Chapter 6 'Prosht'
Caldon had always been a mentor to Prosht. Granted he was a somewhat stern and very demanding mentor, but Prosht would not have had it otherwise. As a novice Prosht had seen straightaway that Servant Caldon was the most demanding person at the Towers. After watching him and sitting in a few of his classes he saw that while Caldon was fair, he was sparing with his praise. If he expected you to learn something he would never say "Good job" or "Excellent" or even "Very nice" as some of the more encouraging instructors did. The most you could expect out of Servant Caldon for learning something that everyone was expected to learn was a "Yes" or "Correct". He never chided or scolded those that learned slowly, you would see him speaking privately to certain students who required multiple explanations, and then a week later that novice would be having private lessons with Caldon. And rarely, oh so very rarely, he would be heard telling a novice or one of the Pledged "Excellent" or "Very well done" or maybe "That was exceptional". And you knew that because Caldon was saying it that it really was exceptional or excellent or very well done. That had earned Caldon the immediate respect of the young cobbler's apprentice from the north.
Prosht had been an apprentice cobbler for five years when he promised his service to mankind and the Light. Those five years had been a hard life spent working for a hard man. Bognol was the best cobbler in the city; his shoes were always in demand, from the durable boots he made for yeomen and the like to the finely detailed slippers that made more profit per shoe than any ten pair of work boots. Just as highly coveted were his apprenticeships. If you could survive working for Bognol you were sure to be a successful cobbler.
When he arrived at the alley entrance behind Bognol's shop, the cobbler was waiting outside with the door pulled shut behind him. The shoemaker was a slight man, a little shorter than average with bushy white eyebrows that jutted out from his face like wild hedgerows. His calloused hands looked harder and stronger than any two hands Prosht had ever seen in his life. His narrow face did not smile to comfort the small boy arriving at his doorstep.
"Say goodbye to your parents boy, you'll not be seeing them again until after the thaw." Bognol's voice was flat and clipped. It had none of the joviality that made his father's voice special.
Prosht turned and hugged his mother, "Prosht, you must work now, and listen to your master. I love you my Runt Bear." His mother's dark reddish brown hair smelled of smoke and soap. It always smelled of smoke and soap, it was the smell that told Prosht he was home, he was safe. Now he was leaving that smell along with every other part of his home and his family. Then his mother stood and fled the alley.
He noticed that the shoulder of his coat was wet where his mom had placed her head while she hugged him goodbye; he had never seen his mother crying but realized that she must be doing so now, it was scary. His father grabbed his shoulders and squatted down in front of him looking into his childish grey eyes with their mature mirror.
"Son, you maybe do not understand why it is that you must leave us now and go to work, you will tomorrow or the next day. I expect for you to work hard and make all of this that you can, yes? Your older brother should be here becoming a man, but if I would have given Barus to this shoemaker he would have been fired tomorrow and no craftsman in the city would trust me to take a son of mine again. You I trust to work hard and learn. Bognol is one of the finest craftsmen in the city, you do whatever he tells you to do, yes? Tomorrow or the next day you will see why you must do this thing, but today I need you to work hard and obey, yes?"
"Yes, da." Prosht nodded. His da hugged him then. A hug that was half wool coat in his face and half black beard scratching against him and half the smell of ice pepper fields and half the smell of sweat.
"I will see you tomorrow or the next day, yes?"
"Tomorrow or the next day, da." His father grabbed his shoulders again and turned him around to face his new master, then his father's hands were gone and he could hear him walking away down the alley.
Bognol had thrown everything Prosht owned on the waste heap: "Rags have no place here, you will have work clothes while you are here. Take those shoes off. No apprentice in my shop will disgrace me by wearing filthy, ragged, poorly made shoes. I do not give away shoes for no price. You will have something to wear on your feet again when you can make shoes for yourself that I will not be embarrassed for you to be seen in."
It had taken a year of walking barefoot through the city on Bognol's errands, the older apprentices calling him Blacktoe, and Bognol shaking his head through an untold number of shoes and boots. But finally Bognol smiled and let him wear his first pair of boots.
"Very good Prosht. It takes most of the young men who come here to learn two years or more to cover their feet again, your feet will have these fine boots to wear, yes? You are doing well." It was the first compliment he had heard come out of the master. And it drove him to earn another. He had continued to work hard, learning everything Bognol had to teach him. The next compliment he received from the cobbler came four years later.
"Prosht come here to the back." Prosht followed his master back through the narrow hallway that separated the shop from the workshop in the back.
"Yes, Master?"
"Lord Mowscoff has come from Dragonsweep to ask after a cobbler. Dragonsweep's cobbler is dead and it is me he knew to come to for a young cobbler to make shoes for his town. You are younger than the men I usually send out into the world to bring them fine shoes, yes? But you are ready."
"But master, it is Gregoram's turn to be raised."
"Turn? There are no 'turns' here boy. When I send a man out into the world to make shoes, I send my reputation with him; no man carries my reputation with him until I say he is ready, yes? You are ready, Gregoram maybe tomorrow or the next day, yes? If you go with Lord Mowscoff he will have a good cobbler for Dragonsweep, if you do not I will apologize to him and say that I do not have any apprentice ready for his own shop." Grinning wider than he had ever remembered grinning in his entire life he had scooped up the skinny shoemaker and spun him around his own workshop. His master beat him over the head with a boot sole until he set him down.
"Thank you master, thank you so much!"
"Do not thank me Prosht, I give you nothing. This you have earned, yes?"
"I am not thanking you for giving me a shop of my own; I have earned that, yes?" He grinned at the look of consternation spreading across Bognol's face. "I am thanking you for everything you have taught me. You are truly a master. Thank you for teaching me, master."
The look on Bognol's face as Prosht dashed out the back door was one of the best gifts the old man could have given him. It was a mixture of pride that paid for all the short nights and blistered fingers, and the Year of the Blacktoe, and all the rest. He sprinted home to tell his family the news. Two days later he had ridden a mule that belonged to Lord Mowscoff at the tail end of a train of mules that belonged to Lord Mowscoff. The mules were mostly loaded down with more important cargo than cobblers: silks, ice peppers, dyes, tabac. The trip to Dragonsweep had eventually led him to the Towers and away from making shoes, not toward a life of making them.
His footfalls echoed down the corridor as shadows danced about the walls. He went over things in his head as he made his way to the Chamber of Light. He disliked returning to the Towers empty handed, but he had decided to bring his Brothers back to their duties and inform The Mother and Father of the situation with Wyland Ibarra. Then he would return to the Fifth and wait, he needed to be there to bring Wyland back to the Towers, he knew that from the Dovefeather, but the farmer would not come willingly, he needed to be pushed somehow. Prosht did not know how but he was sure that he would bring the world its Captain. The Passions sat at their desks in the waiting room that led to the Chamber of Light. Kimrana Lantin had been The Mother's Compassion since before the current Mother had even entered her name in the Novice Book. Short and plump, Kimrana had the kindly face of a farmwife tending her greatchildren, with light brown eyes that were always on the verge of a smile and a mouth that almost always was smiling, she was the physical embodiment of everything her post represented: care, sympathy, empathy. The White Livery of the Sisters suited her just as the Black Livery of the Brothers suited her counterpart. Daldwin Morgen was neither tall nor short, but he was wide. His every feature was wide: eyes and mouth and head, but most especially, shoulders and arms and chest and legs and hands and feet. Daldwin had been named The Father's Fury seven years ago when Padlia Tain had stepped down and retired. Padlia had been fiery in her every movement breath and action. Daldwin was stoic and quiet. He didn't seem to fit the role of fighting for justice and righteousness with every breath…until you saw him when he heard of wrongdoing. He was…implacable. Fire seemed to boil forth from his eyes when he demanded some action of the Hall of Servants. Grey had just begun to creep into his hair above his ears and his blue eyes were cold and bright.
"Servants, I am come to see the Mother and Father."
The Compassion and the Fury rose as one, turning in unison to face Prosht. Kimrana's face lit up the waiting room, Daldwin's might have still been focused on whatever report he had been reviewing prior to Prosht's arrival.
"Prosht! I am so very glad to see you returned to us." Her smile was infectious and Prosht felt himself grinning in spite of the fact that he was not pleased with what he had to tell the Mother and Father.
"Welcome Servant. What business do you bring to the Mother and Father?" It wasn't that the Fury's demeanor was cold, it was just decidedly not warm.
"I have come to report on the status of a mission I was tasked with."
"I will announce you, wait here." The Fury turned and, using not the large double doors that were the main entrance to the Chamber of the Light, but one of two much smaller doors that flanked the main entrance; one just to the left of the Fury's desk as it faced the right wall and one just to the right of the Compassion's desk which faced the left wall.
"How was your visit to the Fifthland?" Kimrana's cheery voice was tempered by age, but still held the joy and love for life that she had been spreading to everyone around her since long before Prosht had met her.
"It was interesting but a little disappointing, Kim. The people there are unique, and stubborn. The entire village of Ni'Baras Stand lied to my face, almost all of them so badly that I knew straight off they were lying, but I'm sure they knew that I knew they were hiding something and nothing I did could wheedle out the truth. If Wyland Ibarra hadn't ridden head first in to meet with me, I can't be sure that I ever would have found him. And Ibarra himself…"He trailed off as the double-doors opened and Daldwin emerged beckoning Prosht to follow him.
"We can talk more later if you like Prosht, I love to hear more about the peoples I've never been able to meet myself." She reached out and squeezed his hand as he turned to follow the Fury.
The Chamber of the Light was a large round room where the Mother and Father received supplicants and visitors that didn't require the grandeur of the Hall of the Servants. The Chamber was grand enough and more for Prosht: onyx floor tiles alternated with white marble broken only the by the Servant's Seal bordered by three inches of gold directly in front of the raised floor where the white and black desks of the Mother and Father overlooked the Chamber. The domed ceiling was power wrought crystal detailed with reproductions of the beauty of nature. Hummingbirds hovered near snapdragons, eagles soared majestically across the dome, a pack of wolves chased a buck across a meadow, trout leapt from the water of a lake, all infused with the golden rays of sunlight that lit the Chamber. A seamless mirror lined the wall all the way round, even covering the doors, the lines of which seemed to disappear when the doors closed leaving only handles to mark the exits. At night the crystal dome shone brightly so that the Chamber of the Light was never dark. At night the Chamber was a beacon lighting up the night sky, shining fiercely against the dark.
He came to a halt next to Daldwin on the ancient seal, a circle half black and half white separated by a sinuous line. Prosht knelt and Daldwin spoke, "The Servant Prosht has come with tidings and asks leave to speak."
"Rise my son." Caldon sat behind his black desk wearing a simple black wool shirt.
"Speak freely Prosht, we are glad to see you." Maradath Comlin was a rose in full bloom. Her long black hair hung straight down her back contrasting the pure white gown that would have been at place at any court in any land. Her dark eyes were snares that men had to be wary to avoid getting trapped in. She never wore anything provocative, but her figure refused any attempt she might make at disguising it. Striking did not come close to describing Maradath Comlin Mother of the Servants, Protector of Mankind, The Flame of Humanity. Tradition said that The Mother of the Servants was the Flame that the world looked to for hope against the night and The Father of the Servants was the Fang of Justice against the dark. Throughout the history of the Towers that had been truer of some pairings and less than true of others; some Mothers had been the ferocious crusaders of right while some Fathers had taken a calmer and more soothing tone. Prosht felt that Maradath and Caldon were the two people that those traditions had been formulated for. Exactly.
"I have come to report that our travels into the Dragon's Fifth were successful inasmuch as I located Captain Brandiwyn, though that is not his name. But unfortunately I believe that convincing him to leave his home for the good of mankind is going to be a difficult proposition."
"I have never known you to balk at a difficulty, my son. Why have you returned without our warrior?" Caldon's voice was not reproachful, the question was sincere, but Prosht could not help but feel that he was letting down this man he had looked up to since he was a very young man just out of Dragonsweep.
"I returned with my Brothers to allow them to return to their other duties, I do not think they will be of any more help now that we have located the Captain, a man named Wyland Ibarra. I also wanted to relay to you a little about this man. Then I plan on returning to the Fifthland and returning with Ibarra tomorrow or the next day." He paused to breathe and order his thoughts, "Wyland Ibarra is a man whose is stubborn to the point of fallacy, I was able to gauge the stories I had heard about him against the man himself when he came looking for me, and I will tell you that 'Fifthland stubborn' is no idle saying. I do not believe that anything anyone can say to him will convince him to leave his family and farm to fight a battle, much less a war. He left the Fifth as a young man and fought for Caemlyn in the Trade Wars as you know. He was offered the post of First Sword of Andor, instead of accepting and becoming a man of power and gaining wealth and lands, no doubt, he told Tram Oldspir that he had seen more blood and death than he could stomach. He returned to Ni'Baras Stand, retook the plow, and has never regretted it since. He does not wish to return to a life of violence, and I do not believe he would leave his family even if he did. I will return to the Fifth, with your leave Mother, and yours Father, and I will bring Wyland Ibarra back with me, but is not a matter of finding the words to bring him. It will be a matter of waiting for his destiny to find him, and then guiding him here once that happens."
"You are as insightful as ever, my son." The Mother was not the one he had worried about convincing, but if she approved then Caldon would be hard pressed to naysay her openly, "I believe that you know the right of this better than we, I also know your judgment to be sound, Caldon where is your mind on this?"
The Father of the Servants took his time answering, considering Prosht for a long moment. "We may not have all the time that we could hope for. We just received word that trollocs are raiding south of the blight. Four raids in the last two weeks in Mandragori. No trolloc has been seen south of the blight since the Dragon Reborn defeated the Dark One at the Last Battle. The horrors of the night are reawakening. If mankind does not rouse out of the stupor of peace soon, it may be too late. You know better than most the tidings of war. It is coming my son. We do not even know what we are up against, no incursion into the blight has returned for over two years. We must start preparing the world, our warnings are falling on deaf ears. Go back to the Fifth and bring back the scion of the Wolf. Sooner rather than later. or we may all suffer the consequences."
"Thank you both for the audience, my honor to serve." Bowing deeply, Prosht turned and let the Fury lead him out of the Chamber. Once outside in the waiting room he made his apologies to Kimrana and left straight out for the traveling ground; he was going to be back in Ni'Baras Stand before sunlight gave way to darkness.