The Destiny Trilogy. Book One: The Four Levels of Godhood. Part I: Inteurn. Chapter 1: Son
It was the Red season, the season when the temperature went from hot to cool and the sands shifted color accordingly. To the Likjatish, this season was called Gos. To us on Earth, we would call this Fall. But in spite of the beauty and serenity this season would normally bring, one man couldn't find peace.
Jerod had worn a path in the scarlet sand pacing in worry. He had been waiting for hours for any news from the midwife on how his wife was fairing and on the status of the birth of his child. He strongly considered going right into the animal-skin hut and just seeing for himself, but he knew that was frowned upon.
Jerod's fellow villagers looked upon him with worry and sympathy, for it was no secret that his wife had had a difficult pregnancy and was having a difficult birth.
Just then the midwife immerged from the hut, her apron bloodied. Obstructing his path, the woman who must have been in her fifties said to him "You have a healthy baby boy, but your wife needs her rest, so tread softly." With that said, she stepped aside to let him pass.
Stepping in the dimly lit hut he observed the peaceful look on his wife's face under the light of the oil lamp. He also looked upon his newborn son with amusement as he watched him trying to kick his way out of the homespun cloth he was wrapped in.
Jerod gathered his lively son in his arms and approached his sleeping wife. He moved aside her sweat-drenched hair and kissed her lightly on the forehead. But despite how careful he was trying to be, she still aroused.
She opened her eyes, gave him a tired smile and drifted back off to sleep. He looked upon her face for a little while longer before turning to go. He wanted to show off his son.
Walking around the village, which now bathed its now-red sands in the light of the two moons, accepting congratulations as he went, he struggled for a name for his new son. "What shall I call you, little man?" The newborn gave him a puzzled look, which made him laugh.
"Shall I call you…Helcion?" The baby gave another puzzled look. "How about…Bertrand?" The baby stuck out his tongue. "Not that either, hmm? Then what do you think of…Inteurn?" With this the baby gave him a gummy grin, forming a spit bubble. Laughing and lifting his son high into the air Jerod declared, "Then 'Inteurn' it shall be!"
From then on Inteurn continued to be his parents' pride and joy. His father taught him to hunt and fight. His mother taught him to read and a love for the temple. He attended services and scroll classes at the local temple: the Temple of Wind. He was even considering becoming a monk. Inteurn loved his family, his village and his life, and would fight to protect them.
Unfortunately, when he was fourteen he got an opportunity to prove it. Without warning, the small village found itself under attack by a war band on horseback that came in the still of the night; and within weeks, the village was under the war band's occupation.
No longer was Inteurn able to attend services or take classes at the Temple of Wind, for that was the first thing to get shut down. Inteurn wondered what became of his Joir teacher, even though he tended to dislike him.
Inteurn hated the marauders for taking away the peace and beauty that once belonged to his village…that once belonged to his mother. But Inteurn wasn't the only one angry.
After being occupied for a few months, the villagers decided they'd had enough and staged an uprising.
There had been secret grumbling among the men of the village for quite some time now, and they decided that it was about time they did more than just grumble. This was why they were all gathered together at the Temple of Wind. The village leader called for order to the meeting.
"These savages have trespassed on our home and disrupted our way of life for far too long! We must mobilize and force them out for our village's sake and our family's sake!" There came a roar of agreement in reply. It didn't take much to motivate the men, for they all felt the same way.
"What should we do about our families?" Spoke up a concerned husband and father. "I don't want anything to happen to my wife and daughters when we take on these barbarians." A majority of the men vocalized their agreement. "A justified concern, Brother." Began the village leader. "I've been making arrangements with the village leader of the next village over, to house our families for the time being. We can have them evacuated the night before we strike." That seemed to put the man's mind at ease.
"When do we strike?" asked a younger man in his twenties. "As early as the morning after tomorrow. Spaces should be available in the next village over by then." Answered the village leader. By a large, the men seemed to agree with this time frame. But Inteurn's father had been giving this some thought and striking so soon did not sit so well with him. Inteurn, who had been deemed old enough to attend the meeting, noticed the uncertainty cloud over his father's face.
"Brother, with all due respect, is it truly wise to attack so soon? Wouldn't it be more prudent to plan a bit more?" Asked Inteurn's father. His question brought a hush to the hall.
"Brother Jerod, if you knew that there was a place your wife could go where she would be safe that was available right now, wouldn't you rather her be there sooner rather than later?" He paused, as if waiting for an answer. "Besides," he continued. "It would be most prudent to strike right away because the savages will notice something is wrong when there are no women or children, and we would lose our chance." The village leader rebutted, challenging Jerod to argue with his logic. The other men agreed with this reasoning. Jerod said nothing.
Having his father spoken down to did not sit well with Inteurn.
"We can use what tools we have around us as weapons. Tell your wives to start packing." Continued the village leader. He paused. "We may not succeed, but we must at least try, for what kind of men would we be otherwise?" He reasoned, and with that, the meeting was ended.
What the village leader didn't realize was that their occupants were aware of the placement arrangements he had made. The following night when the women and children prepared to make that day-long ride to the next village over, they would only succeed in getting half way before getting ambushed…They'd never make it to the next village…
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The winds were changing most unfavorably. It would only get worse from here. He must seize the opportunity that chaos provided and make his escape. But he knew he could not leave without the boy, which would mean going back into the village. That boy was the only thing worth turning back for. There was no way he could allow such potential to be laid to waste with the rest of the village.
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It was utter chaos, and even thought the men of the village organized to fight off their occupants, they weren't making any headway with the better-armed, better-organized band.
It was into this chaos that young Inteurn found himself; he chose to stay and fight alongside his father. It was also in this chaos where the Joir made his appearance.
"Joir!" Cried Inteurn in surprise. The teacher leapt off his horse and moved passed Inteurn and towards his father, not even looking in the boy's direction. "Sir," came the authoritative voice of the teacher. "Allow me to take your son out of here." Inteurn saw his father turning this proposition over in his head. Inteurn's father considered the Joir in high esteem, plus he realized that the likelihood of surviving this battle was slim, and having his son brought up by someone as respectable as the Joir would put his mind at ease.
"Father, no!" Inteurn argued. "I assure you, sir, he will be safe with me." The teacher continued, ignoring Intuern's pleas. "Father!" Inteurn bellowed, fretting at the possibility of being separated from his father.
"Son, I want you to go with the Joir." The father stated. This was no time for arguments, but from his son he would get one. "But father, I wish to stay and fight with you!"
Inteurn received a final embrace from his father and within moments, he was mounted behind the Joir on his horse and speeding away from the village where he had spent his whole life. He looked back tearfully.
"Never look back, son. There is never anything to see." Spoke to Joir. "I am not your son." Spat Inteurn in reply.
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They had slowed their pace once they reached their destination.
"Well, young man, what you see before you is Lijog City." Said the teacher, careful not to call the boy "son", as they entered into the square that still bustled with life despite the fact that it was now late at night. Merchants were closing up their booths and carting them away for the night while last-minute hagglers tried for a deal. They rode passed taverns with owners throwing rowdy patrons out for closing time.
They rode deeper into the city until the streets became less noisy. They finally stopped at the outskirts of the city in front of a pharmacy where a horse was tied. "We've arrived." Stated the teacher as he dismounted the horse, Inteurn followed suit, looking up at the two-story building that was neatly stuck between a tailor's shop and a shoe repairman's shop.
"'Lijog'…doesn't that mean 'Water'?" Inteurn asked, as he watched the Joir unload his horse. "Open that door for me, please." The Joir requested. The boy obeyed. "Follow me." Commanded the teacher as he passed through the doorway.
"I suppose you're wondering why a city as dry as the rest of this planet would be called 'Water'." The Joir didn't have to turn around to know that the boy was nodding his head in the affirmative.
"Gradice!" The Joir yelled into the darkness. "Gradice, son, could you give us some light?" Suddenly an oil lamp was lit and holding the lamp was a young man who looked a year or two older than Inteurn, and had long blonde hair where Inteurn had long silver hair. "Master! You've returned!"
"Intuern, this is Gridice, my pupil of six years. Gradice, this is Inteurn. He will be staying with us." Said the Joir, getting the formalities out of the way. "Pleased to meet you." Said Gradice with a slight nod of his head. "Gradice, could you put this in my quarters?" said the Joir, handing over his load. Gradice took it and scurried away.
"Follow me, Inteurn." Said the teacher. Leading him to the back of the shop where the stairs were, the Joir began his explanation. "Looks are deceiving, for indeed this is a Water City, only the water us underground. You see, on this planet, water is big business, and this City is the center of the water production industry. But why show off the goods?" They moved up the stairs and the Joir pointed out what would be Inteurn's room. The room was bare because no one used it. "I'll have Gradice bring you some bed sheets. Tomorrow I'll take you into the clothing district and buy you some clothes."
After Inteurn was settled in his new room, he came back downstairs and sat with the Joir and Gradice at the little table they had set up for meals off to the side. "Well, hello there! We were just talking about you and how you'd be staying with us." Said the Joir with a smile. A shadow fell over Inteurn's face as he thought of the circumstances that brought him there.
Seeing this, the Joir opted to go into mentor mode because honestly, nothing he could say would comfort the boy. "Look, son…" he began, but was cut off by Inteurn, for there was that dreaded word again. "Do not call me 'son'. I know who my father is!" "Yes. Of coarse. I was only trying to say that it would do you know good to look back, for there will be nothing to see!" The Joir argued. "You speak as if you know!" Inteurn shot back. The Joir hesitated. It was only for a moment, but it was all Inteurn needed to come to a conclusion.
"You knew! You could've stopped it, yet you did nothing!" Inteurn couldn't look at the Joir. Partly because tears were stinging his eyes. But mostly because he was disgusted. He ran back up the stairs to the room he had just been granted and slammed the door that unfortunately didn't lock.
Inteurn flopped onto the bed and began pounding the pillow. He wanted to stay with his father, no matter how badly the uprising was going. He knew that, judging by how badly it was going, he, his father and many of the villagers wouldn't survive. The likelihood that he might have lost his mother and father, and the fact that none of it had to happen, was killing him. He couldn't bear being in that place for another moment.
He leapt from the bed, grabbed his oil lamp, and bounded down the stairs and out the front door. He untied one of the horses from the front of the shop and sped away. He wasn't running away, he wasn't that melodramatic. Rather, he was running back.
"Master, shall I go after him?" Gradice asked. "Wait, Gradice. Let him have a head start." Advised the Joir. "You will need my ring."
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