched but it was gone, and when the darkness came I climbed back to find the bloodshed”. Falk was never sure why he lied, in his mind he had it framed to tell his father of entering the woods and the things he'd seen there, but when the words escaped his lips tales of such things were not among them, nor would they ever be in the history of the words which passed from then on between Falk and his Father.

  “And what of these marks on you, these viscous wounds on your arms and legs?” Falks father asked with concern. “I encountered red-wolves in the gulley father, they attacked and I fought with them”.

  “Red wolves try to strangle you did they?” said Aldwyn tilting his sons head back and motioning at the bruises on his neck. “Father, please, I do not lie to you but nor is the truth in fullness present, can we not leave all sayings unsaid until there is a better light to say them by?” said Falk not meeting his fathers gaze.

  As Aldwyn of Alesven had grown in age he had grown in patience, never had his love for his family needed to grow for it was without limit from the outset. He looked at the bruised and exhausted Falk and decided to press him no more that night on the inconsistencies of his tale. Their families livelihood was dead and gone, they would find hard enough times ahead without harsh words passing between them too soon. So Aldwyn accepted his sons story. Together they carried Skeln's body and buried him in the long grass just outside the village. The search parties were called in an Falk was returned home to a mother who smothered him with love and worry. It was close to dawn when finally sleep found Falk, but even in his absence from the waking world he was tormented by the sight of silver statues, cruel trees and the figure that moved in their midst.

  Things got hard for Falk and his family. Though many well wishers came by with their condolences and their gifts of bread and meats Alesven was a poor village, the condolences as sincere as they were could only last so long, as could the loaves and meats. Most struggled to keep a single family fed and healthy, there were none in Alseven who had both the means and the will to support two. Added to which Aldwyn was a proud man who could accept charity for only so long. Falks mother, Belessa was a seamstress by trade, as were half the other women of the village, the meagre moneys earned from the clothes she made were barely enough to pay for the materials to make them.

  Aldwyns line had always been shepherds, he had no other skills or trade. Though he did try. He tried his hand at labour but was deemed to old and weak for the younger bullish men of the village did lift and shift far more. He tried his hand at the clerks office but numbers were never his skill, beyond the counting of his herd he'd never had need of them, the master clerk was polite and well spoken when he told Aldwyn that they would not need his services any more. The old man tried for many weeks but there was no role for him in Alesven aside from the one that had been taken from him by the unknowing cruelty of the red wolves.

  Neither Aldwyn nor Belessa had family in the village for they'd migrated north decades ago seeking a new life, knowing little that it might lead to this. There was talk of going back south to where they had relatives and could find work. But south was a long way, such journeys required food and shelter along the way and they could ill afford either.

  Falk was young and strong and able, he thought to easily fill the role of provider but cursed he was too cursed in his endeavours, though by a different bane than that which plagued Aldwyn for Falk was both strong and good with numbers. Falk toured the village with his father, who presented him for work to fellow villagers who he'd known for decades. But there labours came to nowt. For Noam the baker said that the ovens were fully tended, and Kel the butcher said that he had enough cleavers. No matter to whom they went there was no work. At one stop Aldwyn asked Falk to wait outside whilst he spoke privately with Rogan the smith.

  As Falk loitered he heard raised voices within, though beyond the thick walls and beating hammers it was difficult to discern what was being said, although towards the end Falk though he heard the words “rumour” and “tainted” and “Western wood”. With a sick sense of dread Falk suddenly realised why his job hunting fortunes were yielding little worth.

  Finally they found a friendly face. Old Glenn was their last port of call one weary day. Old Glenn was the harvest master. There were many fertile fields and and much rich soil in the less hilly parts of the Northfold. Old Glenn was the man tasked by the local labour-lord to bring the crops in on time and in good condition. Every year around harvest time Old Glenn would take on many extra hands to collect the grain, the barley and the fruit crops from the lower fields of the Northfold. Glenn worked out of a station in town and it was here that Aldwyn and Falk found him.

  “Ho Glenn” called out Aldwyn.

  “Ho Aldy” said the wiry figure sitting atop a nearby wagon eating slices of apple with a twine knife, traditionally used for slicing the twine used for hay bales. Glenn and Aldwyn had been friends for many years. Long ago when Aldwyn and Belessa were relative newcomers to the town there had been an outbreak of wold-fever, Glenn and his family came down badly with it, there was much fear in the village over the disease, some said it was a fate that fell on wrongdoers, Aldwyn and Bel did not subscribe to such beliefs and as neighbours at the time they'd nursed Glenn and his kin through the fever. Old Glenn had sworn to Aldwyn never to forget such kindness.

/>   “What brings you out this way, hoping for the ripe pick of the strawberries?, cause if ye are you're too late, just shipped em down to Albury”. Aldwyn laughed, to Falk it sounded forced, much of Aldwyns joviality sounded forced these days.

  “No you old crank, I'm looking for work” Now it was Old Glenn who laughed.

  “Work! You should be sipping brandy on your porch and watching the world go by at your age”

  “The chance would be nice” bantered Aldwyn, “But no not for me, for my son Falk” he motioned to Falk who stepped forward. Old Glenn leaned forward and peered at Falk from beneath the shade of his straw hat, Falk noted that several of the other harvest workers who'd been loading grain onto the wagon on which Glenn sat stopped and pointed hostile glares in Falks direction at the mention of his name.

  “Ho there Falk” said Old Glenn in his thick accent which seemed to roll every word into one. “Ho there Mr Glenn sir”. Old Glenn smiled.

  “Just Glenn is fine lad, so you're looking for some work?”.

  “Yes sir, I mean Glenn, we lost our herd you see, and I'm just looking to make my way for me and my family”. Glenn sat back on his wagon chair and nodded slicing off another piece of a juicy Alesven red and crunching on it contemplatively. “Well lad, that's a simple but noble thing to say, and I heard about your issues with the sheep too, those damn wolves”. Falk stood silent, Old Glenn looked from him to Aldwyn, something seemed to pass between them in that moment. Glenn looked back at Falk “Glad to have you on board, you can start with those there sacks of grain” said Glenn, his face breaking into a smile. As he spoke there were several mutterings from the men working at the back of the wagon which Glenn swiftly silenced “Less muttering and more hauling, when one of you is Harvest-master then one of you will call the shots, though I doubt you will ever get that far making loose judgements on people” the group fell silent but shot Falk several stares as he started to lug the sacks of grain onto the wagon.

  “Thank you Glenn” said Aldwyn simply.

  “No thanks required Aldy” said Glenn in response before going back to his apple crunching. Aldwyn walked home leaving Falk to work the last hour of daylight filling wagons. As night fell Old Glenn told Falk to return on the morrow for work out in the fields.

  Falk arrived at work with the sunrise. He and the work-team which was around fifty strong moved out on Old Glenns instructions. Although a cold and biting wind touched all those who walked across the top of the hills of the Northfold there were a number of gulleys and hidden fields, some large, some small, where the villagers grew large amounts of grain and numerous fruits. Some of it went to the village stores but a large amount went south to Albury and then the cities, traded for coin to buy those things that did not grow locally.

  Many hoped that sufficient funds would be raised soon to buy another herd of sheep, for the wool and meat of the herds was sorely missed in the village since the attack by the red-wolves. Falk was put in a team which worked one of the large fields to the south of the town in a hidden gulley. With his scythe blade he made his way up and down the rows of corn, cutting them down cleanly for the bundlers to follow up and gather and tie them into bundles. Falk worked tirelessly, he drank and ate little so keen was he to try and sweat off the stigma which now followed him in the village. And it paid off, as the day drew to a close he received several curt nods of approval from his fellows. Though they did not speak to him, at least the hostility was gone from their eyes.

  They finished up for the day and a weary Falk returned home. He felt rejuvenated and rewarded by both the hearty meal his mother had prepared for him and the looks in both Belessa and Aldwyns eyes when he told them of his day. Maybe just finally things were beginning to turn after the tragedy of Falks day in the western wood.

  Old Glenn rolled the dead corn over his hands for some minutes. He knelt at the head of the field with Falk and the work team standing nervously behind him. From beneath his old straw hat the harvest-master looked out on the grey field, like a sea of ash. Not one single spot of the golden yellow the field had been the day before remained. They heard him muttering to himself as he knelt there “Ain't see the like, in all these years”. One of the older workman went out to speak to him. After several minutes they returned to the main group.

  “Well boys, I've spoken with Bron here and we have agreed that this is a fair mystery, in five decades of working the fields of the Northfold I have never seen a crop just dry up and die like this, some sort of pestilence or something, I don't know”. He paused for a few moments.

  “Well the labour-lord ain't paying us to stand around, there is nothing to be done here so Bron will take you up to one of the orchards, there's still plenty of apple picking to be done. So they made their way from the previous days field which now lay grey and dead. As they walked to the orchards Falk noticed that several of the hostile stares had returned and that many whisperings were heard just out reach of his hearing, though he could guess their meaning.

  Falk spent the rest of the day felling apples and telling himself that his presence and the death of the crops were completely unrelated.

  The next morning he returned to the orchard with his team. There were maggots, The floor was alive with them, they wriggled and wormed amidst the consumed husks of an entire orchard of apples. Glenn was summoned and again he and Bron and all the others stared in disbelief at the ruined crop in front of them. Old Glenn looked at Falk, there was a wariness in his gaze now, one that had not been there before. He took Falk aside and explained that he was transferring him to another team. “Probably nothing you know boy, but they are a suspicious bunch the villagers, I'm going to have you back at the storehouse loading wagons from now on, nothing personal eh?”. Falk nodded glumly and made his way back to the village storehouse where he tried to exhaust his worry through hard work, in his weariness he found himself closing his eyes and each time he did he saw maggots devouring the world.

  Falk went home that night withrdrawn and sombre but still he did not lay his burdens upon Belessa and Aldwyn for they had enough to bear of their own. That day working at the local stores was the last day Falk would work in the village.

  He woke to the sound of screams, for a second he thought that he'd slept past the coming of the sun for there was an orange glow that pierced the grubby window of his sparse room. But then he smelt the acrid smoke and knew that the source of this light was much closer than the heavenly star above his world. The fire raged through the village storehouse decimating a full days worth of gatherings that dozens of teams had worked to diligently to cut, bundle and bring in. Without words every man woman and child in Alesven worked their practised parts in forming chains from the wells and the streams and the sand banks. It took many hours but eventually the fire was brough under control and prevented from spreading to any of the other buildings. Once the blaze was fully out many of the villagers sloped back to their beds or even fell and slept where they were for they'd worked tirelessly one and all to save their homes.

  Falk went with Belessa and Aldwyn back to their brown wooden shack on the edge of town. Aldwyn had built their home with his bare hands when they'd migrated up from the south. After twenty years of wind and rain and damp it was in dire need of repairs that could not be afforded. Belessa prepared some tea, few words were said and then as the sun began to creep over the horizon there came the knocking at the door which Falk had expected.

  Old Glenn nodded at Belessa, Aldwyn motioned for him to sit but the harvest-master delcined, Falk simply stared sullenly at the uneven surface of their dining table.

  “I'm sorry Aldwyn” said Glenn, “But that's two days worth of dead crops and now a fire, the rest of the teamsmen, well they are refusing to go out if Falk is present. Now to my mind there could be no connection” Falk noticed the 'could', even Glenn now believed that it was Falks presence which was destroying much of the village livelihood. Glenn placed a small cloth bag on the table.

  “There's a months wages by way of
compensation, sorry lad” said Glenn nodding to Falks parents and then leaving.

  Aldwyn just stared at the pouch on the desk whilst Belessa wept. Falk told them then, of the dead grey wheat and the maggots. Falk wept too and asked his parents whether he was cursed. They hugged him then, that there was no curse more powerful than their love and that he should push such thoughts from his mind, they were simply having a run of bad luck. Even as they hugged him and spoke their words of comfort Falk felt a change in them, there was a distance now, a gulf that he could feel despite their proximity, a coldness where there should have been warmth.