Ahren- the 13th Paladin

by Torsten Weitze

  Ahren stared at his master in silence. He tried to reconcile what he had heard with the man who was sitting in front of him. Falk nodded contentedly when it became clear that his apprentice wasn’t going to ask any more questions. ‘Now you know a little bit more. You’re going to have to earn the next personal question’. He stood up abruptly, almost as though he regretted having been so open.

  ‘I’m going to sleep. Clear up, quench the fire and go to bed too. Tomorrow’s going to be a demanding day for you’

  And with those words, Falk went out into the darkness leaving a very thoughtful apprentice sitting at the table asking himself what Falk meant by demanding. How, he wondered, would his master describe the last two days?

  Chapter 5

  Ahren lay on his mat the following evening wishing he were dead. Or that the forest would flee. Or that the bailiff would come and take away his master for unnecessary cruelty to apprentices in general and to Ahren in particular. And then lock him up in a particularly dark and damp dungeon. This thought almost made him smile – but even that was sore. With a groan and all the energy he could muster Ahren managed to turn on his side and slurp a little more soup from the bowl beside his bed. It was supposed to calm his maltreated muscles. It was his fourth portion in the last two hours but his body still felt as if a millstone had rolled over it. A particularly large millstone. With prongs.

  They had headed off early in the morning and within a few hundred paces after entering the forest Falk had led him to an imposing king’ oak tree that stretched about thirty paces into the air and had enormous sweeping branches. It really was a magnificent tree and Ahren had looked up at it in amazement until his master said, ‘up there in the tree top is a red towel knotted to it. Can you bring it down for me please?’

  Ahren had been delighted. This probably meant there was no running around on the agenda today and he could give his legs a bit of a rest. He had always liked climbing and he had a knack for it. But his master knew that already so why was he testing him again?

  With a shrug of his shoulders and an ‘of course, master’ he set to work. He scampered up the first few paces in no time at all. There were many places to hold on too, the branches were wide and secure and there was plenty of room to turn easily. It was the perfect tree for climbing.

  It wasn’t long before Ahren was up in the top quarter of the tree. But the further he climbed, the harder it became to get a good grip and a secure standing position. Ahren stretched his neck to see where the cloth was tied. Yes, there it was, a red ribbon, fluttering in the breeze about four paces above him.

  With considerable effort Ahren pulled himself up the final few paces and at last he reached the piece of cloth, knotted to a branch. Ahren had to clasp this branch with his right arm while balancing on a thin branch. He carefully raised his right hand towards the cloth and started loosening it. It took him a minute to finally untangle the knot and stuff the material down his leather jerkin. He had an unimpeded view of the tree top and saw that under the cloth was a rope tied around the branch. It wound its way in several dozen loops towards the top. Attached to the rope at regular intervals were very small, thin strips of material of various colours. The rope finished a hand span away from the tip of the tree. Confused, Ahren studied the construction for several heartbeats before making his way back down. His master, after all, had only mentioned the red cloth.

  Getting down the tree proved to be very easy and it wasn’t long before Ahren was standing in front of his master with a self-satisfied grin. The master took Ahren’s trophy with an indifferent look.

  ‘The cloth was only for orientation so that you could find your task. I want you to loosen as many strips of cloth as you can during the day and tie them down here around the branch. And only one strip per climb, do you hear me?’

  That wiped the grin off Ahren’s face in no time at all. The climbing was fun and hadn’t been particularly strenuous but there were at least fifty strips of cloth up there, if not more. That would be some slog!

  ‘I’m glad we understand each other’, grinned Falk. ‘There’s a water skin over there and a piece of cheese, you’d better ration it. In the meantime I’ll go hunting so we have food for the table again. We’re in dire need of some because of the rate you gobble it down. I’ll check up on you every now and then, and if you’re not climbing, I’ll bring all the strips you’ve brought down back up again!’ And having issued his threat he left the boy alone and disappeared into the undergrowth.

  Ahren stood there for a moment and considered this mammoth task until a loud ‘now, Ahren!’ echoed from the forest and he scurried up the tree.

  He only had a cloudy recollection of the rest of the day. The first few rounds weren’t all that difficult but the continual repetition extracted a high price. And he realized soon enough that the higher the strips were hanging, the more complicated the knots were. This meant longer stretches of the body, and longer periods of keeping his balance, not to mention increasingly complicated movements with his left hand while his muscles became more and more tired. Ahren had never suffered from a fear of heights, but he became acutely aware, with every new scaling of the tree, that there was a real danger he would fall and break his neck.

  Around noon he started taking little breaks in the tree so that he wouldn’t be surprised by Falk on the ground. Once he’d caught his breath, he would groan or curse and reach for the next branch. He thought of taking more than one piece of cloth at a time. But it wasn’t only Ahren who had a wonderful view of the surrounding forest, there were also many treetops from which he could easily be spied upon. Ahren had no doubt at all that Falk threw an eye on him from time to time, even if he was out hunting.

  Ahren was close to tears when his master finally stepped out of the undergrowth. He’d been clinging to the lowest branch of the tree for about an hour, but no matter how hard he’d tried, his arms didn’t have enough strength to pull him up to the next branch. He slid clumsily down the tree and collapsed beside the strips of cloth he had collected that day.

  Falk silently counted the strips and hunkered down opposite Ahren. ‘You got as far as the blue ones, no?’ his voice was warm and friendly and he looked proudly at Ahren.

  The boy closed his eyes and nodded tiredly before answering in a quiet, shaky voice. ‘The blue ones were hanging so high and the knot seemed to have only one end, just like the ones you made for our tree house, and I still haven’t got used to my left hand. I went up three times and tried as hard as I could. Then I climbed down to the lowest branch to have a rest, but in the end I couldn’t pull myself up again’. The last few words were little more than a whisper.

  ‘So you’ve climbed up and down this tree more than thirty times today? No wonder you’re tired. I thought you’d only manage to get as far as the green ones, but you’ve brought them all down’. Falk’s voice was still warm and friendly, and his obvious compassion as well as Ahren’s exhaustion were all too much for the boy. He fell into the arms of his stunned master and began to sob uncontrollably. Falk patted him awkwardly on the back and mumbled, ‘It’s alright, calm yourself. The first time is always the hardest’. The apprentice reacted with a jolt and gasped, ‘the first time?’

  ‘Of course. This was no test at all. Here we’re training all the muscles in your body. Coordination, endurance, dexterity and will power. The ribbon tree was a staple of my basic training too’.

  Falk released himself gently but firmly from Ahren’s embrace and saw in front of him a youthful and angry face. His tears had left light streaks on the boy’s face which was smudged with earth and tree bark. But as Ahren was rarely angry, his unpractised grimace looked comical rather than threatening.

  The old Guardian decided to ignore the silent rebellion and with slow deliberation packed away the empty water skin, the ribbons and the waxed cheese-cloth. Then he turned around to face the boy, who was still looking at him darkly.

  ‘That’s enough now. If you continue to look daggers at me, I’ll send you u
p the tree in double quick time and you’ll have to tie up all the ribbons again’. The boy looked quickly up at the tree top, then at the ribbons in Falk’s hand before turning on his heels and trudging uncertainly away.

  Falk smiled, turned away from the tree too and followed Ahren into the forest. The boy had been so angry that he hadn’t noticed that he’d headed the correct way to the cabin without having asked the way. The old man looked down at his hands, still with the three dozen unknotted ribbons, nodded to himself and whispered, ‘a start’.

  Ahrend groaned and turned on his back again. The soup bowl was empty. He had made his way back to the cabin in brooding silence, had tortuously taken off his leathers and curled up under the blanket. Falk too had remained silent, prepared the meal, and patiently placed one bowl after another beside the mat. But now his master was outside. The glow from the dying fire gradually faded and the inside of the cabin was bathed in a soft red shimmer, making the contours of the room appear softer and somehow more fluid. Ahren mulled over the injustice of the world and how he had to end up with the worst possible slave driver of a master, before his exhaustion overwhelmed him like a black wave and between one breath and the next he was in a deep slumber.

  The low snoring coming from inside the cabin told Falk that the youngster had fallen asleep and with a sigh of relief he leaned against the tree where he had set up his place for the night. He massaged his forehead and was glad he had weathered the day. What had he been thinking of, taking on an apprentice? The reasons he had listed out to the young boy were all true of course, but he of all people training someone? He had spoken more in the last four days than he had in the whole three months previously. And he would have to be a little more careful. The boy would only have finished his thirteenth summer by autumn and in Falk’s case, he had completed his training as a well-drilled adult.

  And there were other advantages he had enjoyed that he didn’t want to think about now. That was all such a long time ago and really belonged to the past. Damn it, the boy was even disturbing his peace of mind.

  He stood up and walked a few steps into the forest.

  And following a custom going back decades he whispered as every evening, ‘Selsena, is that you?’ He waited a few heartbeats, then turned with a sorrowful look. He had only taken one tired step when there was a rustling behind him.

  Falk froze in mid movement, didn’t stir an inch. Nothing more than a whisper escaped his lips, a quietly whispered word, permeated with a wild, frustrated hopefulness. ‘Selsena?’

  The leaves behind him rustled again.

  Falk didn’t turn around but collapsed into himself where he stood, like a puppet whose cords had been cut. Nobody could see the tears rolling down his weather beaten skin.

  ‘The years without you were very long’, he said, his voice breaking.

  The leaves were no longer moving, but they didn’t need to. Falk tilted his head low as he always did when she spoke with him before answering,

  ‘Yes, I know. It was my fault. What has changed?’

  A few seconds passed.

  ‘The boy? Really?’

  Falk still didn’t turn, his eyes were closed and he felt a large body coming closer behind and towering over him.

  ‘I’m speaking out loud because I’m out of practice. After all it’s been many years’.

  He reached up and stroked the soft fur.

  ‘Are you staying?’ Falk hated himself for the frustration evident in his voice, but she could read his thoughts anyway so it really made no difference.

  The answer wasn’t the one he had hoped for but at least it was so comforting that he gave a quick laugh. She had always had a sharp sense of humour.

  ‘Good, so nearby, until the boy has made himself at home. Otherwise, he’ll end up running away from us screaming’.

  Us.

  The word echoed within Falk and suddenly all the dams burst. The irony wasn’t lost on Falk that he was now behaving like his thirteen year old apprentice this afternoon who had thrown himself at him and sobbed uncontrollably. It didn’t bother him.

  The night concealed him, the forest embraced him, and Selsena was back.

  All was well.

  Chapter 6

  The weeks flew by. Falk went with Ahren two or three days in a row through the forest, carefully increasing the tempo over the period. It was still more of a quick walk than a slow trot but the would-be Forest Guardian hardly stumbled anymore and he was certainly able to keep pace. And it was a while since he’d dropped the ball. Ahren was now using the left hand quite instinctively for a wide range of activities and so Falk had begun to incorporate both hands in the training. He thought if the boy had trained his secondary hand for all this time, it should be possible now to attain a limited ambidexterity.

  Following the forest run there would always be a day at the ribbon tree and then one with Vera where Ahren could recover from his physical exertions. Instead he would learn about compresses and creams for scratches, cuts, burns and inflammations. The old woman was always very kind and whenever Ahren spent a day there, at least a dozen visitors would arrive, either bringing or picking up something, and there would always be an exchange of stories and gossip. They always had a friendly word for Ahren and he began, quite unconsciously, to think of himself as Ahren the apprentice Forest Guardian, and not Ahren, the drunkard’s son, whenever he was speaking to the others.

  After his day with Vera, the cycle would begin again and by the end of the summer Ahren had got used to his constantly aching muscles. Falk had no mirror and Ahren was far too busy to notice what the others could see – that his shoulders were slowly becoming broader, his arms and legs more sinewy. The strong soup prepared by Falk, laced with healing herbs and full of the vital substances which helped Ahren’s growth spurt, was so completely different from the watery broths that he had subsisted on when he was in his father’s care.

  And so the first days of autumn arrived with their bad weather and the cool winds that had long ago driven Deepstone into the shelter of the forest. The forest marches were less fun than ever, the ground was slippery because of the rain and when Ahren arrived in the cabin at night he had to spend an hour cleaning his gear so that the leather would keep smooth and supple and the dagger protected from rust. Falk also began to leave the smaller household chores in his hands and soon he was getting up as early as his master so everything would be in order before the old man gave the order to set off for the day. And the ribbon tree was much harder to climb now, when the branches were wet and slippery. After the first autumn storm Falk had silently given him a pair of leather gloves with the fingertips free. Ahren was puzzled by them until he tried scaling the wet higher branches with his bare hands. It wasn’t long before the gloves were like another hand and he began to imitate Falk’s stoical attitude to the weather. Sometime in the middle of autumn, it was the evening of a surprisingly mild day, there was a knock on the door of the Guardian’s little cabin. The two occupants looked up from their leather work in surprise and Ahren gave his master a questioning look.

  ‘Don’t ask me, I’m just as clueless as you’, grumbled Falk and stood up. Falk opened the door and as soon as Ahren realized who had granted them a visit, he leapt to his feet and the leather jerkin he had been fixing flew to the ground along with the awl and string. Likis was standing in the doorway with a broad grin on his face. He was wearing the classical merchant’s tunic, and two parchment scrolls were sticking out of his breast pockets. A little slate was hanging on a thin chain from his belt.

  ‘Likis, it’s wonderful to see you’. With arms outstretched, Ahren ran to greet the merchant’s son, almost knocking over his master in the process, who was too slow to get out of the way. Falk was about to give out to them but on seeing the boys hugging each other in joyful reunion he simply shrugged his shoulders, sat down and continued with his repair work.

  Likis held Ahren firmly by the shoulders and looked at him critically. ‘Boy, but you’ve grown – and filled out! What
’s he feeding you with?’

  Ahren shifted from one foot to the other in embarrassment. He had spent his whole life comparing his size with Likis and now he was suddenly aware that he was taller than his friend by a head, and it had only been half a head four months ago.

  He answered without thinking. ‘A lot of soup and stews with game and herbs. Wolf Herb for the muscles, Life Farm for regenerating stamina and Red Leaf as a protection against illness’. Even as he was speaking he realized that he sounded like old Vera rattling off a prescription for a healing ointment. His friend looked at him in bafflement until the two burst into laughter.