Tom Williams, page 6
When he returned to Mardine, Wilfen found Shondal still deep in discussion with Filgen and Alvonne. He quietly took a seat and listened to Shondal’s travel tales.
“Had a look?” Shondal inquired of him after a few moments. “Tried the oars? Looked in the box?” Wilfen nodded shame-facedly to the last question. “Good!”
Wilfen excused himself and went to lie on his bed. Kinser lay abutting his master, resting a furry head on the youth’s leg. Wilfen reflected on the momentous event of the day: his long lost uncle had returned. He had an impression that his life was about to be irrevocably changed.
CHAPTER 4: THE CHOICE
Shondal Argindell spent several days in Mardine. The soldier took the twins sailing in his boat, Sea Jewel
. He told stories of the world outside Nevanderlof, showed things he had collected in his travels through foreign realms: precious gems from Magon Vald; dried leaves of the great forest, Jherdol Tay; a flask of water from the Pink Lake, Mirn Dul, in Tharm; the broken blade of a Barbarian’s sword; and his shield, which had been crafted by a Memmish tribesman.
The Nevanders were fascinated by their uncle’s anecdotes. They hung on his every word, for he was a good storyteller: his tales had that ring of conviction about them. Before long they both yearned to visit the outside world. They esteemed their worldly-wise uncle, envying his experience.
It was Shondal Argindell who taught the brothers swordplay. Using wooden blades he had carved from a fallen tree branch, they drilled on the beach at Mardine Bay.
“Keep the point low,” the Holm instructed his nephews. “It’s more difficult to avoid or block. At the same time, be prepared to defend your upper body. Don’t duck or side step what you can readily parry: there is less chance you’ll become unbalanced or lose sight of your opponent.”
Their mock duels were conducted in slow motion, as Shondal strove to impress on his pupils the correct techniques of sword fighting. The soldier fought the twins simultaneously, easily besting them.
On the fifth day of his visit, Shondal called a halt to their enthusiastic swordplay. “That’s good, both of you,” he praised. He smiled fleetingly. “Boys, I must return to Holmis soon.”
“When?” Wilfen demanded, dismayed. “You’ve only just arrived!”
“The day after tomorrow.““Are you going to Himberon?”
“Yes.”
“Himberon,” Wilfen breathed, thinking of the Eastern University in the Holmish capital, where one day he hoped to study. “I wish we could go with you.”
“‘If all wishes were fulfilled, what then of their worth?’” Alvonne said, quoting Lianken Firsh, a famous Nevander poet.
That evening Filgen called the twins for a discussion in the central room of his house. Shondal, who sat in one of the chairs arranged around the circular table, abruptly stood up, nodded to the others, and retrieved his bedding and backpack from the corner of the room where he had arranged them. With a quick wave, the soldier declared that he was going to “camp out” and left Filgen’s house. The trio that remained sat down at the casuarina table, the old man with his back to the mullioned window.
“I believe your uncle has informed you that he is soon to depart from Nevanderlof,” Filgen said, opening the topic of conversation.
“The day after tomorrow,” Wilfen agreed.
Filgen was silent for a moment, then: “You know he always intended to take the two of you back to Holmis with him?”
The twins nodded slowly, wondering to what their grandfather alluded. Surely he was not…
“Shondal has proposed to take the two of you to Himberon now.” Filgen took a shuddering breath. “I have spent two days considering the idea. I have reached the only conclusion I could reasonably achieve: I believe the two of you are ready to leave Nevanderlof — if you wish to do so.”
Wilfen and Alvonne gaped at each other in shock. Only that day they had had wistful thoughts about leaving Nevanderlof; given the choice for real, the decision was not so easily made. The allure of the outside world was offset by the comfortable familiarity of Mardine.
“Of course, Shondal does not expect you to fend for yourselves,” Filgen continued. “Wealthy friends of his would take you in until you were able to make your own way in the world. And Shondal himself would be readily available for advice at the Palace of the Holmish King.
“Wilfen, I know you value your learning and wish to attend the Eastern University. I am convinced that you are learned enough to secure entrance.
“Alvonne, your future is less clear to me. I think you are also more than capable of entering the University, but I don’t believe that would be your favored course in life. Yet I am certain your intrinsic determination would take you a long way in the Holmish world.”
“It can’t be an immediate decision for us, Grandfather,” pointed out Wilfen.
“Of course not,” Filgen acceded. “I understand completely. You have tonight and all of tomorrow in which to decide. I’ll leave you now.” The old Nevander rose and went into his room, softly closing the door behind him.
“It’s something that warrants some thought,” Wilfen commented understatedly.
“A good deal of thought,” Alvonne concurred, grinning.
By mutual unvoiced agreement, they discussed the subject no more. They took to their separate pallet beds in the room they shared and lay in the dark, pondering the alternatives, until sleep claimed their conscious minds.
That night Alvonne had a bizarre dream. He beheld a man flying in the air! A slight man, attired in a white, figure-hugging costume and black boots, flying like a gliding bird, arms outstretched to catch the wind.
Chortling in obvious delight, the fellow swooped and soared in an aquamarine sky over indigo waves.
Then, without warning, the man abruptly plummeted, tumbled end over end, to plunge into the sea, where he thrashed and struggled, frantically flapping his arms. Alvonne felt a powerful impulse to go to the stranger’s assistance, to help this drowning man whose wings had so suddenly been clipped. He was awakened before anything else could occur, however, by Kinser leaping onto him.
The young man lit an oil lamp, his eyes blinking vigorously before they became accustomed to the flickering light. His wits were slightly dazed, but he had the impression sleep had brought not only the weird dream but also an important decision.
He recalled the choice he had been given: he could journey to Holmis with Shondal; or remain in Mardine with Filgen.
He had opted for Holmis.
The choice made, he felt a peculiar easing of pressure. Such a decision was agonizing to make. With his mind set, Alvonne felt quite cheerful, and so he tossed Kinser onto Wilfen.
Yelling in fright, Wilfen practically leapt out of the heap of blankets piled in his pallet. The sight of Kinser wagging his tail quieted the Nevander.
“What made him do that?” Wilfen wondered aloud, not spying Alvonne lying on the floor rug between their pallets.
Alvonne lost control of himself, laughing without inhibition. He rolled around on the floor in his amusement.
Wilfen stared at his twin in bewilderment. “Have you gone insane?”
Alvonne’s laughter faded reluctantly, and he panted to regain his breath. “No.”
“What are you so happy about, then? We have an important decision to make.”
“I’ve made it.”
Wilfen was astounded. “What? Already!”
Alvonne nodded. “Yes. I’m going to Himberon with Shondal.”
“I couldn’t make a choice that quickly,” Wilfen said slowly. He glanced down at Kinser. “You’re certainly spontaneous, Alvonne.”
Alvonne just grinned.
Wilfen smiled back faintly. He was still remembering the dream he had had. Haloed in light, so detail was hard to discern, had been a young (he guessed), beautiful woman, blond hair piled high on her head, apparently dressed in a shimmering white robe. She had hovered in an otherwise dark and featureless environment, as if she stood on an invisible floor. She had called to Wilfen in a booming voice that shook him to the core: “YOU MUST GO!” There had been a sense of compulsion about the single command.
Did it refer to the journey with Uncle Shondal? Was it his own mind attempting to help him make a decision? It was blasphemous, perhaps, but he rather thought the woman had been Anbridge, the Goddess Under The Mountain! He could be deluding himself, of course, as it was only a dream. But if it had been a message from the Goddess…
That afternoon Shondal took his nephews sailing aboard Sea Jewel. The twins eagerly helped the soldier get the boat afloat, observing in interest as he raised the sail and directed Sea Jewel out to sea.
As the sailing-boat crashed through the swell, salty spray and a southerly breeze lashed at Wilfen. He felt decidedly ill. His face was off-color, its expression more of a grimace than anything else. Fingertips pressed to the temples, his hands cradled his cheeks.
Alvonne laughed aloud, patently pleased by the sensation of sailing. He avoided looking at his brother, and Wilfen, in his suffering, surmised that Alvonne tried to hide a grin only partly attributable to the younger twin’s enjoyment of the boat ride.
“Where are we headed?” Alvonne inquired, noticing that Shondal still pointed Sea Jewel at the southern horizon.
“Wait, and you shall see!” Shondal answered, smiling.
Sea Jewel sped into the teeth of the wind, its zigzagging defying the lively breeze. Alvonne took up a position in the bow of the boat and surveyed the sea for anything out of the ordinary. Wilfen looked as well, peering through his fingers and trying not to succumb to nausea. The eye on the sail seemed to search with them, watching the expanse of the glittering waves. Suddenly Alvonne spotted the object of their search.
“There it is!” he cried. “An island! It must be!”
Shondal, who worked the tiller, glanced at what could only be land rising out of the sea. “That it is. That’s Harsy Elar.”
The island became more distinct as Sea Jewel moved in. Harsy Elar was an immense, rocky hill looming out of spray and surf. The craggy black rock was almost whole; only a few loose boulders littered the thin strip of beach. The occasional stunted bush clung to places on the hill where a little soil had accumulated. It was a grim and forbidding place.
They sailed around Harsy Elar, outside a ring of jagged rocks that surrounded the island, defending it from seabound approach. Overhead, safe in their aerial domain, seabirds cried their lonely, mournful calls and flew towards the island’s rugged hillside, unheedful of the terrible rocks below.
Alvonne saw something on the southern side of the island. “Look!” he shouted above the roar of breaking waves. “A tower!”
Shondal nodded. “I see it! That is Arlond!”
“Can we land on the island?” Wilfen asked, sensing an opportunity, however transitory, of getting back onto solid ground.
“Yes!” Alvonne agreed with typical enthusiasm. “Can we?”
“No!” Shondal returned inflexibly. “Look at those rocks! A gust of wind could pitch us onto them now, and we’re just sailing around the outskirts! It’s out of the question!”
The twins subsided in acceptance, disappointed nonetheless. It would be nice to examine Arlond at close quarters, but Shondal was right, of course: the black rocks would tear the bottom out of the boat if it ventured too near.
As Sea Jewel sailed along the southern side of Harsy Elar, the tower grew clearly visible to the twins’
curious eyes. Arlond had been constructed from blocks of some grayish stone, possibly granite. The tower was in ruins now — testifying to its great age, a pile of the stone blocks lay at its base — which made it difficult to determine its original height; what remained, however, was by Wilfen’s estimation, at least twenty swords high.
“Who built Arlond?” Alvonne wanted to know.
“The Adar Mutians,” Shondal replied. “Two hundred years ago. It was built to be a stronghold in the Warldife Sea when the Adar Mutians were a power in Terra Nova. They had a secret pathway through the rocks, known by only a few sea captains.”
Wilfen regarded the tower with renewed interest, striving to imagine it as it had been when first constructed, guarding a fleet of ships. A wavy, intermittent trail of stones strewn along the beach suggested a high wall to keep out invaders. He could imagine looking out from the tower, watching the moody sea vainly striving to reach him.
When they had negotiated the southern side of the island, Shondal steered Sea Jewel away from Harsy Elar, pointing the bow north towards the coast of Nevanderlof. The wind blew from astern now, and the sailing-boat raced before it, sail bulging.
Late in the afternoon, after the twins had helped Shondal secure Sea Jewel high on the beach, the trio returned to Mardine. It had been a joyful trek back to the forest village, as Wilfen had informed the others that he would accompany them on the journey to Himberon. The elder twin had decided to accede to his dream’s suggestion: he wanted to go, anyway, and it certainly did not hurt to do what might well be the will of the Goddess.
Wilfen woke before dawn and rose with a feeling of high excitement, thinking of the adventure ahead: nearly twelve hundred kiloswords from Mardine to Himberon. The path crossed the Warldife Sea, traversed the Holmish province of Kenderlan, then led south through Camfolar province to the capital of the mighty Confederation of Holmis, site of the Palace of the Holmish King.
He was sad at the thought of leaving Kinser behind, but Shondal had said it was impossible to take the dog with them in such a small boat. Erfind, however, had volunteered to adopt the twins’ pet.
The young man dressed himself in a white, short-sleeved tunic, black, baggy trousers, ankle-high leather boots, and a green, woolen Nevander cloak. He called to his brother: “Get up, Alvonne! It’s time to get ready!”
Shondal was absent when they breakfasted with Filgen at the round table. Later, Wilfen realized his uncle had deliberately given them some time alone with their long-term guardian. Delaying the instant when they would be forced to say goodbye to Filgen, the twins finished their food slowly.
The moment came all too soon, as Wilfen and Alvonne scraped up the last of their porridge. They sat awkwardly for a few moments before standing up. Filgen raised inquiring eyebrows, then got to his own feet.
“Are you ready to leave?” the old man asked.
The twins found it impossible to reply. They nodded.
“You’d best go and collect your belongings, then.”
Startled, they fetched backpacks they had prepared the night before.
“I’ll never forget you, Grandfather,” Wilfen said. “You’ve done so much for Alvonne and me.”
“Goodbye, my boy. Shake hands in the Holmish fashion,” Filgen replied solemnly. “You’re entering their world now.”
Wilfen clasped the old man’s frail hand for a moment, shaking it vigorously. Filgen pressed something coldly metallic into the youth’s hand. With a final glance and wave, Wilfen passed out of Filgen’s house, where he awaited his brother. Alvonne appeared shortly afterwards, hastily wiping his eyes with a sleeve.
A gathering had occurred at the base of the spiral staircase. Virtually the entire village had turned out to see them on their way, and Wilfen suddenly realized just how many people he was going to miss. There was Erfind, waving lazily and smiling wryly (thankfully, he had left Kinser at home: it would not have done to have the dog madly barking and trying to follow the twins); and red-haired Mizzy Doon with the cheeky smile, who had let Wilfen kiss her once or twice (though Alvonne many more times); and Ma Indini, she of the scones smothered with fig jam and a hundred other delicacies. Even craggy-faced Sarbijen the carpenter (said to have been the one-time fiancé of the twins’ mother) was present to wish them well. Nevanders were a reserved and unemotional people, so there were no tears. One or two people called, “Good luck, boys,” but most just nodded respectfully.
Though it was not apparent, Wilfen was sure he and Alvonne had caused a sensation, for it was almost unheard of for anyone to leave Mardine: he guessed their outland birth would be used to explain their eccentric behavior. He looked at his brother, who seemed to nod in shared understanding.
Alvonne grinned broadly. “Goodbye, Mardine!” he cried. “Never fear: this strange Nevander shall return!”
CHAPTER 5: THE SKYLORD
Wilfen and Alvonne reached the edge of the forest at almost the same moment as the sun surmounted the treetops to illuminate the bay and turn the sea orange. They hastened across the sand to where Shondal had hauled Sea Jewel to the water’s bounds.
With his nephews’ assistance, Shondal pushed the sailing-boat into the sea. Sea Jewel became afloat as a result of their labors, and they leapt aboard in triumph. The soldier placed the oars in the rowlocks and rowed powerfully out into the bay.
Trying to ignore persistent seasickness, Wilfen sat in the prow, looking back past the others at tree-lined Mardine Bay, watching it begin to shrink. The wind made his cloak stream behind him or, at times, wrap itself about his body. He felt something pressing into his leg and recalled Filgen had given him something that he had put in the pocket of his trousers without a glance. It proved to be a belt buckle of silver made in the shape of a dragon’s head. He liked it greatly and showed Alvonne. His brother nodded and produced its twin, a buckle fashioned in the likeness of a snarling dog’s head.
Shondal offered the oars to Wilfen, who rowed furiously, immediately propelling Sea Jewel on a circular course. At his uncle’s recommendation, he next attempted to put equal effort into both arms, and after that he pulled the boat in only a slight arc to the right.
His arms and shoulders began to ache embarrassingly quickly, and Shondal soon regained the oars. To Wilfen’s amazement, his uncle caused Sea Jewel to glide through the water, each stroke driving the boat twice the distance of one of the Nevander’s own. During the hour the soldier rowed the coast of Nevanderlof retreated dramatically.
