Chapter 2

Arthur McCreedy, undoubtedly the oldest member of the village, looked out the front window of his hovel.  Across the road stood the young boy he knew to be Rory.  He was not at all surprised to see Rory standing there completely oblivious to the rain that was soaking him through to the skin, for he knew the reason the boy stood, unmoving, barely ten strides away from his own front door.

It pained Arthur to see the boy in so much torment, but he also knew he had to allow this scene to play itself out, to allow the boy and his mother their time to grieve.  Rory had been almost the last to know of his father’s passing and needed the time to allow all of what that meant to soak in as deeply as the rain into his drenched clothing.

Arthur never much cared for anyone going out alone from the village as Rory’s father had two days before on one of his usual early morning hunts.  He was attacked, rather viciously it seemed, by a timber wolf and would have died alone in the forest had it not been for the coincidental hunting party, that found him lying in a pool of his own blood and returned him with all speed back to the village to be mended.

At first his wounds did not appear so severe despite the amount of blood that he had lost, though once he had been returned to the village Arthur saw they were much more serious.  He hadn’t expected him to last the week.

Arthur thought it bitterly ironic that now the rest of the village heeded his warning to only leave the village in groups of at least two, if not more.  It was for this reason also that both Tomas and Benjamin were sent to watch over Rory and Kendal on their hunts that morning.

He did not like to take chances, which made the scene unfolding before him so much harder to witness.  Rory was only fifteen, yet now he was about to be thrust into manhood by the uncharacteristically foolish act of his father.  Arthur knew his duty as the defacto leader of this village, and made his way to his front door to head out into the rain to stand with the young man as he accepted his fate.

Rory felt as though he had been standing there for what seemed an eternity though it had only been a few moments.  He knew what waited within yet could not force himself to move.  His father had been his hero since as far back as he could remember.  His father had taught him everything since he was first able to walk.  Part of him wanted to run off into the forest and rend his clothing in grief.  He knew it was the child in him, of which he was currently in the process of putting further in the past through each of his trials.

            At that moment Rory felt as though he would never reach that goal.  Despite the approval of both Kendal’s father and the other elder, Rory did not share their belief that he had passed the latest stage of his test.  After all he lost his intended target and was very nearly on the receiving end of the, very understandable, wrath of a rather mean, if diminutive, badger.  Not to mention it was his own fault the creature was after him.

            The man he was soon to become knew that he was now expected to take his father’s place in the village as well as within his own family.

            Rory stood there, soaking wet, tears rimming his bloodshot eyes, torn between the wants and desires of that child and the responsibilities that now faced that man.

Out of sheer power of will he forced himself to take a step toward the front door.  He could barely see through the stinging rain that the door was slightly hanging open and off its top hinge.  He used that small distraction to allow himself to get closer to that portal.  Through the almost deafening noise of the falling rain and crashing thunder he caught his mother’s whimper drifting out to him through the gap in the doorway causing him to falter.  Once again having been brought back to the grim realization of what waited for him beyond that wooden barrier caused his mind to race, searching for possible places he could run and hide.  Rory took a deep breath to steady his erratic and childish thoughts, then took another before continuing forward.

Once he finally reached the door Rory braced himself yet again and pushed open the door.  Everything in the room seemed out of place and foreign as if this was someone else’s home.  Rory was nearly overwhelmed with the emotions that flooded through him like the water being released from a broken dam as he stepped in.  On the floor was his mother’s clay pitcher lying in pieces.  He looked up to the small table where he knew it was kept and saw a large piece was broken out of the clay basin where the pitcher usually rested.  Rory’s slow gaze moved over to the eating table.  Next to it one of the chairs he had helped his father craft was lying on its side with one leg in splinters.  Throughout his numb survey of the hovel he heard his mother’s sobs as a distant echo to the sound of his own throbbing heartbeat.  Rory’s eyes fell over the bed in which his father’s body lay.  His mother was kneeling at the side of it quietly weeping into the blankets covering his father’s still form.

Without even registering the movement Rory walked over and knelt down next to his mother.  He put his arm around her as she turned and sobbed into his shoulder.  He looked over his mother at his father lying on the bed before him.  To Rory it seemed this body appeared as a shadow of the honorable man it represented.

Rory half expected his father to suddenly open his eyes and wink at him, like he had done so many times before, as if to say it wasn’t real, that he was just resting, as he had been since the wolf attack.  But alas, the wink never came, and Rory’s father continued to lie there deathly still, completely devoid of the vibrancy and life that Rory had grown up with and had come to know and love. 

His father was gone.

He would never again be able to laugh with him or learn from him.  He would never again go hunting with him or fishing.  A part of him had died with his father that morning.  Rory felt as though he would never be complete again.

Arthur was only a few steps out his front door when he saw Rory step through the door of his family’s hovel. Arthur decided to give the boy some time alone with his grieving mother.  The news that was his duty to bring could stand to wait a while longer.

Despite the fact Arthur knew there would be deaths early on in the first few months of the founding of this new settlement, there still had not been enough time set aside to prepare a burial ground during all of the planning and building of the village.  In fact, up till the event of this recent tragedy no one had even thought of it.

Arthur silently berated himself for allowing the village to get so careless in this area given that how well everyone had worked together in building all of the structures in the clearing they had chosen as their new home.  He had to admit he was quite amazed that no one had died until now considering the number of casualties the group had suffered on their exodus from their homeland.

Originally one hundred and fifty left together among the mass emigration caused by the state of squalor and pestilence that the kingdom of Breialea had fallen into.  It was a decision of leave or perish that everyone in the region faced.

Hundreds, if not thousands, had left in search of finding a better life in the other nearby kingdoms.  Theirs was the only group Arthur knew of that avoided those other kingdoms altogether to find their own road, and of that original group only fifty remained.  Most of them had somewhat of an idea of the magnitude of an undertaking it would be, yet none of them realized they would lose so many or that the road would be so hard.

The trek had taken over six months through two miles of varying terrain to finally locate a hospitable and inhabitable land they could settle.  It would have been even longer had there been any mountainous regions to pass through but Arthur had made a point to keep any mountain ranges to their right.  Most of the terrain they traversed was dense forest and an occasional meadow, yet none of the lands they passed through offered the opportunities their current location afforded.

Arthur had half expected to find a contingent of soldiers bearing down on them in the first few weeks after leaving Breialea each time he turned around, though was not at all surprised, and somewhat relieved, for each time he did turn around all he found was the rest of his group.  He always kept the realization in the back of his mind that no one would come, for the armies of Breialea had a lower morale than the rest of the kingdom at the time of their departure and were in no mood to go chasing after deserters, for most of them were having similar thoughts themselves.

He was brought out of his reverie by a flash of lightning that illuminated the arrival of Tomas, Benjamin and Kendal.  He could just make out their forms through the driving rain and saw Kendal was carrying something on this back.  He made his way toward them.  As he got closer he noticed the shape on Kendal’s back was the wrong proportion for a deer.  Another flash of lightning revealed that it was, in fact, a wolf, and a rather large wolf at that.

Despite looking a bit heavy for Kendal’s young frame, he did not seem to notice he was carrying much at all.  Even from Arthur’s distance he could see the curiously blank expression on Kendal’s face.

He met the trio in front of the hovel Rory had recently entered.

“So, how did they fare?” Arthur asked the two elders as soon as he knew they could hear him.  He was most concerned with Rory’s outcome, which was until he saw the way Kendal unceremoniously plopped the wolf’s carcass on the table in front of the hovel.

Tomas responded first after noticing Arthur’s obvious sudden interest in his son.  “Kendal has slain this fierce wolf you see before you.”  He stated beaming with fatherly pride at his son’s demonstrated prowess.

“Rory has also passed by slaying this badger in rather unique form.” Benjamin interjected, while laying the animal beside the wolf, before Tomas’ praise could gain any momentum.  Reading the expression on Arthur’s face Benjamin knew this was not the time for open celebration.

Arthur, still taking note of Kendal’s demeanor, pressed the boy’s father further on the details of the hunt.  “The animal is quite impressive yet I wonder why Kendal does not seem pleased with his quarry.”

“He has not said a word the entire way back to the village.”  Benjamin responded instead, relayed the entire encounter with the deer and wolf.

By the time Benjamin had completed his description of the events Arthur was eyeing Kendal directly.  “So, lad, what is it you saw?”  He prompted, but Kendal just stood there with the same detached, pale expression.  Before he pressed any further Arthur suddenly remembered they were all standing in the rain.  That point was made even clearer when another bolt of lightning flashed overhead. He motioned for the group to enter the hovel feeling they should get this business over with and into some dry clothes, for even though he had only been out in the deluge for a few moments he was already soaked through to the skin. 

Rory heard a tap on the wall behind him.  He turned to see Elder McCreedy walk in and move over to him.  Rory stood and turned around to meet the man boldly and with courage.  His mother fell back onto the bed and proceeded to soak the blanket that was covering her husband’s body with her tears.

Arthur walked over to the head of the bed and covered his dead friend’s face with the blanket, which caused Rory’s mother to weep all the louder.

After setting himself back into his resolve once more Rory looked up to see the village leader staring at him directly.  “Rory, it is with a heavy heart, yet a firm understanding of my duty, to somewhat officially pronounce you as the head of your family.” He stated.  “It is now your duty, and your honor, to take that mantle.”  Arthur paused a moment noticing that Rory was again about to falter.  He continued once Rory had visibly collected himself.  “It is not without precedence that you have already begun your trials to complete your journey into manhood.  Now, more than ever, it is imperative, not only to the village, but more importantly to your mother, that you complete those trials.” 

If Rory’s mother was aware of the ceremony that was taking place within her home she did not show it.

“You have already proven yourself at your chosen craft.  Tomas and Benjamin have just returned and have reported you have passed your hunting challenge as well.”

Rory heard the shuffling of feet behind him and only then realized the two elders, along with Kendal, had entered the hovel behind Elder McCreedy.  He looked over his shoulder at them.  Kendal was standing slightly behind his father with his head down, which Rory only took as a sign of his respect for the scene before him.  Rory could not know the real meaning since he could not see Kendal’s face in the hazy gloom of the hovel.  If he could, he would have noticed the look of fear and confusion with which Kendal was currently struggling.

Arthur did notice; however, the slight tremble of Kendal’s frame.  But again, before he could ask the boy to explain his most unusual behavior Kendal suddenly regained the rest of his composure, as if realizing the attention was being directed his way.  In further response he slipped out the door to wait in the rain.  Arthur decided then that there need not be any further weight placed on young Rory’s already heavy-laden shoulders.

“This will be enough for now.  More will be said when you are formally recognized at the next town meeting.”  Arthur announced as he ushered the two elders outside.

As they stepped through the doorway Arthur expected to see Kendal waiting for them.  His surprise was complete when he found the boy gone, along with the wolf carcass.  A flash of lightning revealed Kendal already half way back to his own hovel.  Just as Arthur shouted the boy’s name a crash of thunder muted all sound.  Realizing he could not be heard he made to follow but was stopped by Tomas’ hand on his shoulder.

“I will go and provide the details for you later.”  Tomas stated and headed off after his son.