by Darrin Long
“Ye worry too much about me,” she said to him.
“That’s what sons do,” he replied with a smile.
That winter was the worst winter of Neilan’s life, for it was that winter that he lost his mum and found himself all alone in the increasingly unforgiving world of men. The hearts of men were cold and everything that was considered different was also considered dangerous and Neilan was definitely different. He tried to stay on with Mr Bram after burying his mum thinking that the villagers would have pity on him. But the day after the burial, when Neilan arrived at the smithy for work, Mr Bram met him at the fence.
“I’m really sorry Neilan” he said “but I can’t have ye working for me anymore.”
“But why?” Neilan asked.
Mr Bram looked at the ground.
“Because, those damn people won’t allow it,” he replied, “they’re threatening my business, Neilan.”
Neilan didn’t want Mr Bram to lose his business, so late at night, when the village was asleep he gathered his things from the stable and headed for the forest. He knew he could no longer live among men, so he left the village to seek out solitude in the wilderness, far from the prying eyes of those who did not understand, nor did they care to. He stopped just inside the forest and looked back at the only home he had ever known. Tears began to fill his eyes and he wiped them quickly.
“I will never cry again because of men,” he said angrily and he turned and disappeared into the forest.
It was the loneliest walk he had ever taken yet his heart was set on fire by the possibility of adventure.
“I’ll go north,” he said looking out towards the mountains. “Men are afraid to go north; I am not.”
So, Neilan travelled for two days due north towards the mountains. He camped under the great trees at night and travelled during the day. On the third day, he had finally reached the first and the smallest of the mountains and it was there that he found refuge in an old cave that overlooked a Glen. He knew it wouldn’t be smart to stay in a cave that was already the home of an animal so, he inspected it thoroughly before moving in. He marked out a fire pit on the ground and noticed a crack in the ceiling that would be perfect for letting the smoke out. He spent several days cleaning out the cave and with the help of an old saw and hammer he had bought from Mr Bram, he was even able to eventually fit a door into the opening to keep the heat in and the cold out. The work he had done for Mr Bram had taught him how to work with wood as well as steel and he was very thankful for Mr Bram and all that he had taught him.
“One day I will repay him for all he has done,” Neilan said, as he stood in the Glen and admired his handiwork on the door. “It looks as if the door leads right into the mountain itself.”
He was proud of himself, but he would rather have seen that pride on his mum’s face.
“I sure miss ye mum,” he said softly, “I wish ye could see this.”
He blamed himself for not leaving the village before his mum became sick. She would have been more comfortable in this clean cave than she was in that filthy stable, but deep down he knew that she would not have been able to travel the three days that it took him to find it.
Every day he fixed up the cave a little more trying to make it as much like a home as he could, but no matter how much he did it was still a lonely place. He tried to busy himself by planting a small garden and doing anything he could to keep his mind off the loneliness and those dreams. However, every night, no matter how exhausted he was, the dreams would return and they were filled with hideous creatures, violence, blood and death.
One of the ways he tried to keep his mind from thoughts of his dreams was by practising every day with his bow. Hours upon hours of shooting seemed to take his mind off the tormenting dreams and his loneliness. Though he was already a great bowman, each day he improved even more. His skills had improved so much that he could shoot the head off a stalk of wheat at fifty meters.
“No man from the village can do that,” he said proudly.
Such feats were unheard of in the world of men and would appear to them as very suspicious as well. To hone his skills, he began tossing stones into the air and shooting them with an arrow that had no head on it. Many days he would hunt the birds of the air with nothing more than a bow and arrows and he never came home without a kill. Neilan’s mum once told him that his da was a great Bowman, but he had never met his da.
“The only thing he ever gave me was this stupid mark,” he said, touching his forehead.
He remembered seeing the birthmark once in his reflection in a pool of water just outside the village and he ran his finger over it many times. For as long as he could remember, it was his mum and him against the world. Often, he had wondered about his da, but his mum told him that she did not know much about him. She said that his da was nothing more than a special night and a wonderful memory. Well, that may have been enough for her, but for a boy growing up without a da in a hostile and lonely world, it is far from enough.
That winter brought some challenges for Neilan, with the snow being so deep on the mountain and the wolves that would run in packs. The cave was warm though and he was always able to find some food in the forest.
“I love winter,” he said as he stood on the mountain “everything seemed so still and quiet. It is so different than winter in Mar when people seemed to become even meaner than they already were. I wonder who they will hate now that I’m not there?”
He celebrated his fifteenth birthday; feasting on rabbit stew that he had made and building some shelves for his cave. It wasn’t much, but it was home and he preferred it to the villages of men.
“Happy Birthday Neilan,” he said to himself as he stepped back and admired his handiwork.
Chapter 2
The Gift
When spring came and the snow began to melt, the Glen seemed to come alive. Neilan set out early one spring morning on one of his hunting trips up the side of the mountain. When he had reached the crest of the first rise, several birds flew up right in front of him. He quickly shot one down and was able to take the second one before the birds disappeared over the next rise.
“Yes,” he said as he watched to see where they had flown.
After collecting his two kills, he started towards the area where the other birds had landed but found his path blocked by a boulder that sat along the edge of the cliff.
“Wow, that’s a long way down,” he said as he slowly edged his way around the boulder being careful not to slip and fall to his death on the rocks below.
Just as he cleared the boulder, he saw the birds on the ground only a stone’s throw away. He pulled his arrow back and took aim just as the birds flew into the air again.
“Steady,” he said, as he followed them with the tip of his arrow and then let the arrow go, killing yet another bird. “That will be enough for my meals today.”
He walked over and as he bent down to pick up the bird, a sound reached his ears. He froze, crouching motionlessly, listening for the sound again then, he heard it; someone was crying nearby.
“Hello?” he said, as he searched the area, but did not find anyone.
Leaning quietly on a boulder, he listened and heard the crying again. It seemed as if it were coming from the mountain itself.
“Strange,” he said, as he walked towards the cliff that led up to the summit.
He listened intently and suddenly, he felt a cold breeze coming from the rock face before him. The rocks were covered in vines and when he began to feel around, he quickly discovered that the vines were concealing the entrance to a cave.
“Wow, he said, but then his instincts kicked in. “I’d better be careful.”
Years of living in the village had made him cautious of men and their tricks, so he pulled out another arrow and slid it onto his bow.
“If it’s a trick,” he thought, “the outcome won’t be pretty.”
With the string pulled back halfway, he slowly pushed his way through the vines and into the
cave beyond. He stopped just inside and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He could still hear the crying coming from deep in the cave. He knew that it could be a trap so he proceeded slowly.
Once he could see the other walls clearly, he inched his way in further following the sound. The cave turned to the left, so he pressed himself against the wall, peeking around the corner before stepping out into the open. The cave opened up and he could see a figure sitting before a very small blue flame that gave off very little light. As he inched closer, he could see that there was no one else in the cave except an old man sitting on a pillow warming his hands over a tiny blue flame and crying.
Neilan lowered his bow as he stepped into the cave.
“Who is there?” the old man asked.
“My name is Neilan, I mean ye no harm. I heard yer cries.”
The old man held out his hand motioning Neilan to a pillow across from him.
“Please, Sit,” he said.
As Neilan slowly lowered himself onto the pillow he could see that the old man was very thin and frail looking. He could see under the hood that the old man wore, and his eyes were white and glossed over.
“Yer bind,” Neilan said.
“Some think so,” the old man said, “but I see things, Neilan, that most men will never see, nor understand.”
As the old man sat quietly hunched over the tiny blue flame, Neilan could see tears running down the old man’s face.
“Why do ye cry, old man?” He asked.
The old man looked up from the flame, “I cry because so many do not and because so many cannot.” He replied.
“I don’t understand,” said Neilan.
The old man smiled through the tears that fell onto the dirt floor before him.
“I am the Dream Crier; the tear of a million mourning. Late at night when pain blinds the mind, the rivers of sorrow overflow.”
He leaned back down over the tiny flame, moving his hands from side to side.
“There is so much suffering in this world, but there are not enough tears to give it meaning,” the old man said. “I exist to give meaning to that suffering and to help those who can, to understand.”
Neilan was very confused by the old man’s rambling and he was starting to feel uncomfortable in that cave.
“Can’t ye stop crying?” He asked.
“Yes,” the old man said, “when I have taught others how to. There must be meaning Neilan or suffering will be for nothing.”
Neilan had heard enough and he was not willing to stay any longer with this weird old man than he already had.
“Well, as long as yer not in danger,” Neilan said. He reached into his bag and pulled out one of the birds he had shot and laid it beside the old man’s leg. “Food,” he said.
But before he could remove his hand the old man grabbed his wrist. Instantly he felt a surge of energy flow up his arm and into his brain. He yanked his hand away.
“What did ye do?” he asked.
“A gift for a gift” the old man replied with a smile.
Neilan rubbed his wrist where the old man had grabbed him, but there was no pain and no marks.
“Goodbye Neilan,” the old man said sadly.
“Goodbye,” he said as he turned around in confusion and made his way back out of the cave.
He stood for a moment in the sunlight and examined his wrist, but there did not seem to be any marks left behind and it did not hurt. He walked back to his own cave in a daze, but he really didn’t remember walking there at all. One moment he was walking out of the cave on the mountain and the next thing he knew, he was standing in front of his own cave. Neilan shook his head to clear the fog.
“How did I get here so fast?” He asked himself.
But no matter how he got there, he realized that he was very tired and he still had to clean and cook the two birds in his bag. It didn’t take him very long, however, to clean and cook the birds. He wrapped one in large Nai leaves and tied it to a string that hung from the ceiling. Then, he ate the other bird in silence while he stared into the flames of his cooking fire.
“Would a man get used to being alone?” He wondered. “If he did, what kind of man would be become?”
No matter how much he hated men, he hated being alone, even more.
“What did that old man do to me?” he wondered, rubbing his head. “And why is my head so clouded?”
Fear gripped him as he began to feel a warming sensation slowly moving through his body. He tried to move but was not able to.
“That old man poisoned me,” he said, as he tried to stand. But he was not able to get to his feet and the cave grew dark around him and he lost consciousness.
As Neilan slept the dreams returned, but this time they were different. Instead of Chaotic horror, Neilan was able to distinguish between the different events taking place and between the many voices that were crying out for help. It was as if he was standing in the dream itself and he began to understand the nightmares that had plagued him for so long. He could see cages filled with blue-skinned people and he watched as they were attacked and tortured by something evil.
“Who are these people?” He wondered. “And why are they being treated like this?”
But there was so much more to the dreams than what he could see; Neilan could actually feel their pain and their fear. His dreams felt so real and some of the blue people even seemed to be pleading with him to help them as they reached out from their cages. As he watched them, he was overwhelmed by their sorrow and suffering.
“I wish I could help ye, he said, “but I don’t know how.”
Tears began to flow down his face and onto the dirt floor upon which he laid. He felt so helpless; he wanted to do something to rescue them from the evil creature. He had never seen anything like that creature before; it was a very large and grotesquely deformed creature that had two legs and two arms like a man, but its body was dark brown and all bulbous. It stood about twice as tall as an ordinary man and on its head, was a small crown that had a black glowing stone in the centre of it. Neilan watched helplessly as the beast grabbed a blue man from a cage and ripped his arms off. Then it proceeded to eat him right there in front of the others. Neilan could feel their horror at seeing one of their own torn apart and devoured before their eyes. The tears were now flowing freely down Neilan’s face.
“Stop,” he cried, “please stop.”
Neilan’s heart was so overwhelmed that he felt like he could die right there. Never had he seen such evil, not even in the village of men and men were capable of horrible things.
The dream started to fade and the people in the cages cried out as if they could see him walking away. But he could not control the dream and he could not bear to endure any more pain and sorrow.
“I’m sorry,” he cried, as he hung his head “I’m sorry.”
He was just a boy after all and he had been pushed to his limits with these nightmares.
He awoke to the sound of tree frogs singing outside the cave. He rolled over onto his back, realizing that he had fallen asleep on the dirt floor next to the fire. His muscles ached from the damp ground and his face was covered in mud.
“What happened,” he said as he looked around to see if somehow rain had come in or if he had spilt something, but he did not find anything.
Then, he realized that he still had tears running down his face and that it was his tears that had made the mud. He grabbed a towel to wipe the mud off his face as he sat down on his blanket and leaned against the cold stone wall. Even though he had slept, he felt exhausted; emotionally drained and extremely thirsty. The visions from his dreams kept flashing in his mind.
“Those poor people,” he said. Then he remembered the old man. “A gift for a gift,” he said, “Some gift.”
Neilan rubbed his throbbing head; his mind was still pretty clouded from whatever the old man had drugged him with. He leaned his head back against the wall and cried. Never in his whole life had he cried like this. In fact, he
could only remember a few times when he had actually cried at all and he didn’t want to start now. He was very tired, but he dared not let himself go back to sleep; he did not want to dream anymore of those dreams. So, he placed a log on the embers to keep the fire going and he slowly began to move around the cave, trying to work out the stiffness in his muscles. He slowly began to feel better as he moved about the cave and drank some water.
“How long was I asleep?” he wondered. “I remember eating the bird around midday and that is all I can remember.” He walked over to the door and looked out at the stars in the sky. “It’s night already.”
The cool breeze felt good on his face, so he went outside and sat down on the bench that he had made and placed next to the door.
“Why would that old man do this to me?” he said. “I was only trying to help him.”
He bent over and put his head in his hands. The cool breeze was making him feel a lot better, so he stood up and stretched his legs and arms. The more he moved the better he felt, so he decided that he would take a walk.
“That old man has some explaining to do,” he said as he grabbed his bow from the cave and headed up the mountain, just as the first hint of orange began to peek over the horizon.
As he headed up the mountain he could see more of the orange glow of the Sun on the horizon and he knew that morning was only a few moments away. Every step he took brought more of his strength back and by the time he had reached the crest of the first rise, he was feeling like himself again. Half of the sun could be seen peeking over the horizon as he edged around the boulder that led to the hidden cave.
“I’m not taking any chances this time,” he thought, as he pulled out an arrow and readied his bow.
He held the bow in front of himself as he reached for the vine-covered entrance; he was going to make sure that old man didn’t catch him off guard twice. He reached out his hand to part the vines, but as he pushed the vines aside, he was surprised.
“The cave entrance is gone,” he said.
He put down his bow and started feeling along the stone wall trying to locate the entrance, but there was no entrance anywhere.
