Then he left Ahren alone again with the flame and his thoughts.
The shirt collar pinched his neck horribly, the plain wooden bench was too small for his legs, as was the wooden desk he was squatting in front of, with the leather-bound book on top. Ahren was in a sweat, bent over his book of exercises in the overheated priest’s study. He looked around furtively. The heavy bull-glass panes were free of ice although icy cold was lurking on the other side of the wall. Deepstone hadn’t experienced such a cold winter in years.
Sweat was running down Ahren’s face. The others didn’t seem to share his problem. Likis obviously felt as fit as a fiddle and Holken used his spiritual inertia to his own advantage. Lina sat beside him at every lesson in order to help him with his reading and to make eyes at him.
Ahren turned to his book again but there was the Keeper, standing in front of him, looking at him with friendly yet reprimanding eyes, something he was particularly skilled at.
‘Now, it seems Ahren wants to read something out to us, isn’t that right?’
This was the priest’s preferred punishment for lack of concentration. Ahren sighed inwardly. The only good thing about this was Ahren could always pick out a text he had questions about.
He leafed to the front of the book an began hesitatingly, to read aloud.
‘At the beginning of time there were three gods: He, who is, She, who feels, and He, who moulds. They argued with each other about who could create the most splendid things. Their pride prevented them from working together and so each of them began bringing their own creations to life. But each of them was incomplete without the other and in no position to create something harmonic.
He, who is created the Golems: beings without feelings, coarse in form and lacking intuition.
She, who feels crated the Wind Whips. Beings consisting of thoughts and emotions, without substance or constancy.
He, who moulds created the Transformers: beings without a core, many-shaped and fickle in spirit’.
Ahren stopped at this point and asked his first question. ‘Keeper, if these beings were so incomplete, why did the gods let them continue to exist?’ A murmur of agreement filled the air and Ahren realized he was not alone in wanting an answer.
The priest nodded and smiled as he always did when one of his students asked a good question. He answered with a counter question. ‘Ahren, do you consider yourself perfect?’
As always, his gentle mocking hit the spot and even Likis nodded his head silently. Jegral could, with few words, awaken humility in anyone. Ahren wished he knew how he managed that.
The bald-headed man continued. ‘So, you are not perfect. Or one could also say, incomplete. Would you like the gods to put an end to your existence?’
All the students shook their heads energetically in answer.
‘That’s what I thought. Those first beings may not have been complete but they existed now. They weren’t to blame for their nature. And the gods knew this. If you create something, you are also responsible for it. You should make note of that’.
He turned to Ahren and said, ‘carry on’.
The boy cleared his throat and continued. ‘The gods saw that their attempts were not whole and complete and none of their creations reflected their dreams. They saw that they would have to help each other and so they laid their disagreements aside.
The union of the Three was born.
A coming together of the gods, three wills with one goal. Each awakened a people according to their plans, supported through the powers of the other gods. For it was only together they could give their creations a harmony through essence and stability.
He, who is created the dwarves: a people of unbelievable strength, stamina and stubbornness. Hardly flexible but firm and clear in form and with deeply rooted feelings.
And He, who is was pleased and thanked his brother and his sister.
She, who feels created the elves: spiritually adept creatures of fragile form, adaptable and instinctively seeking harmony with their surroundings. Alone of the peoples, they tried, of their own free will, to make friends with the first incomplete beings.
And She, who feels was pleased and thanked her brothers.
He, who moulds created the people: creations of adaptability and creative spirit which far surpassed their substance and ability to feel. And so they did not live long and were volatile in their actions but were capable of great beauty.
And He, who moulds was pleased and thanked his brother and his sister.
Inspired by their success, the gods now wanted to create a world in which their creations could grow and flourish. Their joy and desire were so big that they created a world of enormous size, far larger than planned. They constantly had new ideas and could not stop themselves.
He, who is placed himself in its core and gave it the foundations, from which a part of himself and his substance would flow into every living being.
She, who feels became at one with the wind and whispered to every living being their task and their place in the world so all would be in a harmonious whole.
He, who moulds lay himself in the water, formed through his strength mountains and rivers, made the land fertile and gave to all creatures of the world the desire to change.
They determined to call the world JORATH, which means perfect in the language of the gods, for that is what it was in their eyes.
But the creation had exhausted them.
They wanted rest to replenish their strength.
And so they created the Custodian, who would guard their creation as long as they were resting. The Creation was complete and the long sleep of the gods began’.
‘That’s enough for now’, said Keeper Jegral firmly. ‘Some parts of this story shouldn’t be told in the dark part of the year. We shall continue at the Spring Ceremony’.
A heavy silence had descended on the room and Ahren was disappointed. The important part was yet to come and he had so many questions.
‘Off home with you now and think about what I have told you’.
All the children said goodbye to each other outside the chapel and quickly went their various ways. Nobody wanted to stay out in the cold any longer than necessary, partly because the Sunday wear under the heavy winter coats offered little protection from the cold.
But Ahren was in a ruminative mood. He looked at the chapel in its stillness with its covering of snow which covered the shingles that adorned the building. The wooden walls were painted white, the precious windows were warmly lit by the bright fire that burned within. The large engraved symbol of the Three over the double doors seemed to look down on the boy who realized much to his own surprise that he really looked forward to the Godsday visits in spite of the lessons and the uncomfortable clothing. The sense of community was particularly strong at these times and the other boys were at last treating him as one of their own.
It had begun to snow again. A fine, light veil of crystals, which lent an air of peacefulness to the fading light of the winter afternoon. Thick heavy blue-grey clouds hung low in the sky and promised a heavy snowfall in the coming night. Ahren pulled himself out of his reverie and stamped with crunching steps through the blanket of white which almost reached to the top of his boots. If he went carefully he could avoid getting his impractical linen trousers wet. He went through the silent village cautiously, his classmates having long since disappeared. Nothing spoiled the dreamy picture. Smoke was rising from the chimneys of the wooden houses, and Ahren could see light flickering through their closed windows. In the past these images had made him melancholy but now he was happy to be going home.
Home. When had he started seeing the Guardian’s cabin as home? Lost in thought, Ahren walked past the back of the tavern to take the short cut through the forest when he saw a black bundle on the ground, about as big as a man. It was lying motionless a few paces from the back door at the foot of a tree. Ahren looked around carefully and approached it cautiously. He’d learnt his lesson about treacherous ambushes and wa
sn’t going to fall into that trap again. As he approached it, he realized the bundle was a man, who had curled up and fallen asleep. He was already covered in a fine layer of snow and it wouldn’t take long before he was completely covered. No-one would have noticed him – until it was too late.
Ahren bent down to help the poor unfortunate up but recoiled when he saw his father’s sleeping face. He almost hadn’t recognized him. The nose was laced with red veins, the pouches under his eyes hung heavily, his face was gaunt and he was covered in a stubbly beard which had been roughly cut into shape with a knife.
Ahren plucked up courage and bent over him to pull him up, only to be met by an unholy stench. Apparently, he hadn’t had a bath in quite some time. He wrinkled up his nose and pulled the sleeping man up into a sitting position. He was so drunk that he barely woke. After a lot of effort Ahren finally succeeded in pulling him up the trunk of the tree until he was more or less in a standing position. He blinked but didn’t seem to recognize his son. Ahren threw his father’s arm over his shoulders and stumbled with him painfully slowly towards his family house.
His linen trousers were now soaked from the snow, his shoulders were aching from the weight of the drunkard, and Ahren had to breathe through his mouth because of the stench. After what seemed like an endless battle they finally arrived at the low cabin that had been his home for so long. Ahren shoved open the door and dragged his father to his bed. The house was extremely warm as always, so there was no fear of his father catching the Blue Death. He took off his father’s wet coat and laid Edrik down under his blanket. He stoked the embers, put some timbers on it to re-start the fire, which would last a few hours. Then he went to the door, turned around again to look at the room and the sleeping person. He had saved his father’s life today. The onset of darkness and the falling snow would have sealed his fate. A life for a life, Ahren remembered, quoting to himself the old saying about earthly judgement. He turned on his heels, closed the door and didn’t look back.
Once he’d arrived back at the guardian’s cabin he told his master what had happened. Falk looked at him earnestly. ‘You did the right thing’, he said, ‘and I think what happened is partly my fault’.
‘How do you mean?’ Ahren was confused.
‘I hadn’t planned on telling you, but your father accosted me on the second day of the Autumn Festival. Said, if I was using the old customs against him, then I should really follow all of them. He demanded compensation. Apprentices used to be bought from their parents. He wanted a guinea’.
Ahren gasped in surprise. Guineas were made out of gold and were extremely valuable. A good horse would cost at least five guineas!
Falk continued calmly. ‘I gave him three, divesting him of his pledge so he would never bother us again’.
Three golden guineas! Where did Falk get so much money? His father could live off that for two years without lifting a finger. No wonder he had drunk himself into oblivion. He had more than enough money for the tavern now.
Falk sighed. ‘Well. Sometimes the quickest way to destroying a man is by giving him what he thinks he wants’.
Ahren thought about this for the rest of the evening and decided to be more careful with his wishes in future.
Bright sunshine and a crystal clear if bitingly cold sky had lured Ahren into the stillness of the clearing and away from the house. There was no breeze on this winter morning. The conditions were ideal and he could work on the targets that were still getting the better of him. He hung his quiver on the stake that marked his shooting position and looked at the strips of material he had hung on one of the branches. The red strip hung limply. No wind and a clear view.
Quickly and confidently he shot the arrows at the first targets. These had been as easy as pie for him for a long time but Falk’s instructions had been clear. An arrow would have to hit every target before he would teach him the next lesson.
‘Carelessness and hubris have killed more Forest Guardians than lack of skill. Nature rarely forgives arrogance’, he added.
Ahren had learnt how to cut his own arrows in the meantime so he used these for the easy targets and kept the ones that Falk had given him for the more difficult exercises. He still hadn’t quite mastered the fletching so he used the six perfectly balanced projectiles very sparingly and always retrieved them if he missed the target.
A few minutes later and everything was ready. Fifteen arrows had reached their targets. Five had yet to be hit.
Ahren took one of the good arrows confidently and breathed in deeply. The spirits of the Void had become a lot fainter since his last encounter with his father, and he found it easier to briefly inhabit the trancelike state before his subconscious would distract him and he’d have to start again.
But two seconds were an eternity in archery and he wanted to use them well today for his purposes. He concentrated on the image of the faint candlelight with his inner eye and emptied his thoughts while breathing slowly and regularly. He looked at the small, head-sized circle that Falk had painted on the trunk between two stems. From where he was standing, he calculated he would need to shoot the arrow perfectly through the gap between the two branches or the arrow would ricochet off one of them. As he felt his body relaxing and his eyes focusing exclusively on this small white target, he extended the bow, aimed and shot. The Void vanished immediately. Tension, the thrill of anticipation and fear all combined within him as he watched the arrow nearing its target. He let out a cry of joy as the tip bored into the upper third of the circle. Not perfect, but good enough.
Satisfied he reached for the next arrow and took aim at the next target. This one he liked least. The chalk outline was big, almost as big as a pig, proudly revealing itself way up at the top of a conifer – like a white eye looking at him mockingly. This shot was treacherous because Ahren knew that if he missed the target, the arrow would fly one or two hundred paces beyond the tree and land in a dell, that he would have to search. So far, the pressure not to fail had led each time to him doing just that.
Quietly cursing his dastardly master, Ahren tried to conjure up the Void. After three futile attempts he was finally ready. The arrow left the bowstring, went in a perfect arc, missed the target by a mere handspan only to sink into the valley beyond. Now Ahren cursed aloud and briefly considered the option of leaving the arrow to itself. But then he imagined how Falk would look if he noticed one of his presents had been lost and so he set off. Half an hour later he found the projectile, which had become trapped in a thorn bush. He collected it and was closing up his quiver when he noticed a red spot in the dirty white drabness of the forest floor.
Ahren was curious and went closer. It was blood, fresh blood. The trail led to another thorn bush, which looked quite battered, as if something big had run through it.
Perhaps an injured stag, Ahren thought excitedly. Falk would certainly be proud of him if he were to come home with some wild game. And an injured animal would have hardly any chance of surviving in winter and that way they could spare a healthy one. Ahren stood stock still and listened. He could hear faint breathing sounds from behind the bush. He moved forward very slowly and carefully, just as he had learnt, and tried pushing his way noiselessly through the thorny branches.
There was a light wind blowing down here and he was convinced that it was coming from the right direction, he was downwind. So far so good. The stag wouldn’t be able to smell him. Ahren lay down on his stomach and the cold snow sucked the warmth out of his body in an instant as he slowly elbowed his way forward.
Finally, through the branches he saw a stag lying at the foot of an enormous boulder. There was blood everywhere and the entrails of the poor animal were hanging in shreds from the surrounding bushes and shrubbery. Ahren looked in shock at the scene and tried to comprehend which animal had attacked. Then a thought struck him. The deer was clearly dead, but he’d heard breathing coming from this direction. He listened intently but the blood was pounding in his ears with excitement and he could no longer hear it.
His heart was beating wildly as he stood there stock still, not moving an inch. Feverishly he wondered what animal could have done this damage and he could only think it must have been a rabid bear. This thought put the apprentice into a state of panic. He forced himself to take deep, regular breaths as he tried to reach the Void. He didn’t quite get there but at least he was thinking clearly again.
He was slowly crawling backwards when the black rock, where the stag was lying, began to move! A huge paw became visible and the enormous black wolf, which had been curled up beside its prey, stood up in one flowing motion. The animal was at least one head taller than Falk and as long as a horse. Its fur was so black that it seemed to swallow all light. The monster stood up on its hind legs and stretched its nose into the wind. As it was sniffing loudly, Ahren noticed that its right front leg was damaged and the creature was holding it close to its chest. The boy could see a furry pattern running between the fore-paws, a strangely convoluted spiral of dark red fur. It stood out like a brand on the rest of the jet-black body.
The creature’s eyes burned a fiery red, no pupils, nothing. Only two half-moons that stared at him as the Blood Wolf slowly turned its head – and looked him directly in the eyes. Ahren spun around, ignoring the thorns that were scratching his face and injuring him, and broke through the undergrowth. Behind him he could hear a blood-curdling howl, deeper and more ferocious than any wolf he had heard before. He redoubled his efforts. He had managed about ten paces when he heard the Dark One crashing into the thorn bush. Another eight paces, a quick look behind, and he could see that the monster would break free any second and have a clear run. For a split second he thought of using the bow, but if he wanted to stop it, he would have to shoot the beast through the throat or through one of its eyes as it was charging on him. That may have sounded exciting and heroic in the old stories but Ahren really didn’t feel like betting his life on it. The surrounding trees were too small to offer protection, so he wouldn’t be able to climb to safety.
Ahren- the 13th Paladin Page 12
