11 The Shadows
Alone in the woods, Eryck awoke in his shack to the smell of the tannery re-imprinted in his skin. Crinkling his nose at the familiar smell, his readjustment to his old life would be more difficult than he expected.
He rolled over to see how basic his little shack in the woods actually was—sad when compared to the most basic servant quarters in the two castles he visited. In his makeshift home, he did not have enough ceiling to stand, not to mention that he could never seal the shack completely from mosquitoes. The current weather did make his humble home comfortable by cutting down the number of pests, but the change also meant less light to read after work, which forced him to use candles—money he did not have.
Then there was the coming winter; he wondered if returning to the apprentice hut was unavoidable. The burlap sheet he used in his makeshift window to combat mosquitoes would soon need to be replaced with wood planks. In addition, the howling winds were becoming more common, the crisp air easily cutting through his shelter.
And not only was it dark before he finished work, he had to be extra careful with his tracks so not to create noticeable trails through the forest. The foliage had began to wane; the weaker resilience revealing trails that stray bandits might someday discover—though he had no possessions worth stealing.
Sitting up, he looked at his freshly stained hands. His first task upon his return to the tannery was to prepare a fresh tanning mixture consisting of fresh cow brains that had been delivered that morning. Vegetable tanning was less hard on the senses, but Eryck even had to admit that his boss's formula, a special combination of the two, produced the best leather.
Not yet fully awake, Eryck remembered that his boss had scheduled this afternoon for the delivery of new goatskins to the bookbinder. The thought of sharing tea with his friend finally got him off his straw bed and dressing. As he sorted his clothes, he paused to inspect the book that Cerenna had given him, for yesterday after work, he had neither light nor candles to read any of the pages before turning in for sleep.
The book was old, and the language an ancient form of common speak, which meant that Eryck could read it. He flipped through the pages to discover drawings lightly dispersed throughout the book. Studying an illustration of the moon, the delicate detail amazed him, and he wondered how accurate the ancient copyist had been when they painfully recreating each work. How many of these did you draw? How many books produced? Eryck wondered.
Eryck was about to close the book when it flipped to a page with a large illustration of an owl. His hand quickly slapped onto the page as the closing pages fell close. He quickly reopened the book for further inspection to find that the owl drawn with black ink on yellowing paper looked vaguely familiar to the one he had been encountering. Below the illustration, the text read, Death's Shadow.
Reading further, Eryck learned that this white owl was believed to guide lost souls to their next life, without which the dead would be doomed to an eternity of wandering in the shadows. The foreshadowing of death was common with owl myths, but the difference with this bird was that the creature foretold the spotter's death—not someone closely related to the spotter, as with more popular myths.
The sound of a branch breaking under footstep gave Eryck a start. He slowly peered out his makeshift window to see a doe with two smaller trailing deer treading lightly through the forest. Breathing a sigh of relief, Eryck closed the book and finished dressing.
Finally, before leaving his shack, he uncovered his secret stash of books that he would need to deliver to the castle that afternoon. Revealing the depression dug under his mattress, he felt relieved to find the books unharmed in their waterproof pouch. He carefully returned the books to their hiding place and proceeded to go to work.
The day of soaking, dehairing, bating, and tanning progressed as any other day, with the exception of his thoughts returning to the book he had skimmed that morning. He had seen the owl, and he had seen grotesque death. What if I see that owl again? Should I be worried?
Behind the workshop, Eryck was stoking the fire that heated the bating tank when he began staring into the flames, his thoughts returning to the myth. "Nonsense," he said to himself, tossing another log into the furnace.
"What's nonsense, my boy?"
Eryck turned to find Master Behn. "Oh. There was a past discussion about magic that I was recalling."
"I take it that you don't believe in magic."
Eryck grabbed another log from the nearby stack. "No. If there was magic, it would be a common sight. Do you believe?"
"Yes." Master Behn crouched by the furnace door and held out his hands. "Do you think the fire you just stoked to be magic?"
"No."
"Why do we see a flame? Why does it give off heat?"
Eryck stared at the flames for a moment and shrugged. "It burns."
"Yes," said Master Behn, "but why?"
The young man shrugged again. "I'm sure someone interested in alchemy knows, or will soon figure it out."
Master Behn stood, tucking his warmed hands into his front pockets. "Wouldn't rather think it magic?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Magic is false hope," replied Eryck. "It's like believing in ghosts."
Master Behn smiled faintly. "What is life if not magic?"
"Science will someday explain everything." Eryck tossed one last log into the furnace.
"That will be a sad day," said Master Behn, pushing the furnace door close with his boot. "How do explain evil?"
"That's an easy one," replied Eryck. "Evil is humanity."
Master Behn's usual good-natured gaze turned to one of concern. Slowly, his gaze shifted to the sun hovering over the horizon and said, "Only a few hours of daylight left. You should go now if you want to take the goatskins to the bookbinder."
With a simple nod, he turned to the nearby washbasin to prepare to go into Lannisport.
As the old man walked past Eryck, he patted the lad on the shoulder. "Let's hope your friend can lift your spirits."
Eryck solemnly watched his master walk away, contemplating the man's words.
Returning to his delivery routine, Eryck strapped the skins to his back and began his journey. As per routine, he stopped at his shack to collect the books he had been reading. Upon quick inspection, he frowned, for he unfortunately did not finish one of the volumes, which was about trees. Now knowing what happens on the other side of the castle wall, Eryck thought with hindsight how he would have rather spent his time finishing the book than having become a fool for a week. He tucked the three books into his burlap sack and returned to the road—less enthusiastically than times before.
No longer playing the fool, Eryck properly waited like an outsider at the servant's door for the castle steward.
When the old man eventually appeared, he greeted the tanner with the usual distain. "And I thought I was rid of you."
"Nice to see you too, Mr. Spyre. The bookbinder has asked me to deliver these three completed books." Eryck pulled the three volumes from the sack. "Now that I know the location of the library, would you like me to save you the trouble?"
The steward wrinkled his nose. "I think not, Mr. Leder. We would not want to upset anyone with your smell should you pass them in the corridor."
Eryck reluctantly passed the books to the Steward. "You do have a sensitive nose, Mr. Spyre. Wouldn't want you fainting or anything."
"Exactly. Good day to you, Mr. Leder," said the steward, peering down his nose before promptly shutting the door.
When Eryck later entered the bookbinder shoppe, Mr. Ayrn Foryst greeted him with his familiar warm smile. "Ah, Eryck. It is so good to see you again. How are you?"
"I just delivered the last batch of books to the castle."
"I don't care about the books." Ayrn hobbled from behind his workbench and placed his hand on Eryck's shoulder. "How are you? I heard about the attack on Lannister sisters. They said that the fool fought back the bandits and saved the young women. Is that true? Was that you?"
"Yes. I'm not sure how I did it, but I somehow bought us enough time until the castle guard arrived."
With his years of wisdom, Ayrn looked sympathetically into Eryck's eyes, knowing the peaceful nature of his friend. "They said that you killed some of the bandits."
"Yes," said Eryck, sounding older than his years. "Three of them. I had no choice."
"I don't suppose you did." Ayrn gestured to the table. "Come sit down, and I'll prepare some tea."
Eryck moved to the workbench where he found the latest book in process of rebinding, scattered over the surface. The folded collections of paper—called signatures—waited to be put in order and sewn into a new binding. Reading the text, Eryck discovered another historical text describing the latest conflict between kingdoms. "I think it would be more interesting to read a historical text from the losing side."
"So would I," replied Ayrn, removing the water from the hearth to the table. "Sadly, those who could write their account are now dead. And if something had been written, they probably destroyed it upon discovery."
"It should be against the law to destroy the written word, no matter who writes it or the subject matter. Don't they realize how much work goes into writing? It's not like snapping your fingers and having the pages appear around the world for anyone to read."
"I won't argue with you there." Setting two cups of tea on the uncluttered end of the workbench, Ayrn finished the setting with a small plate of hard biscuits. "Come sit; tea is ready."
Eryck scooted up onto a stool and reached for a biscuit. Not wanting to risk his teeth, he dipped the biscuit into the hot tea. "I forgot to bring my bottle of wine. Myrielle Lannister gave me a bottle in appreciation for fighting off the bandits. Since I do not drink, I thought I would give it to you. Ser Daven said it was one of his sister's favorites."
"Sounds expensive. You could sell it for candles."
Eryck blew on his tea. "I wouldn't even know where to begin with pricing the wine. I'm sure I'd be underpaid."
"Ask the owner of the nearby tavern."
"Then I'm guaranteed to be conned." Eryck smiled. "I still want you to have it. The books you have secretly lent me are worth more than all the wine in the world."
"Okay." Ayrn sipped his tea. "It would be nice to see what the well to do drink these days." The old man watched Eryck dip the rest of his biscuit into his tea and begin chewing. "So, how did you come to be a court jester for a week?"
"Didn't anyone tell you?"
"No. I only heard second hand rumors, and as you know, I don't put any faith in those."
Eryck forced down the last bite of hard biscuit. "While touring Lannisport, Ser Daven visited the tannery and took notice of my word choices when I spoke. Playing a hunch, he asked me to read something."
"Didn't you feign ignorance?"
Nodding, Eryck began to stir his tea. "I did at first, but Ser Daven could not let go of his hunch. He was nice about it and asked a second time. Overall, I find the warden a thoughtful man, so when he asked me to answer as the man I wanted to be, I decided to reveal my literacy. I easily read the book held out before me."
Sipping his tea, Ayrn set down his cup and asked, "But why did Ser Daven make you a jester?"
"To torment his sisters. I think he wanted me to spy on them, to see if they were up to something."
"Are they?"
The young man became motionless, staring into his cup of tea.
"Eryck?"
Snapping out his thoughts, Eryck cleared his throat. "Sorry. No. Nothing worth mentioning."
"I also heard that you fought Ser Jagger at the tourney. Is this also true?"
"Yes," replied Eryck. "I opened my big mouth and had to answer for it. They did give us wooden swords, but those did not stop him from trying to kill me. Mercifully, they stopped him once he knocked me unconscious."
"Sounds horrifying."
"That's not the worst thing while serving as their fool. I later met Queen Cersei. She made me lie with her lion cub as she spent the night drinking wine and gossiping with her cousins. The lion cub was friendly, but it kept hugging me, poking me with its claws. I was terrified that it would bite me like a kitten. I'd have to say that it was one of the longest nights of my life."
Ayrn sipped his tea, continuing to study his friend. "Was that the worse of it?"
Staring down at his teacup, Eryck chewed his lip, knowing best not to say anything. He wanted to speak, but he understood that the horror he witnessed could not even be safely obfuscated with white lies.
As Eryck searched for something to say, Ayrn saved him by diverting his attention, "Surely, something good must have happened."
Slowly, a smile formed on his lips. "For fighting the bandits, Cerenna allowed me full access to the castle's library. I can share with you that she allowed me to pick some of the books that will be rebounded next."
"I hope you picked some good ones," commented Ayrn.
"I hope so too. The library is so vast that I could not even skim through it in an afternoon. They even have books written in dead languages. Makes me wonder if anyone will ever again decipher them."
"I'm sure someday they will find a way." Ayrn finished his tea and gently set down his cup. "Had they offered you a permanent servant position, would you have accept it? Very few in our world get a chance at a career change."
"Ser Daven sort of did, but I declined."
"Why?"
"Life inside the Castle is...complicated, to say the least. And being a castle servant is time consuming. I probably would have even less time to read. On top of that, there is no guarantee that I'd have access to the library." Eryck finished his tea, setting his cup next to his friend's. "I've also learned that there is no prestige from serving royalty. I would rather be a librarian than a knight."
Ayrn smiled.
"What?"
"You keep getting wiser by the day." The bookbinder slid from his stool. "I'll heat up some more tea."
After further tea and stories, Eryck eventually set out with three newly rebounded books in his burlap sack and proceeded to head home. Darkness had descended on Lannisport with most of the remaining human activity congregating around the taverns. As Eryck passed one familiar tavern, he thought he recognized a face amongst the crowd gathered out front. Inquisitively, Eryck weaved back around and through the crowd but failed to find the person—to his relief.
Eryck returned to the road and continued until he reached a bend. Taking one last look back at the distant tavern, Eryck wondered if he saw something midway moving in the shadows. He called out to the person but received no reply. Attributing his paranoia to his horrific week prior, Eryck carried on home with slightly a quicker step.
The road fell under complete darkness as the young tanner continued his journey home, using the familiar ruts created by wagons as a haptic guide. The road had never once had given him worry in regard to his safety, but this night, the perception of footsteps in the distance—or so he thought—lengthened his step. His eyes began to dart about, searching for any signs of life, animal or human, as he fought the urge to run.
When he reached the spot where he would normally leave the road for his hidden forest sanctuary, he instead remained on the road and walked on towards the tannery.
Eryck franticly knocked on the door to the apprentice hut. When the door opened, he could barely make out friend's face in the darkness. "Hey, Ryver. It's Eryck. Can I bunk with you guys tonight?"
"Ya. Sure." Ryver stepped aside so Eryck could enter. "You don't have to ask. This is place is as much yours as ours."
"I know, but I'd thought with me mostly sleeping in the woods that I should ask."
Lying on his straw mattress, Tobin rolled onto his side, "Why aren't you sleeping in your shack?"
"I thought I heard something big in the darkness. Since I couldn't see it, I decided to play it safe."
"I don't know how you do it," said Ryver. "The sound of all those critters moving about the darkness would drive me nuts."
In the corner, Eryck set down his burlap sack where his unused straw mattress lay on the floor. "The sounds of the small critters are actually soothing. I only begin to worry when I do not hear them. Too much silence is a sign that something bigger lurks nearby."
"Do you want us to light a candle?" asked Ryver.
"No," replied Eryck. "I'm going straight to bed." He walked casually to the sole window in the hut and peered out.
Curious about his friend's behavior, Ryver joined him at the open window. "Do you see anything?"
"No," replied Eryck, continuing his search.
"You can close the window if you want. With the weather turning cooler, we leave it open since there are fewer mosquitoes." Ryver turned away, returning to his straw mattress.
Silently, Eryck continued to scour the shadows, his pulse slowly subsiding.
"Eryck?" asked Tobin.
"Yes?"
"What happened last week? You seem different."
Eryck turned to see the silhouettes of his friends preparing to go to sleep. "Nothing besides getting my ass kicked by a knight at a tourney. Heed my advice: don't try to be funny—even if it is your job to be. How different do I appear?"
"A lot," replied Ryver.
Unable to share his secrets, Eryck retired to his floor mattress. As he covered himself with a scratchy wool blanket provided by Master Behn, he said, "I guess I'm a little disappointed with what I discovered inside the castle walls."
"What did you discover?" asked Tobin.
"That fairy tales are just tales," replied Eryck, shutting his eyes. He now felt grateful the darkness, which hid his welling tears. Grateful for his friend's companionship, his muscles started to relax. Clearing his throat, he said, "There are no princesses in towers, no honorable knights, no gleaming castles with wise and just kings…or queens...no gods..."
Letting the solemn conversation drop, the three friends soon fell asleep.
Later, Eryck awoke to darkness and judged that he had slept for only a couple hours. As his eyes tried to make out the various shapes in the room, he had the inclination that the room had become darker—as if a shadow now occupied it. He sat up to discover the white owl perched in the windowsill.
With his heart racing, Eryck stared at the owl's silhouette in the window. He could not tell if the bird's feathers were spotless—or even white, but the young man felt assured that it was the same ominous bird of prey. Have you come for me? Eryck wondered.
When the owl took flight, Eryck gasped. He quickly donned his clothes and slipped out the door in search of the bird. When he could not find any signs of life, Eryck headed for the clearing before the tannery, his eyes skimming the trees.
Then out of the darkness, the owl whooshed past his head and perched on a nearby tree. Hooting once, the owl's head appeared to twitch nervously.
Once Eryck realized that the owl had turned him in the direction of his shack, he knew where he was supposed to go. Eryck entered the forest and carefully made his way past low branches and through the brush. The damp air helped silence the forest floor, but he still progressed forward on his tiptoes in pursuit of the owl as the bird flew from tree to tree.
Recognizing one of the many ridges of landscape that hid his shelter from passersby, Eryck slowed his progress. Before he reached the top of the gradual incline, he began to hear the slurred singing of a man. Eryck reached the crest and knelt down behind a large elm tree, finding a drunken knight staggering outside his shelter.
The man mumbled inextricably when he suddenly raised his voice in anger. "Where are you? You little shit! I know you're out here, somewhere. You want glory? I'll give it to you at the end of my blade. Fucking fool!"
Recognizing the former lieutenant voice, Eryck lowered himself further as he watched the man stagger forward and toss something against a tree that shattered like glass.
"I drank all of your wine!" hollered Ser Karsan. "Good shit that."
Then Eryck heard the distinct sound of a boot kicking in his scrap wood shelter. When the sound of destruction halted, the sound of urine showering the remnants of his flattened home signaled the final insult.
"You can't hide from me forever!" Ser Karsan then staggered away in the direction of Casterly Rock, disappearing into the shadows of the forest.
Following the departure of the former lieutenant, the owl took flight from its nearby branch and disappeared into the night.
Eryck sat onto the ground and leaned back against the elm tree. He did not cry or mourn the loss of his simple home, for he knew that he had escaped great harm—or even death. He sighed with the understanding that he could never return to his old life, feeling very much the fool for thinking that he ever could.
