Fictional Corner

Questions Answered

2009-03-09T14:14:00.000-07:00

Fendrel walked back and forth before the hearth. The low fire sent the old man’s shadow dancing against the far wall as he paced anxiously, an exercise he had spent much of the day impatiently perfecting. The high wooden beams of the hall seemed to stoop over him mimicking the tension in his slouched shoulders. The gloomy shadows of the room mirrored his dark eyes which stared intensely into oblivion.

“He should have been back by morning at the latest,” the old man muttered angrily. Yes, he was angry, but probably more frightened than anything else. Even though Fendrel’s demeanor usually didn’t betray his true feelings for the boy, the youth was the closest thing he had had to a son. It had been almost 18 years since a tiny infant had been left at his door, cold, tired and hungry. Fendrel had found it very curious that anyone should leave an infant at the door of an aging hermit. It was possible that they had mistaken his large house for that of a wealthy family which would be able to feed another mouth. The thought had never occurred to him that it might be because this doorstep belonged to the secluded dwelling of Fendrel the Wise. And then there was the note to consider…

While lifting the child out of his basket, a small piece of parchment had fallen from the infant’s blankets. It had revealed the boy’s history, the names of his parents, his ancestry, and the danger that pursued him. The contents of that letter had greatly alarmed Fendrel and he had spent some time staring in astonishment at the bundle in his arms. The magnitude of the situation in which he had then found himself had been almost overwhelming.

He had searched the little one’s basket and found a small, silver box hidden among the extra blankets. The letter had only revealed that in the box the infant’s “lineage awaits.” What exactly this meant Fendrel could not be certain. He had no doubt, however, about the gravity of the danger that hung over the child’s head. Many sleepless nights had found Fendrel watching and waiting, but nothing happened. As time passed and no sign of danger showed itself, he became more relaxed but not foolish.

For safety’s sake, he had hidden the small, silver box at the base of a great oak tree in a grove some distance from his home. He was still uncertain of its contents, but he knew that at any cost, the box must not fall into the wrong hands. At present, all he could do was watch and wait.

“And now I’ve gone and sent the poor boy into who knows what kind of dangers,” Fendrel mumbled, cursing himself under his breath. He wondered why he even wanted to retrieve the box at all. A vague premonition of impending danger had plagued him for the past few days, leaving him uneasy.

To ease his conscience, Fendrel had planned to go himself for the box; but when he had told the young lad of his intention to fetch a small “treasure”, the boy had insisted that his guardian stay behind and save his strength. There seemed to be no logical explanation for Fendrel’s apprehension and after some debate, the youth won out with the condition that he travel under cover of night and even then use every bit of caution. “I’m turning into an old woman,” Fendrel had thought to himself. Still, there was something that did not feel right.

When he had neither seen nor heard anything from his charge the following morning, he started to worry. At first he considered that the boy had seized the opportunity to go on some childish adventure. But Fendrel quickly dismissed the thought, it was not like him. The lad had always been very dutiful and did not show the usual signs of frivolity that young boys typically embrace. This thought/consideration only deepened Fendrel’s concern for the lad’s safety.

He could not sit by and wait for something to happen; at the same time, heightening his frustration, he was advanced in years and not nearly as robust as he had been. Since the boy had taken their only horse, it would take Fendrel nearly a day to reach the oak grove on foot. Even then, what good would he be when he arrived? If the lad was hurt, he would probably be dead by the time Fendrel could get to him. And if an enemy had found him… The old man pushed the thought out of his mind. He needed help.

About mid-morning Fendrel decided to solicit the aid of Borin, a local woodsman. Borin was an odd character. He often hired himself out to the local people as a tracker, hunter and trapper; but Fendrel suspected that the man was more than simply a woodsman. Borin’s mannerisms, the way he carried himself and the fact that he was always armed indicated to Fendrel that he might not be what he seemed. Maybe he was hiding from a dark past, or maybe someone was looking for him… then again, woodsmen tended to be odd characters.

However, one particular detail about the woodsman had always worried Fendrel: Borin had appeared in the area soon after the child was left at Fendrel’s doorstep. Even though Borin had shown no signs of ill intention—for that matter, he seemed to pay no attention at all to Fendrel and the boy—Fendrel still kept up his guard. Fendrel was not certain that he could trust him; nevertheless, he was desperate and needed help. He had no choice but to put his trust the mysterious woodsman.

When Fendrel had informed Borin of the situation and asked for help, he was shocked at Borin’s response. Alarm and grave concern had been evident in the man’s face. The woodsman had hurriedly gathered a few things and ordered the old man to return to his home and wait.

However, the news that Borin brought back that evening only made Fendrel worry the more. Borin had searched the grove and found signs that the lad had found his treasure, but also that he was pursued. Borin had followed the tracks to the old road and then to the cliff along the river but could not be certain of what happened there. He had noted four sets of tracks leading to the cliff but only three leading away.

Borin had returned with his report barely an hour earlier to tell Fendrel about what he had learned. He assured the worried old man that as soon as he picked up more supplies, he would continue the search. And so, Fendrel had been left at his post, lost in reflections, while keeping vigil before the dying flames of the fire.

He was unexpectedly roused from his thoughts by the sound of a horse riding up to the house. He hurried to the door thinking that Borin had returned with his supplies and was ready to continue searching. The door pushed open slowly and a tall hooded figure stumbled in.

“Rowan!” Fendrel exclaimed, great relief evident on the old man’s face. “Where have you been? What took so long?” he questioned, making a poor effort to sound reproaching.

He immediately regretted his tone, though; for it was then that he noticed the tattered clothes hanging on the boy and a look of surprise crossed his face. Rowan tried to speak but only managed to stumble forward. His guardian reached out to support him and lead him to a chair near the fireplace. Fendrel fetched some steaming broth which Rowan ravenously gulped down. The exhausted youth then leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He remained motionless and for a moment Fendrel thought that he had fallen asleep. The concerned old man started to move away when Rowan grabbed him by the arm.

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” he said. He held the old man’s gaze, “Fendrel, after I made it back to the road, I was chased by two men on horseback. Four others tried to cut me off but I was able to escape down an old road that led to a ravine. Shadow and I had to jump into the river below to escape.”

“Are you all right?” Fendrel managed, unsettled at the news the boy had brought.

“I will be fine. I didn’t break anything, only bruises I think. I just need some rest.”

“Fendrel,” Rowan continued, “they were waiting for me and they also knew that I had the silver box.”

The alarm in Fendrel’s face startled the boy. “What is it Fendrel? Do you know who they were?”

“N-no, I don’t,” Fendrel stammered. He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. “Please, my boy, forgive me. I need a moment to think.”

Rowan watched the old man nervously pace about the room muttering to himself. After a few minutes he went over to a large trunk in the corner of the room and, pulling a key from under his robes, opened it and started rummaging through its contents. Finding what he was looking for, he came back to the fireplace holding an old letter.

Pulling a chair up to face his young charge, he started to explain, “Rowan, I must tell you something, something about yourself that I have kept hidden from you and everyone else since the night I found you at my door.

“When I found you, this letter and the silver box were hidden in your basket. The letter explained who you are and how you came to be left in my care.”

Fendrel then proceeded to read the letter. It stated that the name of the infant was Rowan Tercel, rightful heir to the kingdom of Lecthalion. His father, Frederick, was deposed by Leofrick, the king’s rebellious brother. The ostracized king had died in exile trying to organize his few remaining loyal subjects to oppose the usurper’s tyrannous rule. His mother, Arabella, died giving birth to him; only a few faithful servants were present to comfort her in her last moments. It had been decided that the infant should be secreted away and left under the care of a wise hermit, Fendrel, to be cared for and educated.

Regarding the silver box, the letter was cryptic. It emphasized the necessity to keep it and the boy’s true identity secret; but was very vague as to its contents. The only clue was the following line, “Herein lies the bloodline of Tercel; herein the prince’s lineage awaits.”

Fendrel set down the letter, “Please understand, my boy, it was only in the interest of your safety that I kept this from you. As cautious as I have been, I have obviously underestimated the dangers that are seeking you.”

Rowan sat staring into the fire. This news was overwhelming. Just the other day he was Rowan, an orphan under the care of the old hermit Fendrel; now he learned that he was Rowan Tercel, rightful king of Lecthalion. This must be a dream, he thought, soon I will awake in my own bed and forget these strange events. But he did not wake up. This was very real and it frightened him.

“But what does this mean, Fendrel?” the boy asked. “I am no king. Even if what this letter says is true, what can I do about it?”

“I believe I have the answer to that question,” said a deep voice from the shadows. Hermit and boy jumped to their feet turning in the direction of the voice. Out of the shadows stepped Borin, the woodsman. Neither Fendrel nor Rowan had heard him enter the room and both tensed nervously as he approached.

“You need not fear me,” said the large man, “I am a friend.”

“Does a friend sneak around uninvited and eves drop on private conversations?!” Fendrel exclaimed nervously.

“Calm down, old man. You know me as Borin the woodsman. But in truth, I am the son of Eradin, earl of Dunaroch, the old king’s most trusted advisor,” he said proudly. “I was sent to watch over the boy in secret. Had I known you were going to send him alone, into the forest at night, I would have been in the oaks watching him.” He directed this last statement sharply at Fendrel. Cutting off the old hermit’s retort, Borin turned to Rowan, knelt and continued, “As my father before me faithfully served the house of Tercel, so I now serve you, my lord.”

Rowan was taken aback unsure of what was happening. “Please stand up, Borin. I don’t deserve your fealty.”

“Deserve it or not, you are the true king of Lecthalion,“ Borin responded rising to his feet.

“How can you prove this? How do you know that I am who you say I am?” Rowan asked.

“Do you still have the silver box?” Borin asked. The boy looked at Fendrel then back to the mysterious Borin. He slowly pulled the box out from under his robes. The fire danced across the surface of the box dying it crimson. The hawk’s eye was a deep and menacing blood red. A great doom seemed to hang over Rowan’s head as he stared into that eye.

“Hand me the box,” Borin said in a low voice.

Rowan handed it to him.

“Have you tried to open it?” Borin asked holding placing the box before him on the table. Rowan nodded.

Borin pulled a small black rod from a pouch at his belt. He placed the rod just under the lid of the box and slid it slowly to one side. There was a slight click of metal on metal and Borin handed the box to Rowan. “Open it,” he instructed.

Rowan stood staring at the box for a moment; then slowly he lifted the lid. Nestled in a bed of ermine was a gold ring. It was plain except for the crown on which was engraved the same flying hawk clutching a snake in its talons as that on the cover of the silver box. Its eye was a ruby embedded in the ring.

“That is the royal ring of the Terceli,” Borin explained, “Only he who bears that ring will ever be true king of Lecthalion and bring peace to the country. Your uncle must have found out that you exist, or at least that the ring survived his brother’s exile. How he came to discover where you and the ring were sent, I can only guess. But I do know this, he will not rest until he is sure that you are dead and the ring is in his possession or lost forever.”

Rowan sat down, box still resting in his hands, staring at the ring. So many questions rushed through his head: was he really the son of the dead king; if so, how was it that he posed a threat to his treacherous uncle; and more urgently, what was he to do now.

He looked at Fendrel. The old man stood by staring back at him, sadness and pity in his dark eyes. All his life, the only parent he had known was Fendrel. “Good old Fendrel,” he thought affectionately, “What you must have gone through to carry such a burden.”

The hermit had taught him well in the ways of health and survival. He knew every plant in the forest: what was edible or poisonous; what could heal and disinfect; even what could be used to give greater potency to mead. He could track a rabbit through the spring grass, or move quietly through dry brush.

But Fendrel’s knowledge was not only in herbs and in the art moving unnoticed through the wild. He had once been a prominent figure in the chief school of Lecthalion. He was a lore master and had taught his young pupil all there was to know about the kingdom which was rightfully his.

Rowan realized then that all these years Fendrel had been preparing him for this day. Now that it was here, Rowan could see in the face of an old man how dearly he loved him. One more question ran through Rowan’s head, what would happen to his master?

He looked up at Borin. “What must I do?”

Searching for Answers

2009-03-04T16:53:00.000-08:00

This is the second installment of the Story of the Silver Box.

The river rhythmically lapped the smooth pebbles along the shoreline. A number of various species of bird, singing and dancing in the warm summer air, lighted from tree branch to tree branch one minute settling down to rest, off again the next in search of delicacies among the grass below. A rabbit nervously searched for food along the grassy river bank occasionally freezing, ears erect, at a sharp or foreign sound. Mischievous squirrels chased each other around the trunk of a large maple tree scurrying to the branches above in a flurry of grey fur. An assortment of wildflowers bent gently in the warm breeze teasing the honey bees that darted from blossom to blossom.

The peace and tranquility of the scene was suddenly broken by a low moan coming from the shore. The body of a boy lay motionless at the river’s edge. He wore a dark, tattered and dirty cloak. His feet were bare and his dark brown trousers and tunic were torn in several places. His sleek, black hair matted against his forehead was littered with dirt and weeds.

Even with his cloak on it would have been easy to see that he was well built. Rough hands were calloused from hard labor and his skin was copper from exposure to the burning sun. His strong jaw ended in a cleft chin. His eyebrows were furrowed from the troubles and concerns of one many years his elder. He had a thin mouth accentuated by wrinkles at the corners. The sharp aquiline nose gave prominence to the noble countenance of his face.

He moaned again and slowly stirred. Dark brown eyes blinked at the sun shining brightly upon his upturned face. He tried to lift himself only to slump back to the ground moaning, every muscle in his body revolting against his will. He rolled onto his back stiff muscles grudgingly giving way. Slowly, painfully he prodded his body. Nothing broken.

Finally regaining some of his strength, he stood up and walked to a nearby tree one laborious step after another. A twig cracked and he heard a slight neigh. Looking up he saw his black steed trot out from behind a nearby bush where it had found some berries to nibble on.

“Shadow, old friend, I see you made it in one piece.” Hearing his master’s voice, the horse whinnied and quickly moved to his side and nuzzled his cheek.

It took the boy a few minutes to reorient himself. He wasn’t sure where he was and, for a while, how he had gotten there. Gradually he pieced together the previous night’s adventure and his daring escape. He had taken a great risk leaping off the cliff into the river. How he and Shadow had survived was indeed miraculous. Why he had been chased was still a mystery to him and whether his pursuers where friend or foe he could not be certain. He could not, however, take the risk of being caught and letting his precious treasure fall into enemy hands.

“The box!” he gasped when he remembered his precious cargo. Frantically he searched his cloak indifferent to the stiffness and pain in his muscles. As his hand rested upon a rectangular shape hidden within his clothes, he let out a noticeable sigh of relief. The small silver box had also survived the river.

Sitting down at the base of the tree, he pulled the box from his cloak. He marveled that it had somehow come through the previous night’s adventure without the slightest scratch or dent. The afternoon sun danced across the bright silver surface and made the deep red ruby of the hawk’s eye glow. Turning it slowly in his hands he searched for a latch or trigger mechanism that might open the lid; but to no avail. The box was sealed and he could see no way of opening it.

“I guess I will have to wait until I see Fendrel again,” he murmured to himself. His old teacher and friend was the one who sent him on this mission and would surely be able to unlock this mysterious box.

Fendrel would not tell him what it was for, only that it belonged to the royal family of Tercel which had gone into hiding almost 18 years ago. It was said that they were being killed off by a rogue member of the family, Leofrick, younger brother to then head of the Terceli, Frederick. It was well known that Leofrick wanted the throne. Four of his brothers had conveniently died from “accidents” or random raids by outlaw woodsmen. A number of other members of the royal families died mysteriously each new death more bold than the last. However, no one could prove that Leofrick was behind the deaths. Many, Frederick most of all, even dismissed accusations that Leofrick was behind it.

As the deaths continued and civil disorder broke out within the kingdom, Leofrick showed his true colors. Under the semblance of restoring order to a turbulent kingdom, he rose in open revolt against his brother. At first Frederick stood firm and faced Leofrick’s rebellion. But then the evil machinations of Leofrick came into full light of day.

For many years Leofrick had sown seeds of contempt of his brother among many of the outlying provinces and border armies. When Frederick attempted to raise the army to put down the rebellion, very few remained loyal to Frederick and he and his family were forced to flee.

The tragic tale seemingly ended with the death of the queen in a tiny unknown hamlet lost among the border countries. Her three daughters had died during the first winter of exile struck down by influenza. Shortly afterward, her husband, the once noble Frederick, succumbed to his grief and died of a broken heart.

Yet there was hope. The queen was rumored to have given birth to a son before she died, the true heir to the occupied throne. Whether it was true none could confirm though many searched for news. Even Leofrick, fearful for his ill-gotten throne, sent an army in search of his ghost nephew but to no avail. After a few years the rumors were all but forgotten and disregarded as the death rattle of the supporters of the fallen king.

All except Fendrel. Many a time had the boy heard the old man tell of the glories and the final fall of the old king. And now Fendrel had sent him searching for this silver box. Many questions coursed through the boy’s head. How did Fendrel know where to find the box? What did it contain and why was it so important? So important that men were waiting in ambush for him? And how did they know he was there? This last question sent chills down the boy’s spine. If they knew how to find him in the dead of night well off the main road, who could say they would not find him now.

Hurriedly he gathered himself, stooped for Shadow’s reins and mounted. He needed to reach old Fendrel as soon as possible. Turning Shadow into the forest, he headed for home.

By now the sun was sinking below the horizon and the shadows of the trees were stretching across the river. The rhythmic chirping of crickets began in place of singing birds as bats left their resting places high in the trees in search of an evening meal. On the far bank a dark shadow stepped out of the shelter of the trees and headed down stream.

Lost Horizons

2009-02-23T22:32:00.000-08:00

I wrote this poem years ago, but thought to use it now as my (belated) contribution to this blogling... I hope to contribute something new soon!

Lost Horizons

Once I stumbled blindly, lost in the narrow recesses of my mind;
Disturbed, unwanted - searching for something I could not find.
Frustration ran rampant in the corridors of my soul;
Discontent with a search for something, I did not know.
Perhaps I knew subconciously, though not likely to admit
That all I needed was a little care, a little love, a little wit.
From what, I searched myself all night and day, every minute and hour
For that something in me that would give emotional power.
Alas, alack! I felt as though I prayed in vain for everything;
Desolation knew me well, and all my prayers echoed a disonant ring.
A drop not so lightly shed began a flood of tears to God above
Asking, begging, imploring for that unknown, idyllistic love.
A dream did come to me then, as clear and quiet as a starlit night...
I should first love God, next self - why then would it come to right.
With this in mind, I set to task myself, and fulfill this mandate real;
It was only then did I come to know how platonic love must feel.
The narrow recesses widen of their own accord; blind I no longer must be.
My soul is at peace, I am content - my search is over, I am free!

The Silver Box

2009-02-08T22:03:00.001-08:00

This is the beginning of a story that I started. I don’t know where I am going with it but I thought that I would share this first chapter with you. Enjoy.

Moving swiftly among the shadows, the hooded figure stooped at every tree furtively scraping the ground near the trees’ roots with a dagger. From tree to tree the figure stooped and scraped again and again. What seemed like a year’s worth of nights passed and still the shadow patiently, silently continued its fruitless mission.

Chink! The figure stopped cold as the dagger struck metal beneath the sweet humus at the base of a great oak. Excitedly the figure tore at the earth carelessly, clearing handfuls of dirt away from the metal object hidden beneath.

At last its treasure was free. The mysterious figure wiped away the last of the dirt from the object now resting in its lap. A few stray moon beams peaked through the bows of the overhanging oak and rested upon the recovered article.

The figure gave a muffled gasp. In its hands was a small silver box, a forest scene richly engraved on its top. Tall oaks rose up the sides of the cover, their bows reaching across the top of the box as if to shelter the meadow depicted below. Through the meadow flew a solitary hawk clenching in its talons a slain viper. In the background stood a large keep with seven large towers all of equal size except for the center most tower which was as large as all the others combined. The only ornament on the box was the deep red ruby which was set in the eye of the hawk.

The figure quickly stowed the silver box carefully into the folds of its robes. Still crouching, it looked about as if to see if it had been followed. Without making the slightest sound it darted among the shadows, stopping occasionally to listen for any noise that was out of place.

Finally, an opening appeared in the trees. The robed figure stopped within the edge of the forest’s shadows and looked out upon a well traveled road. Waiting and patiently watching for what seemed to be an eternity, the figure, satisfied that no one had been following, finally let out a low whistle. Almost immediately a tall sleek horse leapt from the shadows across the way and stepped lightly across to the crouching figure.

As the figure stepped out onto the road, the moon light pierced the shadows of the deep hood revealing the young aquiline face of a boy of about 17. His thin dark eyebrows accented a furrowed brow. His lips were tight thin lines above his cleft chin and shallow cheeks suggested that he had recently known hunger. His dark piercing eyes searched the tree line for any sign of movement.

The boy leapt lightly into the saddle. As he steered the noble mount down the road a snap was heard from the trees near the spot he had just left. He clicked his tongue, and the mount responded by flying down the road like a bolt of lightning. Venturing a look back he saw two dark shadows emerge from under the trees and give chase.

“If we can just make it to the river,” he thought.

A small glow passed over head. Glancing up he saw the flaming arrow as it disappeared over the trees to his left.

“They must be signaling someone ahead.” Crouching lower in the saddle he urged the horse on. Faster and faster they rode and slowly the two shadows lost ground.

Just as he was beginning to think that he had lost his pursuers, boy and horse rounded a corner only to be met by four horsemen. Pulling in on the reins the boy turned his mount to the right towards a break in the trees the four riders close behind.

The path they followed was an ancient road long overrun by the surrounding forest, low tree limbs and gnarled roots making the ride treacherous for rider and beast. Ahead, dark impenetrable shadows were interspersed with flashes of moon light that broke through the wooded ceiling. It was hard to tell when last any man had traveled this road.

The boy ducked suddenly barely missing a branch hidden in the shadows. Almost immediately he heard a thud and the loud neigh of a horse. One of his pursuers had been struck down by the branch he had narrowly missed.

“Only three left,” he thought vainly trying to calm himself.

After another mile along the road the trees began to thin and the road became smoother allowing the boy and his horse to increase the distance between himself and his mysterious pursuers. He risked a glance back over his shoulder. He was a good 150 yards ahead.

“They won’t catch me now,” he thought with a smirk. Just then the trees ended and only a few yards ahead the ground gave way to a deep ravine. The boy pulled in on the horse’s reins.

There was at least a 40 foot drop to the river below. Across the ravine the road continued and disappeared into the darkness of the forest. Obviously there was once a bridge here; nothing remained, however, but the stumps of what used to be the bridge’s wooden foundation. Frantically, he looked up and down the ravine for a means of escape. To his dismay the trees grew to the edge of the cliff on either side of the road permitting no room for passage.

Hearing the heavy pounding of hooves coming swiftly up the road he turned his mount to face the oncoming horsemen. His three pursuers came into the open and stopped some 20 yards away.

“Come boy, no more running, give us the box! We know you have it so it’s no use playing the fool,” the lead horseman called out.

The boy looked around anxiously searching once again for a way out of this trap. A bit further up the road the trees were thinner but he was cut off by the three horsemen. Only one option remained.

Gritting his teeth he charged towards the three men. Startled the three riders sat back in their saddles and prepared to meet this fearless frontal attack. Just before it was too late to stop, the boy reined in his horse and turned back to the cliff. With a valiant but vain leap, boy and horse sailed out into the ravine disappearing into the icy waters below.

The three horsemen rode up to the edge and peered over searching for signs of the boy or his horse. They could see nothing but churning rapids pummeling the rock walls of the ravine. Without saying a word they turned back to the main road.