Author's Note: A literature assignment that I decided to post. Set in Ogion's time, in a village on Gont.
The mountain stream flows around my feet, turning them to ice. I step out onto the sun-warmed rocks, put my boots on, then continue on my way. A bird is singing sweetly somewhere lost in the Forest. I stop a moment to absorb the sunlight and the leaves of the birch trees that are turning to gold, and are falling down as if they are golden coins falling down from the heavens.
The crunching of the dead leaves beneath my boots cause what would be great game to canter away from me, but today I'm not hunting. Today is my day off from the wheat fields, away from the troubles I left in our pitiful cottage too small for a family of seven. Away from the tireless cries of Baby Bea. Away from the Twins, sometimes as sweet as Ma's corn on the cob, sometimes as wrathful as two little hurricanes. Away from the demands of Little Tom, always complaining of a small roast rabbit, never grateful that he is not starved. Away from Ma and Pa's bickering that always seems to frustrate me. Away from all that. Today, I am my very own.
My feet take me to the mountain meadow, where Pa had taught me how to shoot to survive. I remember the days we used to spend hunting in the bushes together, how Pa would whistle and a bird would come flying, how Pa would grin when a deer wandered in range, how Ma's eyes would gleam when she saw the game bag loaded with meat, as a child would seeing a bag full of toys. But all those days are passed, and life is not as gleeful as before. Pa is growing weaker, just as I am growing stronger.
One day, while out hunting, he fell into a ditch, breaking his arm. I was not there for him; the very same day I caught the chills. If only Fate was but a little kinder. When Pa did not come home even at midnight, Ma sent half the village out to find him. The whole village knew who he was and all respected him, for he was one of the only ones who knew how to shoot an arrow and owned several bows. He provided for many by selling his spare catch cheaper than the village butcher.
We found him in the end, of course, but he was much weakened. His broken arm had been his bow arm, so he could not shoot anymore. Pa was separated from the only thing he truly loved to do: archery. In the time he was cooped up in the house to heal, he grew a temper. He and Ma could not get along, and my siblings had not helped at all. I was out hunting, all by myself, with the knowledge that I could become like Pa too, with the skill and experience to provide, yet unable to help.
Healing in these parts is tricky, especially because we only have one healer for the whole village of more than a hundred. The healer was neither skilled nor bright, and often argued with Pa. In the end Ma ended up having to help him instead, but as she had even less experience than the healer, she resolved to less risky cures that require the bones to mend on their own with only herbs or concoctions. Pa is still healing, but he will never quite be the same again.
The Southeast Wind suddenly blows forcefully, pushing me from the past back into the meadow. Even the trees, the giants they were, were swaying uneasily in the wind. I huddled into a ball to escape the flying branches. As sudden as it had come, the wind retreats, and goes away. I stand up and open my eyes, only now noticing that I had closed them. The clouds are gathering and forming their unorderly ranks, preparing to storm the village with battle cries of thunder, blades of lightning, and arrows of rain.
This downed my spirits, as I had originally planned out a day of hiking and swimming. I never liked it when it rained. When it rained we usually had to stay in the house with nothing but chores and bickering to listen to.
I start on my way home, thinking glum thoughts. By the time I reach the mountain stream a few drops have already landed. That is when I hear it. A soft, barely audible whimpering that I have heard many times before: the pleads of prey before the final blow.
I make my way towards the whimpering, towards the stream. I catch a rustle of cattails and reeds in the corner of my eye and cautiously approach. Slowly, I push aside the curtain of plants and find a small dog, probably a puppy, struggling to climb ashore. I pick it up and am about to put him down again closer to the Forest when I realize that it is not a wild dog, but probably a hunting dog with yellowish fur I could hardly see through the dirt on its coat. It is quite boney and seems to weigh less than it ought to. It looks up at me with fear in its orbs of black, not knowing what I was, but knowing that it was too weak to escape.
Pitying the poor thing, I wrap the puppy up in my scarf and head homeward. "I'll probably release it back into the Forest once it is healthy again," I thought, "or maybe I can even sell it." Will Pa get angry if I bring it home? I hope not, but I could just say that I will only keep it for a week or two. Yes, that should do.
Lightning flashes across the sky, closely followed by a boom of thunder. I hug the puppy closer, feeling its shivering through my scarf.
I reach our cottage just as the rain starts to become heavier. I shut the door behind me and look around. Ma has fallen asleep in our rocking chair. Pa is scolding the Twins, Rob and Nick. Little Tom is peeping into Baby Bea's crib, hanging an arm inside. I take off my wet coat and and boots and escape to the back of the room almost unnoticed.
I stick my arm out of the house, holding a kettle, and in half a minute it is filled to the brim. I carefully place it on the wood-burning stove and light the fire. Once the water is heated, I pour it into our "bathtub", a wide, wooden half-barrel, and gently place the puppy in.
It seems to relax immediately when it touches the warm water. I kneel down to cup my hand and scoop water onto the pup. Soap is too expensive to use for this, but water works just as well. I scrub its fur and soon it is so at home that it even splashes me with water. I laugh and splash it back.
"What have you got there, Ed?" says Tom, curious. He approaches cautiously, as if afraid the puppy would bite.
"A little puppy orphaned and lost near the mountain meadow." I say, "I think I will keep him for a while until he grows stronger."
Tom is already stroking its fur, now golden in the light of the fireplace. The puppy gets excited and leaps out of the "bathtub", shaking around and getting the floor all wet. Tom is laughing and trying to catch the pup, who was bouncing around me. I laugh too, when Tom falls over with the struggling pup in his arms. He grins. I haven't seen that grin for so long; it always makes me smile.
"What are we going to do once it is strong again, Ed?" Tom asks.
I shake my head and say, "I don't know, Tom, but I hope we won't have to set him free."
I find our midday meal set out on the table. Beef, taters, and beans. I take a piece of cold beef and feed it to the puppy, still in Tom's arms. It eats hungrily, and barks for more. Soon it has finished Tom's plate and part of Baby Bea's plate. It is already a little heavier from the food.
"What shall we name it?" says Tom.
I think for a moment. Then: "How about Sam, or Sammy?" Sam was Ma's brother who had golden hair just like the puppy's clean fur.
"Yes, that fits perfectly!" exclaims Tom, lifting the puppy, or Sammy, above his head and spinning around.
I look at Tom and see the magic that the puppy had already worked on him. I wonder what he could do for the rest of the family…
Two years later…
Sammy walks just ahead of me, sniffing at the undergrowth. He looks back to make sure I am following him, and continues walking. I ready my bow, fitting an arrow to the string. Once Pa had recovered, we trained Sammy into a hunting dog. It only took a week, as hunting was in his blood. Today Pa is at home resting and tending to our goats. I am out hunting, though we have enough fresh meat to last us two weeks. Ma wants to buy some new clothes for Baby Bea, and need the money to buy the fabric. Ideally, I could catch a deer and sell it for a price that could buy us some thick material.
Suddenly, Sammy looks up, and I follow his eyes to a fox drinking from the stream. It had a rich, red coat, which could probably sell for a week's meals for our family of seven.
Excited, I draw my fitted arrow back to my jaw, aim, and am about to release when suddenly Sammy barks and the fox has run away. I am about to scold Sammy when I see him running off himself. I follow him like a tailwind, wondering what is going on. He emerges from the bushes, with me right behind, and starts down the stream towards the village. I follow him, swinging the bow onto my back.
Looking behind me, I see that the sun has started its descent, casting a yellow glow on the mountain. Sammy is already at our cottage, barking and up on his hind legs against the door. Ma opens the door, and Sammy bounds inside. I follow after, and Ma exclaims, "What is wrong with our dog?" I ignore her when I see Sammy tugging on Rob's pant leg. Rob, confused, follows Sammy, who leads him out of the house. Sammy does the same for Nick and Tom. Then, sensing something is wrong, Pa picks up Baby Bea out of her crib and joins the children outside. Ma follows, and Sammy gives me a nudge towards the door. I sigh, then walk outside with Sammy close behind.
Once outside of the house, I kneel down in front of Sammy. "What's wrong, boy?" He replies with a bark towards the mountain, and starts in the direction of the stream. My family and I walk briskly behind, Ma hiking up her skirts as we reach some rocky bits of the path. We almost lose Sammy when he stops and turns around. He barks at us until we hurry our pace. Sammy leads us all the way to the mountain meadow, where he finally stops in the centre. Pa is leaning on his knees, catching his breath, Ma has sat down with Baby Bea and the boys are already lying down in the tall blades of grass.
I stand beside Sammy, watching the sunset, and wondering if Sammy has lost his mind. Then I realize that the usual presence of bird's song has disappeared. All is quiet. Then:
Boom.
I fall over from the unexpected shake of the ground.
Boom.
The boys are gathering around Pa and Ma, afraid, and Ma is clutching Baby Bea tight.
Boom.
The distant waves of the Bay come crashing into the small harbour, rocking the fishing boats violently.
Boom.
At the fourth rumble of the earth we hear the crash of wood and stone coming from the village.
Boom.
We listen for the beat of a sixth boom, but nothing happens.
Suddenly the birds are singing again, and the breeze blowing in the trees, rustling them about. Sammy barks and makes his way down through the forest with us trailing behind.
At our cottage, Pa hesitates before opening the door, probably worried about what the inside looks like.
We gasp. Shards of pottery are all over the floor, Bea's crib is overturned, but most frightening of all is the fallen oil lamp which was catching everything on fire. Pa and I rush to find the water bucket but it is also overturned. Pa sends me to the well with Sammy to fetch water.
On the way, Sammy and I see that our neighbors were much less lucky. We hear babies wailing with every corner we turn. Many have scrapes and scratches upon their shins and foreheads. A few already have their roofs on fire, and the Square where the well stands is already busy. We stand and wait in line patiently, knowing that pushing would not help anyone.
Once our bucket has been hauled up, we rush back to our cottage to put out the fire.
That night…
I huddle beside Ma and Sammy by the fireplace, thankful we can still have a good meal of stew. A few hours after the earthquake, as I learned it was called, men from Re Albi arrived to help with the clean up. They reported that the conditions were bad in the city, but it could have been much worse, if the wizard Ogion, Mage of Re Albi, had not saved them by calming the mountains with foreign words of magic.
I put my two arms around Sammy, who was staring intently into the fire. Ogion may have saved Gont, but Sammy saved my dear family. I could never owe him more than that.
Fin