‘Well, we won’t find that one again’. Falk scratched his beard and took back the bow. ‘You should really only try a long bow again once you’ve grown a head, both taller and broader’. Ahren nodded hesitantly and picked up his own bow again.
‘I think we should go back now. I’ll let the others know this evening that this is now to be called the practice zone, and tomorrow I’ll bring a few targets that will be more difficult to hit. Then you can come here whenever you like and practise on your own. You’re very good with the bow but you still need practice. I’ll give you the hard lessons once you’re able to hit all the targets without thinking about it. Tell me when you think you’re ready and then I’ll have a look’.
The happy boy followed his master with a spring in his step as they left the clearing, and he looked around him so that he would remember where his practice area was. He was imagining where Falk might put the targets, when something attracted his attention. There was something large and silver-grey on the other side of the clearing and between the trees. But when he looked more closely, the phenomenon had vanished. His master cleared his throat and turned around, and Ahren ran to catch up with him. He kept looking back over his shoulder but the forest lay still and deserted. The being had disappeared.
That afternoon the whole village was gathered on and around the festival ground and the tavern was filled to overflowing. Tables and benches were placed around the oak tree and a large fire was blazing to the left. Groups of revellers were sitting together and there was much to-ing and fro-ing between the bar, the attractions and the benches. It all resembled a complicated dance.
Ahren watched the confectioner spinning candy floss with the help of a bellows, and the blacksmith with his anvil had hammered some horseshoes out of shape. Some of the revellers were testing their strength by trying to get the horseshoes back into shape with as few hammer blows as possible. Two competitors would take up the challenge each time, egged on or mocked by the excited spectators.
Or you could take part in arm-wrestling, apple bobbing (for the small ones), ring tossing, and of course drinking competitions.
Ahren steered well clear of the tavern, where his father probably was, and wandered past the stands, exchanging pleasantries with the villagers and keeping an eye out for Likis.
At the ring tossing he squeezed past two revellers who were unsteady on their feet and promptly crashed into a delicate creature who was just composing herself before her throw. The wooden ring clattered to the ground without having touched one of the stakes around which it should have landed. Ahren quickly mumbled an apology and to his surprise found himself looking at the daintily featured face of Lina, the miller’s daughter, and sister of Sven. She put her hands on her hips and looked at him with a mixture of indignation and curiosity. Ahren found himself drawn to Lina’s finely worked festival dress, and as he gazed at it, it dawned on him that the person standing opposite him had also gone through some physical changes over the previous months – and somehow this made him more nervous than he already was. He wanted to disappear into the crowd when he was stopped in his tracks by the sound of a laughing voice. ‘Not so fast, my little friend!’
‘You owe me a throw’. Lina looked him up and down unashamedly. Ahren felt as if his head was as big as a watermelon and his face went a deep red.
‘You’re Ahren, isn’t that right? I didn’t recognize you at first in your leather outfit. You used to be smaller and a lot weaker’. Her statement may indeed have contained a compliment but her merciless description of his earlier self was hardly flattering. He mustered a heroic ‘ehm..’ and stared at her.
‘I wanted to win this cute little stuffed monkey, and now you’ve spoilt everything’, Lina complained with a twinkle in her eye. ‘So, what are you going to do about it?’
Ahren was far too inexperienced to understand the rules of this particular game but he could certainly handle the ring tossing. Relieved to be on familiar territory, he turned to the carpenter who was in charge of the stand that day. He’d been following their conversation as cool as you please and a grin spread across his face with its bushy whiskers.
‘The first try is free, any ones after that are a penny’.
Suddenly Ahren remembered that he hadn’t had any money in his hands for months, nor needed any. Falk looked after the shopping and almost always paid with game or plants. He’d have to be lucky, first time out.
‘Which stake do I aim for to win the monkey?’, he asked, all the while feeling the rings. He was looking for the smoothest and best balanced one. The carpenter winked at him.
‘That one over there, second from the right’.
Ahren was relieved. It was hardly two paces away and the stake was a little bigger than the ring. According to the rules, the wooden ring had to come to rest sitting on the stake. The hardest part would be ignoring Lina’s presence. She was standing right beside him with an expectant look and a mischievous smile on her face.
Ahren took aim and the ring landed effortlessly on the stake. Pleased with himself, he handed the stuffed monkey to Lina, who smiled back at him. She linked arms with him and asked him questions about his education and about Falk as she strolled with him across the square. Ahren’s was so taken by her that he forgot to be sensible and started to prattle non-stop. About his training, about the elves and the Dark Ones, anything that came into his head and that would make him look good. The effect on Lina was enormous. There were plenty of juicy anecdotes in what he said. The rational side of his brain, meanwhile, tried unsuccessfully to make him focus on the fact that Sven had been watching them for some time and was looking daggers at Ahren. Ahren’s master didn’t seem happy about his indiscretions either and Likis could only shake his head sadly as he saw his friend parading around without a care in the world. The bell for the devotions finally ended the young man’s boasting. Lina parted from him with a light kiss on the cheek and ran back to her family while Ahren floated in seventh heaven to his master.
Suddenly Likis was beside him, intoning in a loud voice and with sweeping gestures, ‘and then I slew three dragons with one blow of my sword, while strangling a manticore with my foot…’ Ahren heard no more of his friend’s teasing for he suddenly felt a rap of his master’s knuckles on his head. His pride severely dented, Ahren looked from one to the other and was asking himself what he had done to deserve this treatment when the bell stopped ringing and Keeper Jegral stepped in front of the fire where all the villagers had gathered.
The priest held his autumn devotions but Ahren heard only the half of it because he was too busy trying to see Lina in the gathering. He knew where she was standing but every time he caught a glimpse of her, Sven would push himself in front of her and stare darkly at Ahren. When the prayers were over and everyone had drifted away to continue their festivities, the Keeper approached the two Guardians.
‘Ahren, Master Falk, may the Three be with you’. Falk nodded and gave him his hand, and Ahren gave a small bow. He was still in awe of the priest. After all, it was his miracle cure that had changed everything, including the direction of his life. The Keeper looked at him kindly at first before raising an eyebrow thoughtfully. ‘I could always rely on your presence in the past. You did promise me, don’t you remember?’
Ahren cowered and gave his master a guilty and pleading look. He too looked contrite and answered on Ahren’s behalf. ‘That’s partly my fault. He did tell me about that, but I forgot. Although he should have reminded me’.
Once again Ahren had drawn the short straw. Why did it always end up the same way? The boy was just apologizing with a sigh when Falk interjected. ‘Now that we’re on the subject, my apprentice is unable to read and he’s missing a bit of education. Could he attend the Godsday School? Then he could go to morning prayers and take part in lessons afterwards’.
Jegral beamed and said, ‘What a wonderful idea. He would be welcome of course’.
The two shook hands on it, the Keeper smiled warmly at Ahren and continued on his wa
y, to remind other young lambs of their spiritual responsibilities. Ahren thought about this new development with mixed feelings. One day’s training less per week meant, in all probability, the other days would be an even harder slog, and that would mean less time for archery. But when he saw the stony reaction of his master all thoughts of protesting evaporated.
‘From what I saw earlier, you urgently need to mix with your peers. If every tomboy makes you lose your head, then a Wind Whip or even a Grief Wind will kill you in a second’.
The mention of Dark Ones deflated Ahren completely. Falk had explained to him in one of his brief lectures that these beings manipulated the feelings of the Adversary against them. Ahren couldn’t figure out how this worked exactly. But now that he thought about it, he had to admit that his flirting with Lina earlier wasn’t a shining example of steadfast behaviour. And so he nodded, resigned to his fate.
‘Good. Go off and amuse yourself now’, said Falk cheerily. ‘Although I’d advise you against any further amorous adventures today or that scoundrel over there might attack you with a knife’. He pointed over at Sven, who was standing barely ten paces away with two of his cronies, watching Ahren’s every move. The apprentice agreed, ‘good idea’.
He turned quickly around to look for Likis when he spotted Holken. Ahren may have grown but Holken must have been stretched on the rack! His muscles were more impressive than ever, and now he was approaching. The would-be Forest Guardian looked for an escape route in panic, but the big boy was already in front of him. He wore the bailiff’s uniform and he had a dangerous looking truncheon on his belt.
‘Hello Ahren, I was hoping to see you here today’, he began, and Ahren instinctively flinched half a pace backwards. His blond counterpart stuck out a hand and took Ahren’s in a vice-like grip. ‘I couldn’t apologise that time for the blow I gave your injured hand, and I wanted to do that now. You just didn’t want to give up and the rules were clear’. He shrugged his shoulders in embarrassment.
Ahren studied his face to see if this was just a mean trick but he only saw genuine regret. Surprised, he shook hands, partly because he hoped Holken would let go again. And he answered, ‘Forgive and forget. To tell you the truth, that blow opened doors for me. I don’t think Jegral would have just healed a sprained hand in front of everybody. And then I would have failed Master Falk’s challenge.
Holken did let go of Ahren’s hand, only to lay an arm across his shoulder and pull him along. Ahren might as well have been fighting with an ox, so he gave in.
‘Come on, let’s look for your wiry friend and have a drink. I was paid today, the drinks are on me’.
The idea of a drink was tempting and Holken’s presence would guarantee protection from Sven and his cronies.
‘Sounds good, let’s go’, said Ahren with a bit more enthusiasm than he actually felt, and the two made their way between the tables.
Later that evening, Ahren rose from the table at which he, Likis, Holken and three other boys from the village had been celebrating and made his way unsteadily to the toilet. He had over indulged on the wine and now he was feeling the effects. His master had left an hour earlier but given him permission to stay on. And so he had carried on celebrating and come to realize that Holken was much friendlier now than in the past, even if he was still a bit slow on the uptake.
Ahren stepped out of the light and between the trees in the forest. Falk had taught him the best place in the forest to pass water without leaving any traces, and Ahren was making use of this lesson now. He giggled over this creative use of his education, swayed and buttoned up his trousers when suddenly a sharp pain exploded in the region of his kidneys.
As if struck by lightning he collapsed with a scream to the ground and felt several feet landing kicks on him. He rolled up into a ball and protected his face with his hands but his attackers kept finding places he couldn’t protect. It seemed like an eternity before Ahren heard worried calls and hasty footsteps approaching. Some of the revellers must have heard the commotion and his tormentors finally stopped kicking. Someone spat in his face, and the battered boy could just make out a silhouette looming over him in the darkness of the forest. Then the attackers were gone and within a few seconds the first villagers arrived. Ahren’s whole body ached and he could only stand with the help of others.
And so Holken and Likis held him under his arms and hauled him home. As soon as they’d entered the cabin, Falk was up and questioning Ahren’s friends but they had seen nothing. So he thanked them and sent them home.
Falk helped Ahren get undressed and carefully examined his wounds. Then he clicked his tongue and said, ‘A blessing in disguise. You have so much flesh and muscle on your ribs that there’s nothing broken. You’ll be right as rain soon enough’.
He spent the next hour putting on bandages with herbal essences, always asking Ahren which herb he should use and why. His protégé was shocked that he should be asked these questions in the condition he was in but he understood that he would not forget these herbs and their medicinal effects for the rest of his life.
The rest of the Autumn Festival was very boring for Ahren. He had to stay in bed and rest his ribs while Likis and Holken would drop by from time to time and bring some of the Feast Day roast or treats from the baker’s. Witness statements proved fruitless and of course Sven claimed not have anything to do with it. The boys were convinced that he was behind the cowardly attack but for the moment their hands were tied. And if that wasn’t boring enough, Falk became even more reticent than before and hardly came into the cabin.
When Ahren complained to his friends about this, Likis answered, ‘I think he’s blaming himself for not having been there to protect you’. That seemed plausible somehow, seemed to fit with his behaviour and that reassured the young boy a little.
Ahren was allowed to take up his training again to a limited degree. The weeks passed with their normal rhythm except that Falk, with dogged determination, had moved on to training him in the art of close combat. The economical feinting movements and flowing attacks looked simple but were so difficult that Ahren wondered if he would ever master them. The second change to their daily routine was of course Godsday which Ahren, with newly starched shirt and linen trousers given to him by Keeper Jegral, now spent in the priest’s charge. The Keeper taught him about the entity of the Three and especially about the love of the Moulder. He also taught him reading, writing and simple arithmetic. Ahren could always relax at this point, for through Likis’ friendship he had already learnt everything the priest knew about numbers.
Reading was another matter. Ahren just didn’t understand why anybody would go to the trouble of writing things down when he could speak the story so much more quickly. He asked the Keeper about this and he responded, ‘You are right there, it does go more quickly. But think about it: the other must listen and understand everything correctly – or some of the knowledge will be lost. He cannot alter what he has heard for his own benefit – or the knowledge will be falsified. And the student must pass on what he has learnt – or it will be forgotten about. There is knowledge in these books that has survived for centuries, unfalsified and unforgotten. That’s a miracle in itself’.
From then on Ahren looked at the texts from a fresh perspective and developed a thirst for knowledge that filled the Keeper with happiness. He rewarded Ahren in the best way he knew how – by willingly answering every question as well as he could.
Time passed and winter set in over Hjalgar. The days were shorter and Falk began to introduce Ahren, in the early morning and the long evenings, to the arts of the Forest Guardian that didn’t need daylight or much room. He learnt how to pack a rucksack without water, dirt or little animals getting in, which food you could bring with you and for how long, and a dozen other practical things.
But most of the dark hours of the day were taken up with the study of ‘the Void’. During the autumn Ahren had learnt how to hit fourteen of the twenty targets Falk had positioned in the clearing. His maste
r had rammed a stake into the ground at one end of the clearing. This marked Ahren’s shooting position and he had drawn small white circles of varying sizes and at different heights on the trees opposite. Most of the targets were no problem but some of them were the size of an apple and more than thirty paces away.
When it became clear that he would make no further progress without instruction, Falk lit a candle and told Ahren to sit with legs crossed in front of it.
‘I want you to breathe in and out for as long and as slowly as you can and just concentrate on the flame. Think of nothing else, place all your concentration on this one spot of light’.
The wick of the candle had been pared back and the flame was small and weak so he couldn’t blind himself. Strange as it seemed to Ahren, these exercises proved the most difficult of any he had done in his apprenticeship. He always thought of something else: of the following day, the lessons just completed, or how pointless it was to stare at a candle. Sometimes he managed to persevere for a few minutes but then horrible pictures would push their way towards his inner eye. His father and the way he had beaten him, the battering he had experienced at the Autumn Festival.
When he told Falk this, he responded, ‘that’s normal. When our reason is at rest, it loosens the bonds with which we control the conflicts that badger us the most. The elves call this phenomenon,‘the Spirits of the Void’, that’s a rough translation. Everyone has to come to terms with the Spirits in their own way. Some learn to ignore them as one would the rustling of the leaves. Others confront their conflicts and try to get rid of them. The third way is to let go and make peace with them’.
‘Which variation have you picked, master?’
‘You don’t have to decide on one. Some conflicts cannot be resolved, some cannot be ignored, and inner peace is by no means my speciality area’. He tilted his head and smiled weakly. ‘I have confronted each vision individually and overcome them in whatever was the most suitable way. In the end you are fighting with yourself, so you have to decide the best way on your own’.
Ahren- the 13th Paladin Page 11
