Another one? Yeah, I'm like that. This one was really spontaneous, as in I thought of it while listening to the Braveheart piano theme. Right now its all kind of thrown together, but I've got a few things in store. Anyway, as with my few other stories, you all know the drill! R&R!
A soft October wind drew the clouds with it, blanketing the sky in sheets of gray wool. A few drops of rain fell lazily from the sky, landing on the lush green hills and fields. Flower pedals began to dance and sway as the soft drizzle landed upon their heads. The breeze drifted through the tall grass which grew on each gently sloping hillside, like a carpet of emerald. A single, winding path traversed through the dips and slight valleys that seemed to make up the entire landscape for miles in every direction. The well-trodden dirt road was protected by a short wall in only a few spots, dotting the way intermittently. Most of the time, the barrier was nothing but a small heap of cobblestones held together with mud and mortar.
If one were to follow the path for any great distance, between the hills and banks of grass, and past a few small groves of trees, they might just happen upon the only civilization for miles. The tiny settlement itself seemed to be dog-eared and weary, yet holding fast in the one flat spot of land running next to the road. From the ramshackle, sagging huts to the single stone church, which almost seemed to be on its last legs, the whole town seemed to be stuck in place, refusing to budge through the harshest of winters, hottest of summers, and all manner of tribulations it suffered.
The entire village was made up of no more than a score of buildings. Besides the crumbling church and single blacksmith shop, most were just simple huts and primitive timber-constructed shanties. But somehow, the town remained fixated to the hillside. Looking to the east, endless hills and vales stretched for as far as the eye could see. Leading north, the path continued onto more of the same. However, to the west and south there were a few precious acres of flat land, every square inch devoted to raising crops. Swishing fields of corn and barley, rows of lettuce and carrots and radish and every assortment of produce were crammed into what little space was offered.
As the clouds grew darker and the rain began to patter down upon the dirt path, the townsfolk began to scramble for shelter. Tools were retrieved from the fields, baskets and buckets filled to their brims with the day's rewards were hurriedly placed under cover, and houses were shut tight against the coming storm. Farmers and field-workers sat down in front of their hearths for a well-deserved rest, conversing with friends and family about the coming season.
All except for one. A lone figure was still residing in the fields, staring intently at the far end of the path, almost half a league away before it disappeared over a large knoll. His tail swished back and forth anxiously as he chewed his lip. The young creature was waiting for something, but no one was sure what. He ignored the rain pelting his sage-brown fur, blinking his sharp blue eyes to clear them of water. His lanky, but sturdily-built frame shivered slightly under the shower of cold rain, but he remained fixated in place. This young creature wasn't wavering for anything, at least not yet.
"William! What are you doing out there?" He winced at the shout, knowing the reproachful, commanding voice by heart. Turning to face the house a stone's throw away, he squinted into the figure standing in the candle-lit doorway. "Come inside before you catch your death of cold!"
William's shoulders sagged, and he cast one more longing glance at the far end of the path. "Coming, mother! I...I just forgot my shovel in the field, I'll be right in!"
He could almost hear his mother sighing as he jogged to the house, mud squelching under his paws. Reaching the doorway, he accepted the white linen cloth from her outstretched paw. "Thank you, it's cold out there."
She smiled, trying not to let the frustration show. Martha was no doubt an older squirrel, but she had somehow kept a spring in her step and a twinkle in her almond eyes for just as long. Her fur, now slowly changing in patches from cinnamon to silver, still managed to shine whenever the light caught it. She wore a simple, plain dress like many wives of the village, but with one look at her it was easy to tell that she was no ordinary, house-dwelling spouse. There was a glint to her eye that told of kindness and understanding, but determination and steely resolution as well.
"Make sure you wipe your paws, I won't have mud being tracked through my house." She made sure the young mouse was clean before nodding her approval. "Alright, go get yourself some dinner. You must be hungry from working all day, and I made your favorite dumpling soup."
William's rain-streaked face immediately lit up, and he dashed into the dimly lit house. Everything was in the one room, with beds pushed against one walls, fireplace in another, and the ancient table resting in the center. The only light came from the hearth, which was kept constantly lit, and a few candles arrayed about the room. It was quite obvious that simple folks lived here. There were no fine tapestries or linen arrayed on the walls, no scented perfume holders, and no silver cups or chalices gracing the table. Instead, scythes and brooms rested in the corner, along with a few sets of mud-speckled boots. It seemed as if the only object held with any reverence was a simple bow, hung over the fireplace.
As William settled into the chair opposite his father, who had his slightly hunched back to the fire, the aging squirrel looked up with a start. Blinking sleep away from his eyes, he yawned and stretched his creaky, season-heavy limbs. Unlike his wife, Jeremiah's coat had retained none of its original hue, and now seemed to be a solid sheen of dull silver. But his eyes held the same fire, and his smile could light up a room better than any lantern. He did so, still waking up from his nap. "Rain's comin', eh?"
"Yes," William said conversationally. They had this sort of talk every night, mostly about how the fields were coming along or what the weather was predicted to punish the little town next. "It was just a drizzle at first, but no doubt it's a full downpour, now."
Jeremiah nodded plaintively, tapping a finger on the worn oak wood. "Mmm, that's what ol' Grekkey was sayin' today. That ol' hedgehog can smell rain a day before the clouds come."
William couldn't resist a smile. "For someone as old as him, I'm surprised he can smell anything at all." It was true; Grekkey, the town's single friar, was as ancient as the church itself. Yet the stubborn beast refused to spend his days resting and reminiscing like all old ones seem to do, and instead went on long journeys to other villages in his quest as a friar. The feeble-spiked creature was only in town for a few days every season, but his presence was still enjoyed by all.
His mother cuffed his ear lightly, wagging a paw at him. "Now mind your manners. The friar's a holy man, and 'tis not a good thing to insult a creature such as him. Now, let's say grace."
They did so, promptly digging into the food only seconds after they had finished. Cutting off a large chunk from a loaf of oat bread, Jeremiah cleared his throat and gazed innocently out of the single window, facing the fields. "Your mother said you had forgotten a shovel out in the fields. I thought we put all of them away last week?"
William shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to stammer out a response. "I...well, there was...I had to use it for..."
His father turned, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward slightly. "Were you waiting for them?"
William could only sigh and nod slowly. Jeremiah sighed and rubbed his forehead briefly in exasperation. "William," he began after a moment of unbearable silence. "You know that we need you here at the farm more than those soldiers do abroad."
"They're not just soldiers!" William surprised even himself with the sudden outburst. He wasn't angry, but felt like he must defend the creatures he so revered. "They're more than that, they're...they're heroes. How many other beasts have had the courage to fight the empires? The Knights have kept us safe, kept this farm safe from every manner of vermin bent on..."
"Enough, William!" He cowed at his father's voice, which sounded like a hiss coming from his clenched teeth. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Jeremiah closed his eyes and continued. "We have spoken of this matter before, William. There is too much to be done here, and your mother and I cannot do as much as we would like. So that unfortunately leaves you, although I realize it is not what you desire. However, we all must learn to do things that are necessary. Do you understand me?"
The young mouse could only nod his head, staring blankly at the food in front of him. Jeremiah reached across and patted his paw briefly. "I know it is a difficult thing, William, but I'm proud of you. Not many creatures have the wisdom to accept what their elders tell them."
He nodded again, but inside he was boiling. How could his father understand? He had never done anything but work the land, content with being a simple creature with even simpler wishes. But William wanted more than a successful potato harvest, more than what was given to him. And another thought suddenly came to him as they all went back to dinner, completely silent. These creatures weren't really his parents, why should he follow them? They may have offered their home after his mother died, but they could never truly be his parents.
The rest of the night passed much too slowly for any of their liking. After a terse good-night, William settled into his bed and shut his eyes, still bitter and angry at the hand dealt him. And as night closed in, he made a decision to change it.
The world seemed unusually dark as William drifted through. Hazy, flickering images blinked past his eyes. He saw fire and flashing steel, blood-speckled boots splashing through reddened puddles. The landscape was choked with haze and smoke, which glowed with a hellish orange in the night sky. Sounds began to drift to him; screams and choked sobs, barbaric shouts and war cries. Clashing steel rang out, mingling with the shrieks of the wounded and dying.
Things seemed to clear for a moment. William seemed to be floating above a small village, nothing more than a cluster of small houses. Creatures were running as if the devil himself were chasing them. And it was then William realized; he was.
A horde of beasts, surging into the town, were cutting down innocents without any sense of mercy or prejudice. Their cackles and shouts of murder reached William's ears. He could compare it to nothing other than the screeching of demons locked in hell's embrace. They set fire to every building they came across, dancing and beckoning for the flames to grow. Homes soon became nothing more than funeral pyres.
A small flurry of activity tore William's eyes from the nightmarish sight. Two creatures, one clutching something to her chest. The other, obviously a husband and father, was keeping the rapidly growing horde away from them both. Brandishing a sword, he locked blades with the savage creatures. He cut them down with brutal efficiency, and yet seemed graceful even in this dance of death. The bright steel blade caught the glowing firelight, twinkling with the blood of its enemies. Fighting with a rage born of desperation, the mouse continued on, pushing the other mouse ahead and keeping her safe.
They ran to a field, being pursued steadily by the marauders. Two figures met them, evidently friends since the female handed the bundle to them, weeping bitterly. Just as the horde reached them, the two mysterious figures dashed into the trees. The two mice stood their ground, steel clashing upon steel as the father swung his blade. His strikes were met with cries of agony as the enemy fell before him.
But soon their numbers were too many. The mouse took step after step back, battling fiercely. He faltered briefly as an arrow struck him in the paw. Without pausing to so much as wince, the warrior slashed and hacked at his enemies. Another shaft flew through the air, embedding itself in his chest. The female screamed as he fell to his knees, only able to watch as the horde began to close. As they swarmed him, the mouse turned his face to the sky, and William saw everything. The fur, the eyes, they all looked so familiar. Then he realized, and the shock hit him like the arrows that had felled this protector of the innocent.
"Father!"
William sat bolt upright in his bed, drenched in sweat and shaking uncontrollably. As he took in breath after breath, trying to recover himself, thoughts and images of what he had witnessed resurfaced. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind for at least a moment. But suddenly, a single reverberating realization struck him.
My father was a Knight of Verkora.
His heart pounded with excitement. His father had been part of the Verkora, a society dedicated solely to the protection of those unable to do so themselves. William had seen them once many seasons ago, when he was just a little one. A contingent of the Knights had come through their village on their way to the north. He had never seen anything so spectacular before in his life. The rippling chainmail, stunning white and blue uniforms, elegant weapons; they all seemed to speak to him, calling William to his duty. One of them, a powerfully-built squirrel with sparkling green eyes, had rubbed his head fondly with his mail-covered hand. "Afternoon, lad." He had said, winking. From that day, William had wanted to be nothing else.
But the jubilation faded as he remembered the conversation he had with Jeremiah earlier that night. He clenched his paws until they nearly bled, trying not to shout and scream in anger. Suddenly, a thought flashed across his mind.
Why not just leave?
Immediately, his brain tried to reject the idea. The fields needed to be harvested, chores needed to be done, and the house needed to be looked after. But there were always workers ready to be hired, and Jeremiah could manage a few repairs on his own. As his inspiration grew, so did a grin on his face. He was leaving this place, and becoming a Knight of Verkora.
He silently threw back the wool blanket, swinging his legs over the bedside and testing the floor carefully. No squeaks or groans came from the old wood, so he stood and half-walked, half-slid over to the single cupboard. In little time, he had found the canvas pack his mother had made and stuffed with non-perishable food. They had originally intended it to be for long journeys to other villages, when there were large markets open. But William had other plans for it.
After stuffing a few extra articles of clothing in the already cramped pack, he stood and tested its weight. The sack was heavy, but not unbearably so. And after a few days of trekking and eating, it would get lighter.
That brought another worry. Where was he to go? The last he had ever heard, the nights had gone to the frozen north to stop a large horde destined for the valleys. But that was years ago. They could be anywhere by now.
He shook the thought away. Somehow, he would find out where to go. Turning to the now dead fireplace, his eyes wandered to the bow hanging above the hearth. It was old, and only used for fishing or warding off the occasional thief, but it was better than having nothing. Avoiding any cracked or especially decrepit boards, William strode to the fireplace and removed the bow from its pegs. The wood was ancient, and the string almost yellowed from age, but it still bent gracefully when he tested the pull. Now, he thought, where are those arrows?
William thought he remembered seeing Jeremiah putting the shafts away near the woodpile outside. Carefully stepping to and opening the door, he wandered into the night, which was black as pitch. After some stumbling and jabbing his toe on a log, he found the woodpile and rummaged behind it. His fingers suddenly brushed something flat, like a quiver. Smiling, he pulled it from the shadows.
Like the bow, the quiver and arrows were made from simple ash or juniper wood. The arrowheads were hammered iron, but seemed sharp and sturdy enough. Nodding in satisfaction, he lashed the quiver to his side. It was much easier to reach and arrow there than if it were on his back, and he didn't want the shafts catching on trees or brush.
Still inspecting the new weapons, William walked back into the house and nearly ran into Jeremiah. Leaping in shock and stifling a yelp, he slipped and fell. Landing with a grunt, he sat, terrified, as Jeremiah stood above him. But as his heart settled, he realized that the old squirrel didn't look enraged or furious, as he expected. Instead, his face seemed sad, almost regretful. Extending a paw, he helped William to his feet. The young mouse's face was skewed in confusion as Jeremiah motioned for him to come into the room. He sat in one of the chairs, watching as his son did likewise. As the silence of night closed in, Jeremiah looked at the bow still clutched in William's paws. "Are you sure you want the bow?" He said in a voice hardly above a whisper. "It's mighty old; it could snap on you."
William tried to find his voice. "It's...it's better than nothing, I suppose. Unless you need it, I can..."
Jeremiah shook his head. "No, no, it's not that. It's...come with me, I have something for you."
William followed, still uncertain, as Jeremiah went to a corner of the house. Kneeling, he set his fingers under a loose board. The farmer had constantly reminded himself and forgotten to fix it, never getting around the chore. But now he didn't seem to care as he gently pried open the board, wiggling the nails free. Without a sound the plank came loose, revealing a solid dirt floor. William was curious, but said nothing as Jeremiah dug his paws into the soil.
His eyes widened as a scrap of cloth became visible through the clods. Jeremiah continued digging until the long, slender package was unearthed. The entire thing was wrapped in fabric, bound with cord. He picked the bundle up, holding it with both paws. "I'll not tell you what it is," he said, voice quavering, "You'll find out soon enough. After ye've marched a while ye can unwrap it, but promise me not until then."
William could only nod, accepting the parcel from Jeremiah. It wasn't unbearably heavy, but had a definite heft to it. The squirrel could hardly stop the tears coming as he spoke. "We'll...we'll miss ye here, William. I know I ain't yore real father, but fer these last years I feel like I have. And now that yore leavin', it's like me own son's goin' away." Now he was crying openly, not bothering to wipe away the tears streaking down his silver face.
William embraced him tightly, not caring about the tears running from his own eyes. "I know, father. I'm sorry, so sorry."
Jeremiah held him at arm's length. "Don't ye dare be sorry, lad." he wiped his eyes roughly with a paw. "We've all got our paths, and this is yores."
After a moment, William undid the ties from the quiver, and handed both that and the bow to the squirrel. "Here, take it. I can't deprive you of your protection. I'll find something along the way."
Jeremiah took the weapon, glancing briefly at Martha, who was still asleep. "Yore mother'll be sad to hear you've gone."
William swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded slowly. "Please, don't tell her where I've gone. She'll have the entire village out looking for me."
A nod. "Ye've not told me either."
He adjusted the pack slightly, looking out of the window. The only light came from a few stars that had managed to poke through the clouds. "I'm going to find the Knights of Verkora. I need to know about my father, about who he was."
"Not many creatures alive that knows where they are."
"I have to take the chance," William muttered. "I've got to try."
Jeremiah nodded, hugging his son one last time. "Be safe, lad. And please, if you ever find out..."
William nodded after they separated. "I'll return someday, I promise."
A final tear fell from the squirrel's eye. "Then good luck to ye, son."
Taking one last regretful glance at the creatures who had loved him so much, and given their all to him, William turned and strode out of the house clutching the bundle, his last reminder of home.