‘What does this mean?’ he asked firmly. ‘Why are you disturbing this sacred ceremony?’
‘Disturbing? Surely not. I’m lengthening it, in fact’. With that, Falk spun the wooden construction around. It was clear that he had taken his spear, attached Ahren’s practice shield (which looked quite the worse for wear) to it, and painted a bow and arrow onto the shield. Ahren saw it in a flash. The Forest Guardian’s symbol!
Falk walked briskly until he was beside the bailiff, rammed the spear into the ground and stood in front of it.
‘Master Falk seeks a boy who can be moulded into a Forest Guardian’, he said in a festive voice before continuing in his normal grumpy tone. ‘Apologies for the delay but I had to improvise a guild stake first’.
Jegral gathered himself together after this unexpected entrance while a wild hope sparked within Ahren. The priest began to speak. ‘You didn’t register your search beforehand. Technically this may not be absolutely necessary. However, it’s quite…unusual. What has made you change your mind?’
Falk snorted. ‘You can’t pick a Forest Guardian over one afternoon, I’ve said that many a time. We are the one line of defence if a Dark One wanders our way’. As he said this, he stroked his cloak and the villagers shivered. ‘With all due respect to the bailiffs who look after security within the village’, Falk shot Pragur a look, ‘chasing a Grief Wind or a Swarm Claw alone in the wilderness is quite different from throwing a drunkard out of the tavern’.
The Keeper interrupted him brusquely. ‘All well and good, but you still have not answered my question. So far you have only repeated the reasons you give every year to justify your refusal to take part in the ceremony’. Jegral sounded annoyed and Ahren hoped that Falk wouldn’t goad him any further or his chance would be gone and he’d have to work the fields with his father.
‘This year I have found a suitable candidate’, Falk continued calmly. ‘He has proven to me that he can climb, move swiftly through the wood, and that he is a very competent swimmer. He understands how to camouflage a shelter, and he has shown great stamina and tenacity here today. He has also exhibited valour in taking on a larger and stronger opponent, even while injured’. He turned and looked directly at Ahren. ‘There is only one thing missing. The supreme Forest Guardian discipline is archery. And I thought this would be a fitting test for this ceremony’. He bowed slightly towards the Keeper.
Jegral looked like the cat that got the cream. With a delighted look and a friendly voice he said, ‘Well, that being the case…set the test!’
Falk approached Ahren and gave him a hunting bow and a quiver with three arrows. Then he called out, ‘archery is a difficult art and so I will give the boy three chances to hit the target. It is the alarm bell sounded by a Forest Guardian if the village is in danger. Hopefully, after today, we will not hear it for a long time’. With that, he pointed to the large bell, positioned three paces high in front of the Village Hall. Only the bailiff, the Forest Guardian and the town council could sound this bell. No others were allowed, on pain of severe punishment.
A young boy had sounded it a few years previously as part of a prank. His punishment had been to sweep the village square at the first cock crow in wind, hail or snow. Everyone had steered clear of it since then. Even walking under it meant bad luck. All this went through Ahren’s head as he took the bow in his left hand. He placed the arrow on the bow string with his right.
An eerie silence descended on the village square. But there was an almighty racket in Ahren’s head, so great was his fear. His young spirit had gone through so much already today. He raised the bow awkwardly as if in a trance. Trying to keep his trembling hand still, he aimed at the bell, twenty paces away. As soon as the arrow left the bow string, Ahren knew it wouldn’t hit the target. The arrow bored into the ground three paces short of the Village Hall. A disappointed groan went up from the crowd. Ahren stood there in a cold sweat and Falk looked thoughtfully at him. Then he turned towards the Keeper. ‘The young boy is terrified and exhausted. May I have a word with him?’
‘Certainly’, said Keeper Jegral, giving an understanding nod.
Falk placed his hands on the young boy’s shoulders and fixed his eyes on him. ‘I know you’re afraid, you’re tired, and to top it all everyone is looking at you, but you must concentrate. You already shot with a bow, don’t you remember?’ Falk asked quietly so no-one else could hear.
‘Only during the Autumn Festival’, Ahren answered shyly. The Autumn Festival took place once the harvest had been brought in and the village prepared for the winter. The adults and apprentices would dance while the children would take part in all sorts of games of skill such as sack races, running competitions, climbing, apple-bobbing or wrestling. During the last three Autumn Festivals, Falk had set up a target range on the edge of the fair. He would let the children shoot with a short bow and practice arrows with cloth balls attached. Ahren had spent a lot of time there, far from the beer stand where his father would make himself comfortable. And far from Holken and his gang. That was how he had first met Falk. But is seemed so terribly long ago now.
The Forest Guardian shook him and whispered, ‘it’s perfectly natural to be afraid. Everyone is afraid of something. When I encountered Grey Fang, I was afraid too’.
‘You were afraid?’ Ahren was stunned.
‘I’ll show you a trick now. Where do you feel safest?’
‘Why?’ asked the young boy, confused.
‘Trust me and do as I tell you. You’ll have to get used to obedience anyway, as soon as this is behind you, so you may as well start now’.
Ahren tried to concentrate on the Forest Guardian’s question. Where do I feel safest? He immediately thought of the tree house. It was quiet and peaceful there at night and his father couldn’t find him there, as he knew nothing of its existence.
‘Safehold. The tree house I mean’, responded Ahren.
‘Good. Now try and imagine how you feel when you’re there. What it smells like there, what it feels like. What you hear and see whenever you’re there and how safe it is there’.
Ahren closed his eyes. His thoughts were whirling around. The hurtful words of his father, the danger of a future on the farm, his injured and now marvellously healed hand. All these thoughts swirled around his mind and he found it impossible to concentrate. He tried thinking of the tree house, looked at it with his inner eye, but the memory of Holken’s raging face kept pushing through. No, no! It’s safe there, thought Ahren. He clung to the thought. Imagined how it felt when he was there at night. He thought of the late summer breeze wafting from the east, how soft it felt on his skin. Felt it as it passed through the exposed walls. He heard the nightly concert of the forest creatures, as they moved around in the dark. Felt the silence that only a place empty of people brought forth.
‘Right, boy, now you have it!’ said Falk. ‘Now breathe in, hold your breath, draw the bow and shoot’.
The crowd was silent and concentrated completely on the young boy, but he hardly noticed them.
Ahren raised the bow, this time more calmly, though still clumsily, but now not shaking. He drew the bow. He shot.
The arrow ricocheted with a dull clack off the door of the Village Hall, barely a pace from the bell.
Ahren’s veins ran cold with panic once again. Not even Falk himself could flout the ceremonial rules. Were Ahren to fail again, it would all be over. Falk would not be able to take him on as his apprentice. The images and fears were tormenting the young boy again. Falk carefully took the bow from his hand and asked him something. But Ahren was in such a state of panic and there was such a roaring in his ears he couldn’t understand him. The tree house, think of the tree house, he kept repeating to himself, as if it speaking to another person. Slowly the image of Safehold, which had only now been smashed and scattered, formed itself again in his mind. With clenched fists he forced his fears away until they existed only on the outskirts of his consciousness. He could feel his legs shaking. Even if he wer
e allowed to take a fourth shot, he sensed he only had reserves for this one last attempt. He was on the point of bursting into tears and knew he wouldn’t be able to calm down and hold it together for another attempt.
Falk continued to speak quietly to him and this time the words sank in. ‘You did everything correctly, in fact. The shot ought to have hit the target’. Falk rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He was like somebody trying to solve a complicated puzzle. ‘Which hand do you use for buttering your bread, boy?’
At first Ahren thought he’d misheard. The question was absurd. So pointless. His mind must be playing tricks on him. He was hearing things. But no. His mind was calm. The picture of the tree house was still intact.
Peace and quiet. A grasshopper chirping.
‘Which hand do I cut my bread with? My right, of course. My good hand’.
‘Your good hand?’ Falk’s voice had an edge. ‘Have you always cut with that hand?’
Ahren was confused again and then he remembered something. Normally it would have embarrassed him. But he was way beyond embarrassment now. After all, this would be his last attempt. ‘No. When I was very small, I always used the dull hand’, and he raised his left hand. ‘But I haven’t done that for years’, he added quickly. He may have had to make this admission in front of everyone but he could at least reassure Falk that he had been brought up properly. His father had driven out his tendency to use the dull hand through much scorn and endless beatings. As was only right.
But Falk was angry and let out a curse.
I shouldn’t have said that. Now he’ll think badly of me and won’t want me anymore. This thought flashed through his mind. Quickly he concentrated on the inner peace that the picture of the tree house brought about in him. But the picture was beginning to fray and wear away. He could already hear the sound of the other thoughts that wanted to carry him away.
‘Damn superstition!’ cursed Falk and grabbed Ahren by the shoulders. ‘Ahren, this is very important. Now listen to me very carefully. Hold the bow with your right hand and place the arrow on it with your left’. Falk was smiling now. ‘Trust me. Everything will be fine’.
Ahren was beyond all emotion now. Nothing made sense anymore. Mechanically, he took the bow that Falk handed to him with his right hand and placed the arrow on it with his left. It felt strange but somehow more fluid. He gathered together all his strength once more and conjured up the tree house in his head. He suppressed all other thoughts. A peaceful calm descended on his spirit. He inhaled and held his breath. Not even his breathing disturbed the inner silence. Everything seemed far away somehow, and unreal.
He raised the bow, tautened it, aimed and let the arrow fly. All within two heartbeats. Then he closed his eyes and breathed out.
The ensuing silence was broken only by the clear sound of a solitary bell toll.
Chapter 3
The ruptured eyes of the two-headed calf foetus looked accusingly up at him as he withdrew his bloodied hands. His efforts were once again in vain. The unhappy animal had been stillborn two days previously and now, to stop the stench, he raised a silk cloth to his nose. A servant scurried by, taking away the ritual bowl along with its gruesome contents. The magic had failed. The circumstances that had led to this bad omen no longer recognizable. The death of the poor creature too long ago. This was the tenth creature in as many months that had come into the world beyond the Border Lands. And none of them could deliver him an answer. The Dream Mirror remained silent and the elves too were baffled, no matter how much he pressed them. A bad feeling had been nagging him for years, like a stone in a shoe. At first, he had put it down to the increasingly fierce power games of the others. But now the cause seemed to have far darker roots. With a sigh he cleaned his blood-soaked hands in rose water and took a piece of black chalk from one of his servants. He would cast a large magic net and hope for the best.
The events that followed were a blur for Ahren. The villagers congratulated him heartily before Keeper Jegral eventually managed to regain control of his ceremony. For the next hour Ahren’s ears were ringing and he found it impossible to concentrate on anything for more than three seconds. Every so often Falk would look at him and mumble something to himself. It took a good hour, with the priest’s devotions coming to an end, for his head to clear a little. Falk noticed the change in the young boy’s expression and whispered to him, ‘you’ll feel better soon’.
Ahren could only nod. He was still too tired to answer and what answer could he give? A thousand questions whirled around his head, all important and pressing. But when he tried to concentrate on an individual one, it would vanish. There was nothing for it but to stand there and listen to the priest.
‘And so we call for the blessing of Him, who moulds for the young men tested today, may they always find their place in our community, may they absorb the knowledge of their masters May they mould it afresh in new forms of knowledge’. With that Keeper Jegral cupped his hands before his chest as a potter moulds his clay. It was the ritual greeting and farewell of the priests.
The devotions ended and the villagers burst into life once more. There was a lot of shouting and laughing, many ran into the Village Hall to bring out tables, long benches, food and drinks. The part of the day the villagers had been looking forward to most was about to begin – the feast. The festive square was ready in no time at all. The villagers settled at their tables, in family groups, surrounded by friends. Ahren felt somewhat uneasy as he always did on such occasions, and looked for Likis’ face in the crowd, hoping he could sit down near him. If his father found him beforehand, he would drag him to a place near the bar. He would then have to spend the rest of the evening sitting there quietly, ready to fetch his father a beer every time he had finished his tankard.
Ahren was hopping from foot to foot, keeping an eye out for Likis, when he heard Falk beside him: ‘Come with me and let’s sit down’. He marched determinedly through the crowd to a long table where Likis’ father was standing with other revellers. Taken by surprise, Ahren followed the Forest Guardian. He had forgotten completely that as an apprentice he could now sit with his master.
Falk came to a halt, and immediately Ahren felt two wiry arms embracing him and heard Likis’ voice. ‘Wow, Ahren, what a surprise! You and the Guardian!’
Ahren turned around to his friend and looked into his beaming face. He himself must have started smiling too and to his surprise he couldn’t stop. I’m going to be a Forest Guardian, thought Ahren. This thought was only now beginning to sink in. ‘It’s going to take a long while to get used to it’, he answered his friend, ‘I’m only glad I’ve escaped the farm’.
Likis grimaced. ‘Where is your father by the way? What has he to say about it?’
Ahren shuddered. His father knew nothing of what had happened but the fledgling apprentice didn’t want to imagine how he would react. ‘He fell asleep during the trials. He probably knows nothing about it’.
‘Well, being a Forest Guardian is an honourable profession. I’m sure he’ll be delighted for you’, answered Likis comfortingly.
Ahren wasn’t so sure but kept this thought to himself. He needed more time to come to terms with all the changes that were going to happen in his life. Yet he had no more time for at that moment Likis’ father leaned over to congratulate him. ‘You really gave us a fright there, young man, in your fight with our newest bailiff. Congratulations on your new master - there are few people from whom you can learn more’. Then he turned back to Falk and began conversing with him. The two boys exchanged surprised looks for they had never known that the merchant held the Forest Guardian in such high esteem.
Next, Likis’ mother pushed her way through the revellers and held Ahren firmly in her arms. ‘I knew everything would work out in the end. Rania would have been so proud of you’.
His late mother’s name brought tears to his eyes. The thought that she’d be proud of him warmed a place in his heart, a place that had been cold for too long.
‘Thank you
’, he mumbled and could say no more. He had pulled himself together somewhat when she released him from her embrace but the warmth within remained and gave him strength. He sat down beside his master and suddenly realized how hungry he was. Everyone had already started eating so Ahren didn’t need to hold back and took everything that he could lay hold on. Mature cheese of a golden-yellow hue, sweetened bread with honey, boar stuffed with wild berries, and plenty of the dark sauce Likis’ mother made so skilfully and that she always served when he stayed to dinner.
‘It seems expensive times lie ahead for you, Master Guardian’, one of the villagers called out, looking at the enormous portion of food Ahren had piled on his plate.
Falk looked at his apprentice with raised eyebrows. ‘Well, if we fail to bag the next Dark One, I can always ask Ahren to eat it up. And if that doesn’t work, then I’m stumped’.
While the table companions were laughing uproariously, Falk added quietly, ‘Your body is trying to compensate for all the energy you expended during the healing, the combat and the Void. Try not to eat too quickly or you’ll get sick and throw it all up. Your body needs strength but your stomach must keep pace. So eat as much as you want, only slowly’.
Ahren didn’t quite understand what Falk meant by ‘Void’ but followed his advice. It wouldn’t be a good idea anyway to disregard his master’s orders at the first time of asking. To the amusement of the others and to the young boy’s own surprise, he took two more helpings – and the portions were no smaller. Once Falk was convinced his protégé had adopted a slower eating pace for the day, he left him in peace with a satisfied contented mumble. Likis on the other hand, jumped at the opportunity to tease his friend. ‘If you keep eating like that, you’ll only amount to a bog trotter’, he said grinning broadly. ‘Falk says it’s because of the healing’, said Ahren with his mouth full.
Ahren- the 13th Paladin Page 5
