Before he could give this any further thought, Likis darted into the clearing, grabbed a few thin branches from the impressive pile that the five had already cut and crowed a merry ‘thanks, you snails!’ to the stunned onlookers, only to disappear again into the undergrowth. Ahren suppressed a laugh with difficulty and pressed himself hard into the ground to avoid being spotted.
‘Right, he’s done for, grab him!’ screamed Holken, his face red, and he and the others gave chase to the timber snatcher. That was almost too easy, thought Ahren, as he slipped towards the clearing, after giving the mob a few seconds to head off. With his heart pounding and with sweaty hands, but also with a wonderful feeling of exhilaration in his stomach he strode quickly into the clearing and grabbed a big bundle of fire-wood. He quickly piled as much wood into his arms as possible until he almost collapsed under the weight and stumbled into the undergrowth, fearful that he would hear a scornful cry or feel a hard fist in his back. With relief he realised that neither had happened and after a short trot he reached Safehold. Panting, he hid the wood in nearby shrubbery and looked up at the one place in which he had really felt comfortable in his young years.
As always, he was filled with pride when he looked at the wooden construction, well hidden and studded with twigs, five paces high, concealed in the tree’s thick foliage. In reality, Safehold was a wooden box, three paces by three, nestled in the crown of the tree and only visible through keen observation. The tree itself was ten paces high with expansive branches and carried the additional weight effortlessly, even in stormy weather. Falk had helped them with the complicated knots and lent them the hoist with which the youngsters had lifted the wood into the crown of the tree, but generally they had built it completely by themselves. Ahren would never have thought that the Forest Guardian would have been so supportive, but it seemed he understood their yearning for a hiding place and with a lot of patience and good advice he had given them regular feedback on their progress.
Frowning, Ahren thought back to the knots Falk had made to tie the main beams together. Although both Ahren and Likis had watched carefully, neither could say with any certainty how exactly these knots were tied and a thorough examination of them, after Falk was finished, hadn’t shed any light on the matter. It almost seemed as though the knots had only one end, but that was surely only because of the clever binding. When Ahren asked him once about it, a thin but warm smile appeared on the Guardian’s leathery face and he only said, ‘every craft has its secrets, and this one is mine’.
The youngster wanted to climb the tree now – they had deliberately done without a ladder, so as not to endanger the secret location of their refuge – when a daring thought came into his head. Why not make another trip to the clearing? There was a good chance he would be able to take the same amount of wood again. Then the two friends would have a considerable amount of wood to boast of and the others would end up completely empty-handed. If he was going to risk it, he’d have to be quick! Without hesitating, he started heading back. It wasn’t long before the pile of wood was in sight again. A quick look confirmed that no-one was there. Ahren picked up the rest of the wood with a triumphant grin when suddenly Holken leapt into the clearing, roaring furiously.
‘You! I should have known that you and that little weasel were in cahoots. I’m going to give you such a belt in the face, you’ll remember it every time you look in the mirror!’
Ahren was frozen to the spot but his mind was racing. Holken must have lain in wait for Likis, hoping to pounce on the nimble youngster if he came back, which was a surprisingly subtle tactic for a muscleman like him. But Likis had been far too clever to fall for something like that. Unlike me, thought Ahren drily, as he flung the wood at his opponent and spun round on his heels.
There were maybe three paces between them and Ahren’s heart was in his mouth. He started running towards Safehold as fast as his legs could carry him; behind him both left and right, he could hear scornful shouting as well as the crashing of branches and twigs. The others must be right on his heels! It would end in disaster! Terrified, Ahren sprinted on through the wood. He could barely breathe. The roots of the trees were treacherous. One false move could be his undoing – and then he’d really be in for it! He ran on aimlessly through the wood for some minutes, trying to escape from the blood hounds field of vision. He may not have had Likis’ natural talents, but he had certainly learnt from his friend. Low-lying branches whipped his forearms as he protected his face and he could feel his breath beginning to burn in his chest. The cries of his chasers were still close behind and the young boy knew he’d better not slow down, even though he was beginning to see black spots before his eyes. Hurriedly he searched for a hiding place or some indication of his present location. He could see a fallen oak tree in front of him. Its bare crown was being held up by two healthy trees forming a sort of knotty ramp. With a joyful yelp he began half-climbing, half-running up the oak’s rough bark until he arrived among the leaves of the other trees, and then fought his way through the crown of the tree towards the right. The others were also clambering up and shouting threats, thinking they had trapped him. But Ahren remembered the spot, having been there often enough with Likis. If you weren’t being chased by an angry mob, you could have great fun climbing around the treetops! The additional branches of the fallen oak offered countless opportunities for holding on. To put it simply: it was a wonderful playground. Ahren climbed higher and higher into the crown of the tree and moved to the other side of it, and in his hurry, as well as because of his increasing tiredness, he grazed himself in several places – on his hands, his elbows and his knees. He prayed that none of them knew this spot, because it had one peculiarity: there was a little pond within reaching distance of the tree on the right as long as you sprang from one particular branch. Actually, it was perfectly safe – the distance wasn’t great. But Ahren was tired, his knees were shaking and he could hardly breathe. He pulled himself onto the wide branch that always served as his jumping-off point, paused for a second in order to look down at the dark, murky pond-water at least ten paces below him.
A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that the others were slowly clambering up the oak, turning their heads in search of him with their faces grimacing and full of scorn. It looked as if they’d lost sight of him among the leaves. This was his chance. Ahren took one more deep breath, filling his lungs with as much air as possible, and threw himself off. His tired legs protested and his jump was far from perfect. He flew through the air at an angle so that he landed in the water on his side. The left side of his body burned like fire, the abrasions and little cuts he had picked up as he had fled stung unmercifully, and he was also winded. He thrashed about rather than swam until he finally reached the surface. Breathing heavily, he looked back at the tree, then at the opposite bank which was edged with low reeds. Clearly, the others hadn’t noticed him disappear. With a little luck he could vanish among the trees before anyone spotted him. He swam quietly to the bank and had just pulled himself onto dry land when he heard a chorus of surprise behind him. Ahren stumbled away – he was simply too tired to run any faster – but still managed to build up a sufficient lead, so that his chasers couldn’t see him anymore. It seemed as though none of the blood hounds were willing to take the shortcut through the pond, which meant they had to clamber back down again. Feeling himself to be safe now, he made his way towards Safehold and prayed that the village boys would soon tire of the chase. He realized with relief that they too had run out of energy – their angry calls some distance away indicated that he had maintained his lead. After a short jog, Ahren, gasping for breath, touched the tree trunk, his place of safety. If the tree house had been only a hundred paces further on, he would probably never have reached it in time. With one last effort he heaved himself up into the safety of the den, lay flat on the floor and tried to bring his breathing under control. His legs felt like rubber and he was sure he couldn’t take another step. As the noise of his chasers came closer, he t
urned on his tummy with a suppressed groan and peeked through a gap in the branches. One after another, three of the angry boys ran under his hiding place. After a few seconds he could hear confused and angry cries – they realized that their prey had given them the slip.
‘He must be here somewhere!’ shouted Holken and stopped, barely six paces away from safehold. ‘He must have hidden himself, look for him!’ Cursing silently, Ahren watched how the boys began searching through undergrowth and in the trees for him. What had he got himself into? Now they’d find the treehouse too! Ahren closed his eyes and held his breath, hoping that the camouflage would fool the boys.
‘Look! There’s the firewood! He must be very near!’ shouted one of them.
A feeling of hopelessness overcame Ahren. He saw Holken staring over at the pile of wood before beginning to search everything meticulously. The others followed his example and Ahren scolded himself silently. He should have put down the bundle of wood further away, or at least hidden it better. Terrified, he watched the commotion below him. Even if the boys were to give up, he thought it would be wise to stay put until the gang had calmed down. He hadn’t forgotten the threat Holken had uttered in the clearing and he was in no mood to lose a few teeth by running into him on his way home.
After a while Sven went over to Holken and whispered something into his ear. The miller’s son was no danger on his own and even rather quiet and shy. But he had the habit of pitching in if his victim was incapable of offering any more resistance. Holken never got carried away like that, but the unwritten rules of the village boys meant nothing to chubby Sven. It was rumoured that even the village elders had discussed the miller’s son’s bad behaviour. Ahren saw the coldness in the eyes of the miller’s son from the tree-house and a shiver ran down his spine. Meanwhile a smirk appeared on Holken’s coarse face as he listened to his companion’s suggestion.
‘Come here boys, we’ll head back. Sven thinks he knows where we’ll find Ahren’s sneaky little friend. Then we’ll give him his due’. They gathered together the stolen firewood again and disappeared into the forest as they headed for the clearing.
Ahren was terrified of what the boys had planned. What should he do? On the one hand, he didn’t want to leave his friend in the lurch, but on the other hand, he just didn’t have the courage to climb down and to surrender to the village boys. The adults were too far away and he had angered Holken too much. And anyway, there was Sven and his cold eyes. He always had the most vicious ideas. Not to mention excellent powers of observation. If anyone could root out Likis’ hiding places, then it was him. Ahren sat there for a while, as if spellbound, and feverishly considered his options. He was torn between self-preservation and loyalty. The scene kept flashing in front of his eyes: Likis, discovered in one of his hiding places by the angry mob. Horrified, he imagined what Sven would do with Likis, once he had a chance to act out his darker impulses with nobody stopping him. Suddenly he was more afraid of the miller’s son than of all the other boys put together.
‘You can come down now, they’re gone’. The deep, growling voice sounded from below. Ahren couldn’t believe his ears. Falk! Relief came over him like a wave. Peeking down over the edge of the tree-house he recognized the weather-beaten face of the Forest Guardian. He was casually leaning against the tree-trunk and looking up at him. The boy hadn’t been aware of his approach. Nobody in the village could hear Falk, if Falk didn’t want them to. He made an impressive appearance, dressed as always in buckskin garments, with the long bow over his shoulder and the hunting knife on his belt – weapons of any sort being something of a rarity in the little village. The tall, broad-shouldered frame of the Forest Guardian with his closely-cropped grey hair and full beard completed the picture. A few heartbeats passed by with Ahren not daring to move. He simply stared at Falk until the latter finally boomed from below: ‘Now, come on down. Some of us here still need to earn a living!’
Groaning and red-faced, Ahren clambered down the tree and looked up at the Forest Guardian with a mixture of gratitude and anxiety. How much had he witnessed? Falk eyed him with a serious face and a questioning look. ‘And? Everything alright with you?’
Ahren nodded but his opposite number’s face darkened noticeably. ‘What did they want from you? That didn’t look like the usual teasing. Holken might be a ruffian, but today they were really angry’.
‘Well, actually it was really quite harmless. Likis and I just stole a bit of firewood from them, that’s all’. Ahren was trying to defend himself.
‘Firewood? You stole it? I must be hearing things! You were too lazy to cut some for yourselves, and you robbed them of the fruits of their labour? No wonder they want to give you a hiding!’ Shaking his head, Falk looked down at him with a serious look. ‘Even if they often cause trouble, at least they’ve done their work and been diligent, two things that can’t be said about you, if you ask me’.
During his short sermon, Falk’s voice was growing louder and Ahren’s face redder. His voice shaking with remorse, he could only utter a simple ‘I’m sorry’. Falk had always been friendly towards him, and the fact that he was furious about something Ahren had done, weighed heavily on the boy. The Forest Guardian’s summary of the events was right, of course, which only made it worse.
‘What? Do you mean, you’re only sorry when you’re caught letting others do your work while you skive off. The Apprenticeship Tests are next week. Which master craftsman or woman will pick you as an apprentice now?’ Ahren winced and the old man continued. ‘And by the way, those boys you were stealing from are the sons of the miller, the blacksmith, the fisherwoman, the seamstress and the dyer. Five bosses who will on no account take you on. Likis will start as an apprentice with his father. He doesn’t need to give it a second thought, but you…’ Falk didn’t finish the sentence, but Ahren could imagine the rest. His father had played his last sympathy card within the village a long time ago due to his constant drunkenness. And as he was only a labourer on Trell’s farm, he couldn’t train Ahren. Not that the young boy would have wanted it. The gaunt farmer Trell, who had more cows on his large farm than any of the other villagers, didn’t employ apprentices either and paid all his workers an equally miserly wage. And, with the best will in the world, Likis’ father, the only merchant in the village, really didn’t need two apprentices. So, if Ahren was to learn a trade, he was dependent on one of the village master craftsmen and women. If news got out of what he’d done, even if it was only seen as a prank, he might be turned down by all of them.
‘Master Falk, I…’ he began, but the big man cut him off with a terse gesture.
‘Alright. I won’t say anything. The others will spread the story around anyway, but they’re only young boys. If you’re lucky, you might just get a few disapproving looks. I know your father. I know it isn’t easy for you, but if it happens again, I will personally mark this tree here and then fell it. Is that clear?’ Falk’s piercing grey eyes now resembled two freezing mountain lakes and Ahren’s heart became even heavier.
‘Yes’, Ahren swallowed, ‘thank you for your understanding’.
‘Oh, I don’t understand your behaviour. But if I were to report you to the council, you wouldn’t learn any more from your mistake, would you?’ the Forest Guardian growled. ‘And bear this in mind’, he said, ‘for the sake of two armfuls of firewood, you’re now covered in grazes and cuts and probably aching muscles as well. Also, your clothing is ripped, that’ll probably take you two hours to mend. Not to mention the load of trouble you’re going to have with those other boys. If you’d just stuck to cutting your own wood, you’d only have the aching muscles.’
Taken aback, Ahren stared at the older man. This sober analysis made him realise how stupid and pointless his prank had been.
‘I’d be better off going and cutting my own firewood’ said Ahren, trying to get out of the conversation. Any more of Falk’s unvarnished truths and he’d burst into tears. The last time that happened was years ago. His father had taught him
one thing at least. Tears never helped. And anyway, thankful as he was that the Forest Guardian had protected him, he had a tiring day of wood-chopping ahead of him and had to hurry if he wanted to be finished by evening.
I don’t want to renew my acquaintance with father’s belt, he thought to himself.
‘That’s the right attitude’, Falk nodded, pacified once more. ‘Don’t forget today’s lesson. I’ve lost the track of a magnificent buck, and I don’t want that to have happened for nothing’. The Forest Guardian turned and prepared to disappear into the undergrowth but then he hesitated and turned around again to face the cowed youngster. ‘It’s strange that the boys chased you so deep into the forest and are looking for your friend now. It seems a little…drastic. Especially as they have their wood again’, he continued.
Ahren knew what the Forest Guardian meant. Even if the blacksmith’s son was the undisputed king of the village boys and a complete ruffian, trouble with him would only ever amount to a few scuffles. A song and dance like this wasn’t his way of operating. ‘It was Sven. He goaded Holken on’, Ahren replied, remembering when the situation had escalated.
‘Well, that would explain it. Much as I don’t want to get involved, I’m going to have to talk to his father’, grumbled Falk. And without another word, he turned again and disappeared into the thicket. Thanks to his camouflaged clothing, he was invisible after a few steps. A silence descended on the clearing, leaving a thoughtful, crestfallen young boy who had a mountain of work ahead of him.
Ahren spent the rest of the day chopping wood and lugging it to his father’s hut. His whole body ached, his cuts burnt like fire every time sweat ran down them, and he was so tired he could hardly walk straight. While he worked, he pondered over the morning’s happenings and the Forest Guardian. This distracted him from the physical pain and helped him to keep going.
Ahren- the 13th Paladin Page 2
