The Sins of the Father
Chapter Three
Resilience
The sun rose early during the summer. Indeed, summer was most certainly not the time for the faint of heart. Summer meant long, hot days and short, cool nights. The extended hours of precious daylight meant that the men who plied their trades were expected to push themselves to their limits, not wasting even one minute of available sunshine.
The boy knew this all too well. He had completed less than twelve years on this earth, and yet he had labored harder than many men twice his age. His hands were calloused, coarse from years of manual labor. His skin was no longer smooth, but tan, taut. Muscles that should not have developed yet were almost fully formed, a testament to the hours spent completing any and all tasks he could to earn his keep.
That morning, he rose earlier than usual. He intended to earn some extra pay that day, and he was not about to let one of his brothers take from him one of the few extended labor opportunities that were available. The prime employment opportunities were in the fields of the landowners. Their fields were vast and numerous, requiring many skilled hands to tend to their various needs. But the owners were unscrupulous, desiring only the maximum return on their investment. Thus, they employed far fewer workers than were truly required. However, the few that were hired could expect a substantial reward for their efforts, as the hours they would expend were far more than for any comparable job.
The boy washed his face, brushed his platinum blonde hair, went upstairs to his mother's room. His mother was still sleeping, her face drawn with worry. It had been another difficult night for her, the boy knew. Although his father had been killed months ago, she was still having difficulty adjusting. Gently, he stroked her hair, kissing her once on the cheek. Quietly, not wanting to disturb her slumber, he made his way to the bedroom door.
"En annentidligmorgen, minsønn?"
The boy turned around. "Jegmente ikkeåvekke deg."
His mother smiled. "Lov meg at duvilikkejobbefor hardt."
"Aldri."
He left the bedroom, stopping in the kitchen to take a few slices of bread with him. He exited their small house, stepping into the village his people called home.
The village was not very old; it had only been founded two years earlier. Yet it was the most permanent settlement his people had established in his lifetime. He frowned, reflecting upon how tumultuous things had been in his young life. Although he tried to be strong for his mother's sake, he knew that, deep within himself, he was terrified at the prospect of his people being exiled again. They had already been forced to move so many times before. He could not bear to think of what would happen to them if they had to relocate again.
He travelled down the winding path from his village to the fields on the other side of the hills. His footsteps were sure, his presence hardly noticeable. He had no desire to alert others to his presence and risk losing the money he was so desperate to earn.
Once over the hills, he descended into the valley. A small line had already begun to form at the gates of the farm. Men far older than he stared at him as he took his place. Ignoring their glaring faces, the sneers, he quietly waited, prepared to take full advantage of the opportunity.
Finally, after what seemed like hours but may have been merely minutes, the hiring master exited the gates. "Good morning, gentlemen," he said, grinning from ear to ear. "And what fine workers have gathered this morning, ready to earn their day's pay?"
The prospective workers grumbled, hating the man for his arrogance, his disregard for their suffering.
The hiring master ignored them. "Now, here's what we have today. I need ten men. No more."
The men in line were livid. The usual quota was twenty-five, maybe eighteen on a bad day. But ten? Ten was unthinkable.
"I don't want to hear a word of it!" the hiring master spat. "The weather's been god awful lately, so we don't have much upkeep to do. I need ten men to spend the day hauling equipment and supplies. Ten able-bodied men."
He glared at some of the older, weaker men in line. "Not you!" he snarled. "How dare you even waste my time?"
He went down the line. "You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You."
He's gone with the first nine in line! the boy thought. I'm next! I'm hired!
The hiring master stared at the boy for a moment, then walked past him to the man behind him. "You." He turned to the rest of the line. "That's all for today, gentlemen. Better luck tomorrow."
The men who were not selected cursed the hiring master, screaming obscenities at him. He merely smiled and turned, walking back to the gates.
He didn't pick me! Why?! The boy could not fathom a reason. Without thinking, he ran up to the hiring master.
"Sir! Sir, please wait!"
The master turned, staring at the boy. "What is it, boy?"
"I . . . I was next in line, sir. You didn't select me."
"No, I didn't." The master began to walk away once more.
The boy rushed to cut him off. "Why not, sir?"
The hiring master was now highly irritated. "Didn't you hear me, boy? I said I needed men, not boys. Come back tomorrow. I might be able to find work for you tomorrow."
"Please, sir," the boy said. "I really, really need work today."
"So do they!" the master said, gesturing to the dispersing men behind him. "Now, run along now. Come back tomorrow!"
"Sir, please!" the boy begged. "I know I'm smaller, but I swear I can do any work the men you've hired can! Please! Just give me a chance!"
The master looked the boy over, half annoyed, half impressed with his resilience. "Really? Come here, then."
He led the boy over to a sled stacked high with crates. "I need men to haul sleds stacked this high all day long. Still think you can do it, boy?"
The boy nodded. "I know I can, sir."
"Then prove it!" the master snapped. "If you can move this sled from here to the next building over, I'll hire you. You have two minutes. Starting now!"
Wasting no time, the boy rushed to the rope at the front of the sled. Carefully, he wrapped the rope around his arms, making sure his arms could not slip out. Bracing himself, he pulled with all his strength.
Nothing happened. The master scoffed. "Stop wasting my time, boy!"
"NO!" the boy cried. "I can do this! Watch!"
Summoning all his strength, the boy heaved, every muscle in his body driven toward one single purpose. Finally, incredibly, the sled began to move. Not stopping, not daring to breathe, the boy willed himself to move the sled to the next building. Quickly, he calculated the distance he needed to travel, as well as how much distance he needed to leave to stop the sled in time. At the precise moment required, he relaxed his muscles, allowing inertia to take over.
The sled gently coasted to a stop, concluding its motion directly in front of the door to the storage building.
Tired, but not willing to show it, the boy turned to the hiring master expectantly.
The man stood, his mind deep in thought. Finally, he spoke.
"Well, I'll be damned," he whispered. He raised his voice to his normal dynamic. "All right, boy. You have work for today. You're certain you can do this all day?"
"Yes, sir," the boy said. "I swear I can!"
The master nodded. "I could use an extra hand after all. Now, off with you, boy! The others are at the building just down the path."
The boy turned, running down the path to catch up with the men. "Boy!"
The hiring master was speaking once more. The boy turned to face him. "Sir?"
"What's your name?" the master asked. "I want to know so I can make sure you get placed on my preferred hiring list."
The boy smiled. "Isarn, sir. My name is Isarn."
"Well, Isarn," the master said. "I'm not paying you to stand there. Get to work! Now!"
"Yes, sir!" Isarn turned and resumed his sprint to join the rest of the workers.
The hiring master watched until Isarn disappeared into the distance. He turned and walked back to his office, a thin smile finding its way onto his face. That boy is special, he thought. Very special indeed.
AN: More to come soon. The following are translations of the dialogue in this chapter.
En annentidligmorgen, minsønn? – Another early morning, my son?
Jegmente ikkeåvekke deg. – I didn't mean to wake you.
Lov meg at duvilikkejobbefor hardt. – Promise me you won't work too hard.
Aldri. – Never.