Читать книгу The Shadow Scrolls: Series Book One, The Vale of Blood - PD Ph.D. Lorenz - Страница 7

Samuel was seven and almost seventeen at the same time, the second son of Kathryn and John of Scharp, a young lad ahead of his actual days. The night before his birth, his mother had a dream whereby he was found to be lying upon a forested bed in a nest of feathers and guarded by majestic birds of prey. They were birds of multiple hued feathers with talons as long as thorn pegs. In actuality, he was born with two umbilical cords and his mother often stated that half of him was for her and the other half belonged to the heavens. His eyes, even at birth, seemed to be seeing somewhere else and unlike his Da’ and his brother’s green eyes, Samuel’s eyes were as clear as a bright blue sky.

Though somewhat absent from this world, he was a good and obedient boy and at the moment was making his way to the river’s edge looking very much like a monk for his hair was cut so short around and above the ears that his scalp could be clearly seen. Around his shoulders he wore a thick brown cloak made of bear skin that his mother insisted he wear for the long and forlorn winter months were rapidly approaching. In his hand were two thatched buckets lined with pitch used for carting water to and from the family’s small stone cottage. While he walked he hummed a tune (for he always hummed a tune) and somewhat post-toddled his way toward the river’s edge. Once there, he found his brother seated by a clump of trees daydreaming about some far off place, and perhaps even, some far off time as well.

Samuel was always ready for a game, and when he spotted Jonathan near the clump of trees where he had often found him flinging stones into the current, he decided to sneak up on him. He had looked up to his brother in not only a literal way, but also a figurative one as well. It’s only natural, I suppose, for a younger brother to admire the elder. Perhaps it was due to the fact that the elder had braved the rapids of new and naïve parenting or perhaps it was the fact that the elder was just simply the larger of the two. What had never crossed his mind, and what Samuel could not possibly fathom, was the fact that there were actually times when Jonathan would admire the younger with equal vigor. And that, perhaps, was due in large part to the way in which the parents treated the younger for at times they treated him as if the younger had been the actual firstborn. Nevertheless, the two brothers ended up with a mutual respect and admiration that allowed them to interact on the friendliest of terms. Therefore, when Samuel snuck up on his brother with a large stick in his hand, he was confident that a game would soon be afoot.

Samuel hurled the stick up and over the clump of trees with all of his strength, not knowing at what angle it may come down. To his utter amazement, the stick came down right between Jonathan’s legs and stuck fast into the mud that lay in pools before him. Jonathan didn’t even flinch, so lost was he in contemplation, about what Samuel could only guess. Searching for another projectile, the little one continued to stealth his way around the clump of trees.

Surely, the breaking of branches will snap him out of his thoughts, thought Samuel to himself. However, his rustlings produced no response from the elder so it was only right to toss another in his general direction. Thus, up and over the hedge went another stick of considerable size which, at that time, would have ended up almost directly upon the head of Jonathan if it were not for his quick reflexes.

Jonathan, the consummate would-be warrior, instinctively kept one ear and one eye upon his surroundings at all times. He had known that his mischievous brother had approached earlier and had also known the precise moment that he was present and thereby had hidden the green gem in the folds of his cloak. He also knew that with the toss of the first stick in his direction, a second would be a calculable fact which was proved correct… (For what seven year old could possibly show any respect let alone restraint whatsoever.)

As the second projectile was on its heading to strike Jonathan in the top of his lid, he snapped his eyes in the direction of the danger and instantly made a sweeping arc with an outstretched hand thereby catching the stick in mid-fight. As he whirled around, he thought the better of returning the missile from whence it had come due to the fact that serious bodily harm could have been afflicted upon the young misfit. Electing rather to sprint in the direction of Samuel, he could hear the giggling yelp of the younger as he took off in another direction all together. Thus, the chase and game was on.

Samuel ran like a leaping roe in and out of the shoreline dodging low branches on the way and yelping the whole time. It was just what Jonathan had needed at that moment to shake him out of his very adult-like contemplations and he was more than happy to play along. It was one of the things that caused the elder to admire the younger. Somehow and in someway, Samuel had a way of bringing peace, if not healing, to whatever situation he happened upon. That was his gift, and it was always a welcome one in the Scharp household.

Jonathan slowed to a trot, and with stick in hand, prodded Samuel on his backside which produced only more hilarious yelps from the youngling.

“No, you can’t poke at me… That’s not fair,” yelped Samuel.

“But you can throw gigantic logs at me, eh brother?” taunted Jonathan.

“But I never hit you.” continued Samuel as they both raced along the shoreline, splashing in the water the whole way. Samuel was oblivious to the fact that Jonathan and the Da’ had a falling out as of late, so that made Jonathan’s willingness to play along undiminished. Finally, beginning to tire, the elder gently tossed the stick in front of Samuel’s legs where it just caught the pitter patter of Samuel’s feet at the right angle to cause him to trip and fall into the water. Falling face first into the current, Samuel outstretched his arms and momentarily bobbed…, then suddenly became a still and seemingly lifeless object floating deeper and deeper into the river’s sway.

All at once, Jonathan felt the emergent feelings of guilt and panic.

“Samuel…? Samuel…?” he shouted at the still lifeless form. It was one of those moments that freezes one in time; a moment that feels like at eternity, when in actuality, it’s only seconds long. Without a further thought, Jonathan leaped with lightening fast reflexes into the swirling current and placed a hand on the floating bearskin cloak of his brother and flipped him over. Once there, he was met with a rather sheepish grin emanating from the face of the younger.

“What, you were jesting?” questioned Jonathan.

Samuel snickered the only kind of snicker that would fend off a slap in the face.

“You’re fortunate enough to have the face that you have or I would drown you in the surf, you skunk!” retorted the elder brother as if he were a parent himself.

Together, the two made their way to the river’s edge and onto the shoreline once again. There, they sat in the mud and just laughed together, Jonathan’s heaviness melting away like a spring runoff. The mud that they had collected upon themselves would have had their parents verbally raising the rafters of the family’s home. In fact, at the moment, the two of them even pictured the thatched roof coming apart at the seams and the anger of the Da’ beginning to light the straw on fire. They read each other’s thoughts and at the same time turned to the other and verbalized their inner converse…

“WHOOSH!” they said aloud and laughed like raucous old hunters after a long night of tracking. In time, their hilarity died down and they just sat together in silence until the younger broke it with a line of sincere and heartfelt questioning.

“Brother, what were you thinking about at the river’s edge when I found you?” inquired Samuel.

For a moment Jonathan, in his adolescent manner, thought it strange to think about engaging in a would-be conversation with a seven year old as if the seven year old were seventeen and his peer. But long ago the fifteen year old Jonathan had learned that his baby brother was especially gifted in the art of listening beyond his years, and he abandoned his line of thinking to answer the sincerity of the would-be teen.

“I was thinking of a time before you were born. A time when I first saw…,” his words fell short of near revelation.

“When you first saw her?” Samuel questioned after a long pause.

“You don’t know what I was going to say,” defended Jonathan.

“I do know… but I haven’t said anything to anyone.”

“How?” Jonathan questioned.

“Brother, we sleep in the same room. I hear your dreams. Between snorts and snores, you talk, talk, and talk,” giggled the younger.

With that, Jonathan scooped a clump of mud and placed it upon his brother’s head like a mucky hat that dripped down the sides of his monkish head. Samuel just shook it off with a shake like a water shedding pup.

“Tell me the story though, please. I want to hear it.” Samuel inquired.

“Well, just before you were born, when Ma’ was pregnant with you, we were at the last Festival of Blossoms…”

“Oh, like the one that’s about to happen again?” interrupted the youngling.

“Story, Samuel. I’m telling the story,” frowned Jonathan with his hands raised in the air.

“Right, sorry,” repented Samuel.

“It was a great day. We arrived into the hollow with grand excitement. I’ll never forget how the hollow looked that day. A wind had been blowing and the cherry blossoms were shedding their petals to look like snow falling from the sky. The blossoms were not falling straight down, but rather swirling in circles as if they were dancing to some sort of music that only they could hear. The ardent play had already begun and it was the first year of the new pavilion. The three-plat-formed stage was a great sight to see back then. Everyone was excited about the whole thing. It also marked the beginning of Safehaven becoming a township. Jonathan watched his brother with discernment and discovered that he was certainly intent upon listening and it afforded the elder encouragement to continue his discourse…

“Back then was different from now. The Blossom Festival used to be so fun. Now, it’s only serious talk with no games.”

“There used to be games? What games?” inquired Samuel.

“We used to play fun games as kids… That was where I first met her, and him.”

“Who’s him? You never mentioned "him" in your dreams,” Samuel interrupted.

“Yes, there’s him,” Jonathan stated as his furrowed-brow thoughts carried him away to a distant time…

The game was called, “catch the squealer,” and all the kids of the village-turned-township looked foreword to participating every year at the annual festival. The parents looked forward to it as well because it gave them a chance to have fellowship with friends without the constant interruptions of cloth jerking little hands and their constant neediness. Once gathered in the gigantic stall behind the butcher’s shop, the kids would anticipate the appearance of His Sir-ness as Bart of the Forest was called. Sir-ness was the affectionate name that he had earned because of his great generosity towards those in need. There was nothing more satisfying to the butcher than the chance to help out fellow villagers in times of need and he spent most of his time stealthily spying out those who were lacking, so he knew their need even when no one else could have known. His favorite time of year was the annual festival, no matter in which of the seven towns it was being held, for he was the supplier of the massive amount of mutton and victuals that generously fed the masses. His appearance at the back door of his butcher’s shop brought yelps from the children as the anticipation of the chase was about to commence.

Bart of the Forest was a portly man, but as strong as an ox and his second favorite past time was to hunt wild boars in the wood. Armed with only a deer horn dagger, he would often coat his bald head with inky mud before setting out on foot into the vast wilderness where he would be gone for days at a time. Although a vigorous hunter, he was also known as a kind and gentle man when he was in town and always cordial to his customers.

When he appeared in the doorway, in his hands were one of those wild boars, but only a young one whose tusks had just begun to appear and therefore were dull and harmless. Lathered in lard, the young hog was set loose by his Sir-ness and the kids scrambled to catch it as it darted away with a small explosion of squeals.

Jonathan was the first to touch the wild beast. At only eight years old, his fleet feet carried him faster than the other kids of the town. With a great and remarkable slide in the mud, he was able to grab the hind quarters of the small prey. Once attached, he was able to hold him for a whole ten seconds before the little creature slipped away, bucking and snorting. Instantly, a gaggle of kids clamored after it, all of them falling well short of its wiggly scamper. His “Sir-ness” laughed a hearty laugh that made his whole body shake, and as Jonathan watched, he winked at the boy in a “good attempt” sort of way. Jonathan slathered his way to his feet and nodded in the direction of Bart before turning once again toward the little pig.

The wild boar itself was a determined little fellow and at the moment was making an attempt to leap over the stone wall that created the barrier to hold the animal within the field of play. Unfortunately for the boar, the barrier was an immoveable one and with a great thud, the animal failed to clear the wall and fell stunned and back into the arena. What followed was an absolute pig pile! Children’s arms and legs leaped from all directions upon the poor creature and it was instantly buried beneath the small mountain of flesh, but that was what made the game so fun. At the same time that the avalanche of bodies settled upon the ground, a wave of muddy water sprang up into the air and inevitably upon each and every child present. Jonathan was saddened and elated all at the same time, for although he had missed the pig pile, he spotted the small fiend of a pig wiggle free from the fleshy mountain and scamper across the yard again and it afforded him a second chance at the prize.

What was the prize? The pig, once caught, would be awarded to the child’s family and in turn the family would be free to do with it whatever they saw fit or perhaps had need of at the moment for if sold it could fetch a handsome sum indeed. It was also a chance for the winning child to be as if they themselves were a great hunter and perhaps, for the first time in their young lives, bring home the game for the family’s needs. At the end of it all however, it was simply yet another token of generosity by the gentle butcher.

Jonathan saw his chance to make his Da’ proud and sprang into action. However, as he approached the cornered piglet, he was halted in his tracks by a flash of whirling blond hair that leapt in front of him. With the swiftness of a lighting strike, the small boar and boy were caught dead in their tracks. Although muddied to no end, she was the most beautiful creature Jonathan had ever seen. Her matted hair released ringlets that fell down over her eyes like a royal veil. Through those ringlets, clear eyes shone underneath eyebrows that were like waxing crescent moons on a harvest eve. Her nose elegantly descended from there like a gentle fall line from a majestic mount only to touch lips that were full and rich in a reddened hue. Having corralled the piglet, she laughed and turned her head toward Jonathan, causing his world to slow down for that one moment. All peripheral sights clouded on his left and right, and all at once his focus was upon the creature that would prove to haunt many of his dreams, though it would become a welcomed haunting indeed.

Unfortunately, the dreamscape was quickly smashed like a boulder falling through an icy river by a boy bearing the name James the Younger, son of James the Good, Nasgroth of Trelane, one of the other townships of the realm. Jonathan could hardly believe his eyes as he witnessed the ten year old James approach the eight year old girl, slap her in the face, and peel her off of the piglet only to throw her aside like an empty burlap sack where she fell with a whimper. Jonathan had never felt such a surge of chemicals in his veins. His heart leapt like the little piglet had as it left the arms of Bart the butcher and before he could even think, he had smashed the boys’ nose and had him pinned against the stone wall with one hand on his throat and the other with a fist full of nappy brown hair. Poised and ready to slam the back of James’ head against a stone, he stared down into the blood spattered and defiant eyes of his would-be nemesis.

Suddenly, he found himself dangling above the boy as he was being held one-armed by the vice like grip of his Sir-ness, Bart of the Forest.

“That will do, boy.” Bart turned Jonathan toward himself like a door swinging on a hinge and looked approvingly into his deep green eyes… “You can beat your enemy down, but never, never kill him. That’s not your decision to make,” Bart stated with what seemed to be an echo in the hot anger filled ears of young Jonathan.

Then, as quickly as it began it was over, and Jonathan found himself on the muddy ground once again. He could feel the steely eyes of James the Younger burrowing a hole into his chest, but he brushed it aside and made his way over to the girl. Offering his hand down to her, he cherished the moment she placed her hand in his and heard her speak for the first time.

“Thank you, my prince,” she whispered.

…”And that was the first time that I saw her,” stated Jonathan to his attentive little brother.

“Have you spoken to her since then?” questioned Samuel.

“Not once, not even in my dreams.”

“That’s not right. I’ll tell Ma’, she’ll make it right.”

“No, you won’t,” Jonathan stated flatly.

“Yes… I will,” jested the younger.

“No, you won’t,” responded the elder with a touch of anger.

“Oh, yes,” said Samuel as he rose from the shoreline and threatened to run in the direction of home.

Jonathan rose in unison with the little skunk and grabbed him by the arm as the younger tried to pull away. Samuel giggled in his own silly way and tried to pull away again, but Jonathan picked him up and tossed him into the river’s awaiting water. He then jumped in after the little one and together commenced a war of water that lasted nearly a quarter of an hour before they were then interrupted by an ironic twist of fate.

From the forest that lay up river there emerged a war party led by soldiers of the kingdom riding upon the magnificent coursers of the royal stables. At the moment, they had just completed a scouting trip of the southern border lands, and when they stopped at the banks, Jonathan was more embarrassed than Samuel when they were caught frolicking in the water. They instantly stopped, water dripping from them like the end of a morning rain. Among the party was an older James the Younger in training as a would-be soldier with mentors of the royal soldiery. Also among the would-be warriors was she, the girl Jonathan had rescued seven years earlier. He had seen her many times since their very first encounter, but still had never spoken to her. He didn’t even know her name. Jonathan stood dumbfounded.

The war party hardly took notice of the two peasant looking boys, but one amongst them did and she smiled at Jonathan as he stared in awe. It was his “princess.” She was dressed in battle fatigues and sat atop a mocha colored horse that was also arrayed in the dress of war. Together they matched, with her darkened leather garbs and a saddle of the same shade. The way that she was seated in the saddle made it look like they were nearly one. An array of small daggers with red stones was lined end-to-end up the left forearm of the girl, but it was clear that her main fighting weapon was a crossbow that was slung over her head and hung upon her back. It had the distinct characteristics of his father’s craftsmanship, and in an instant, he wondered if he himself had had a hand in its formation. To Jonathan, she seemed to fit the position like a veteran of the realm, although it was clear that she was merely in training due to the way that the true veterans had been barking orders to the trainees.

Upon hearing the gruff growls of the battle hardened mentors, both James the Younger, the “princess,” and two other newling’s scampered from their horses and to a small wagon being pulled behind a servant-at-arms. Once there, they produced watering troughs and cups and commenced to fill them at the river’s edge. It was a sight that produced in the heart of Jonathan a sense of humility and jealousy all at the same time, for there was his nemesis at the side of his princess and they were both in training for the greatest desire of his own heart, to be a soldier of the realm. The feelings flooded his soul once again just at the moment he had completely forgotten the tiff earlier in the day.

“Why don’t you go and talk to her?” interrupted the young Samuel.

“What?” Jonathan questioned as he nearly shook his head to clear his daydreaming state.

“Go and talk to her.” repeated Samuel.

“I couldn’t.”

“Yes you could… You know that you want to, right? Or are you tongue tied brother?” There was an air of challenge in the young ones’ tone and Jonathan sensed warm blood filling his still water doused face.

“Never mind,” shied Jonathan at the dare.

“Then I will for you,” Samuel stated as he started to make his way in the direction of the war party.

“No, no, I’ll do it,” was the older brother’s answer.

Jonathan approached the party tentatively, waiting for the right moment when the girl would be alone and not busy attending to the others. The moment presented itself after she had finished her duties and when she had at last begun to attend to her own courser. For a moment, she was alone by the water and Jonathan snuck below the sight of the rest of the soldiers including James the Younger.

“Hello,” he spoke with a conscious effort to keep his voice from shaking.

“Hello,” she replied with a voice that sounded like some kind of music to Jonathan. Her beauty was still just as intimidating as it had always been, and Jonathan could feel the great gulf between them threaten to grow into a wider chasm. He fought it off with the only words that came to his mind at the time.

“Do you remember me?” he questioned. The pause hung in the air like a note in mid-orchestration. Her face had a kind expression, but the words hadn’t come just yet. It was impossible for Jonathan to discern what her anticipated answer would be and his inner conversation clouded his emotions… “Has she ever thought of me the way I have thought of her?” he mused.

“Ho’ there,” boomed a voice that broke through the moment like a stone that breaks the ice of a thawing creek. It was James the Younger, mounted upon his steed and dressed in his own battle array. He managed to move his horse between the girl and the drenched Jonathan. From his height, he addressed the still dripping weapon master’s apprentice.

“It’s not proper to approach a soldier without an invitation to, piglet chaser,” bellowed James. His condescending manner of speech reminded Jonathan that the privileges of the wealthy included an education in the tongue of the upper class. “Who is looking down upon whom now, apprentice?” said James.

“Still polishing the saddle of your master’s horse, hey youngling?” retorted Jonathan.

“Yes, well, by the time I join the war effort and am actually using the weapons that you grovel to create, you will still be fetching water for your Ma’ from this river here.” It was a stinging accusation and before Jonathan could react, the veteran mentors demanded that they continue on their journey.

James deliberately kept his horse between Jonathan and the girl until she had mounted hers and the party was off once again. As they disappeared into the forest, the girl shot a glance behind her and in the direction of Jonathan. It was a moment he would remember for years to come. Samuel slowly scuttled next to his brother with a tethered Swift in hand and allowed the horse to nudge his older brother on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry, John,” said Samuel.

“John, not Jonathan?” questioned the elder.

“Aye, for you are John of Scharp; much older than James the Younger… Older and ‘gooder’, brother,” declared the seven year old.

“Thanks,” Jonathan said as he slung his arm around the neck of his sibling and friend.

Together, they filled the thatched buckets with water near a small rapid created by some boulders in the river. Then they each grabbed a rein to handle Swift and slowly made their way back in the direction of their home just as the first drops of rain began to fall from the newly arrived storm. As they started to enter the forested canyon pass that they had traveled for years, Jonathan felt for the precious stone that still lay hidden within the folds of his cloak and contemplated its weight in silence.

Behind them, and unbeknownst to anyone that had been previously near the water’s edge that day, there emerged from the shallows of mud and mire a figure nearly invisible. So stealthy and camouflaged was the enemy scout that the whole of the war party had watered their horses a mere hand breath above its hiding place… And, like a shadowy serpent, it had passed silently and within a whisper of the frolicking Samuel and his older brother, Jonathan of Scharp.