Errr... there is no man behind the curtain!
---------------Break ---------------
“Come with me.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Why should I?!”
Jeremiah stabbed the crackling logs
within the fire pit. A swirl of embers twisted upwards, dancing
briefly like small fireflies before burning their little bodies out
in a bright flash of light and heat.
Jeremiah lifted the lid of the pot
suspended over flames. The fresh squash was beginning to cook nicely
and the heady scent of herbs filled his nostrils. He stirred the
mashed vegetable with a long ladle, hopeful to not burn it to the
bottom this time.
Keirn sat at the table, still dressed
in his travelling garb. The shadows from the fire played across his
eager face, ringing an almost hungry expression in his eyes. But it
was not food that his friend sought. There was something else behind
his sudden return and Jeremiah was suspicious of some further play
behind his request.
“I have to wonder over your
insistence in remaining here,” Keirn said, thrumming his fingers
against the table. “It must be awfully lonely now.”
Jeremiah turned towards the pegs by the
front entrance. Most lay empty now. His brothers and sister had long
since moved out, having met spouses of their own and having houses of
their own to tend. The only cloak that didn't belong to him had
remained unmoved upon its peg for quite some time now. And yet, even
though its owner was never coming back to claim it, Jeremiah couldn't
find the motivation to throw it away.
And it wasn't particularly out of some
grander fondness for his mother. He liked her well enough, but to him
she had been a bit of a tyrant. The youngest of four and the third
brother to boot, he offered little to the household and his lineage
other than another mouth to feed long after his mother cared for
rearing young.
At least, young at his age. She was far
fonder of babies than children and the moment his brothers started
having some, any positive attention Jeremiah hoped he could still get
was quickly transferred to them.
But despite her growing neglect of her
own child, Jeremiah still remained in her home even after her very
health began to leave. And when the gods came to claim what was left
of her, that cloak remained. Jeremiah had such plans for it, but any
time he took it from its hook the empty void it left just came to
reinforce how quiet the house had become.
“I have plenty here,” he said,
stubbornly stoking the fire. “Master Beadell says that my training
has been coming along really well lately.”
“Master Beadell is old and senile.
The old fart is lucky if he can remember which foot to properly put
in his slippers.”
“All the more reason for me to tend
the apothecary. And maybe in a few years he'll name me...”
“Name you what? His successor? He
keeps forgetting his wife is dead! I'm pretty certain that place is
going to his son and no matter how many years you put in it won't
change that fact.”
“Look, not all of us can just abandon
everything we know to wander off into the horizon on some silly sense
of adventure. Some of us have people we care about. And people that
care about us!”
“I know you and Amber are through,”
Keirn said flatly.
“What? But how-”
“Well she's hardly here tending to
your hearth,” Keirn said, pointing at the pot now giving off a
steady stream of blackened smoke. Jeremiah cried out, leaping to the
flames and dragging the smoking pot away between a pair of large iron
tongs. “Also, I saw her earlier with Cairen behind the temple in a
most... how do you say... un-priestess like fashion. That girl does
seem to have quite a fire in her, though. She should really have
worshipped a Vanir.”
Jeremiah dropped the pot on the table,
cursing as he quickly removed the lid. He wetting his scorched
fingers as he surveyed the damage. Keirn leaned forward, pulling the
nape of his cloak out of the way as he inspected the contents.
“Don't worry, I prefer meat anyway.
And it's not like we could have bundled that up to go.”
“I'm not leaving.”
“Why not!”
“Have you not listened to a word I've
been saying?!”
Keirn waved his hand.
“Those are just lingering doubts.
Everyone has them. Come, it'll be exciting!”
“I can't leave the house unattended.”
“Sure you can. Just inform my mother.
She'll keep an eye on it. It's not like she has anything better to
do.”
Jeremiah shook his head at his friend's
blatant disregard for anyone's feelings.
“There's nothing for me out there.
Everything I want is here, in this village. I still don't see why you
need anyone to go with you. Or why you left the Academy in the first
place.”
“The student life isn't for me,”
Keirn dismissed. He leaned forward. “Look, Jere, I need you. I need
you to do this for me.”
“Why?”
“Well... because... because...”
Keirn looked about the small room for some answer. But there was
nothing in the humble dwelling to assist him. A simple hearth filled
the space between the larder and the large table. A small cleaning
basin was set to the side and was surrounded by various drying herbs
cultivated from the tiny garden in the back. Across from them lay
Jeremiah's apothecary supplies – the tools and containers he'd been
stocking up with his pay from the rare peddler that stopped in the
village. Finally, a large straw bed lay before the stairs that
descended into the small cellar where most of the food and wine was
stored.
“Haven't you always wanted more. More
than this?”
Jeremiah lifted a careful amount of
squash to his lips, testing to see if any of it was salvageable.
“No.”
“Not even once? Never have you woken
from your sleep and turned over to see the separator between you and
your mother's bed thinking that there was more to life than this
useless little village and its useless little routines? What life
really remains for you here: one of endlessly toiling at a business
that will never be yours, waiting for some lovely maiden to walk by
to come and warm your bed in the hopes that perhaps in her arms
you'll find some solace that lets you sleep?”
“Why do you even care!” Jeremiah
shouted, tossing the ladle angrily towards the water basin. He
thundered to his feet, stomping back to the hearth and upending the
contents of the pot into the fire.
“Because... unlike this unsympathetic
village... I need you.”
Jeremiah turned towards the other man.
“You having a laugh?”
“No, I mean it.” Keirn's voice grew
soft – almost vulnerable. “I can't do this on my own.”
“Why not?”
“At the Academy, we were taught to
recognize the limits of ourselves. I know I can be a little... brisk
and that sometimes my actions may need a more moderating hand. I'm no
valiant knight, Jeremiah. But you, however - you are.”
He looked up at his friend, the flames
reflecting brightly in his eyes.
“You care and that is a powerful
thing. People see that in you and that can be a great strength. With
a little refinement and a little direction you can be the very thing
people look up to. The person people turn to when in need. A kind
face whose honour holds him to a higher calling than the petty
schemes of the rest of us rabble.”
Something stirred within him at those
words.
“You really think so?”
Keirn nodded.
“Of all the village it was you who
spoke to me in the glade. All the other children were content with
calling me names or throwing rocks at my head. Adults turned a blind
eye or sneered when I passed. But not you – you sought me out even
after I mocked you and turned you away. Day after day you came,
sitting on that rock despite what I did. Even when I sought further
refuge, you came and you waited.”
Jeremiah felt his face flush at the
memory.
“How did you know?”
“Because I didn't leave. I stayed in
the trees. I... wanted to know if you'd still come even if I had
left.”
Keirn stood, crossing the room and
resting a hand on Jeremiah's shoulder.
“I need you Jere, because you're the
only friend I have in this rotted village or anywhere else. Come with
me and leave this empty place behind.”
That night, Jeremiah went into the
basement. Behind barrels of stored cheeses and pickled vegetables was
one particular chest. It was covered in dust and cobwebs, abandoned
in the darkest spot. Abandoned but not forgotten. Jeremiah fiddled
with the rusty latch, finally opening the lid with a terrific groan.
Inside lay an old sword and a suit of
worn armour. Jeremiah stared at those treasures of a man he'd never
remembered. A man his mother refused to speak of and whose last
belongings his siblings shun. Jeremiah took that suit and sword back
upstairs and spent the rest of the evening checking the straps and
latches and polishing the metal.
The next morning he greeted his friend,
shifting uncomfortably beneath the unfamiliar weight of the strange
metal suit and shouldering a bag filled with what little belongings
he couldn't leave behind.
But even from the start, Keirn hadn't
been truthful. They met a strange bard shortly after: a resident of
one of the further villages. Shortly after that, a woman with
familiar brown hair and even more familiar features came running
after them down the dirt trails.
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