The next day, Kelln crossed the river. He
had taken most of the morning to find the narrowest stretch of river and gather
some large rocks, which he threw in the water to make a place to step.
Gathering some long branches, he tied them together with some roots to help him
cross the rocks to the other side of the swift-moving water. Once over, he
continued walking along the opposite bank of the river.
The thousand-year-old evergreens, each the circumference of many
men, were dense and blocked most of the sunlight overhead. The modest light
that did make it all the way to the ground gave little light to brushes and
grasses, leaving the forest floor mostly bare and easy to walk through. By now,
Kelln thought, he must be north of the Gildan Swamp and would be safe to head
north towards Anikari.
He camped again that night, finding a small grove that let in the
moonlight. Sometime during the night, a southeastern wind howling through the
trees woke him. The wind seemed to be speaking a language of its own, warning
Kelln of an upcoming dangerous storm. The moisture began to thicken the air and
the temperature plummeted. Storms from the Eastern Sea could travel fast across
the meadows. The starlit sky seemed to disappear as dark fog moved in.
Kelln got up and tried to look around for some type of shelter. He
gathered up his belongings and moved quickly. As he stood behind one of the
larger trees he noticed a small mound of leaf-covered dirt a few yards in front
of him. Something came to his mind from a book he had read years ago. Men in
the Black Forest used to dig small holes to hide in. The mound he saw didn’t
look natural, and hope soared to his mind. He got down on all fours and started
digging with his hands. The dirt was soft and moved easily.
He was still digging when the first drops of spring rain began to
pelt his back. He would need to find shelter soon. He turned back toward the
trees in abandonment of his search only to catch his foot on something. He fell
to the ground and wet dirt splattered his clothes. He rolled over to see what
he had tripped on. It was a large root.
He brought himself up off the ground and pulled on the root to see
where it would lead. The movement seemed to sift away a small portion of dirt a
few feet away from him.
The rain began to soak through him now as he dug around the spot
with his fingers. A small hole opened up and gave him additional determination
to dig. The dirt turned into mud as the brunt of the storm reached him. Cold,
wet rain soaked him within minutes. He tried not to shiver, but he couldn’t
stop.
Finally, he hit a large slab of rock. With muddy hands he pried
the stone up with a nearby moss-covered branch. A dark hole opened in the
ground before him. He grabbed his pack and jumped into the darkness. He fell
through empty blackness, dropping onto dry, hard ground below. The slab of rock
had fallen back down over part of the hole, but rain cascaded down through the
open portion. He used the stick he had brought down with him to reach up and
push the stone back over to cover the opening.
Kelln sat down, breathing hard and listening to the muffled
clatter of the ferocious storm beating on the ground above. His face dripped
with a mixture of sweat and rain. He wiped his face off with his hand. His
muscles ached and his body felt weak, but it was dry in the small cave. As he
laid his head on his pack to rest for a few minutes, the faint echoes of the
storm above receded from his conscious mind.
A NEW PERSPECTIVE
A
n unexpected sound, like footsteps, jolted Kelln awake. He sat up
and tried to orient himself in the darkness of the cave. Instinctively he
reached to his side for his sword, only to remember that Alessandra had only
given him a small knife.
“Hello, my friend,” a voice echoed in the cavernous hole.
Kelln jumped and crashed into the wall of the cave. He brought his
knife out in front of him. “Who are you?”
An odd and wild laugh sounded close by him.
“Who?... What are you... doing here?” Kelln said as he backed away
from the sound, knowing he didn’t have much room if he needed to fight.
Without warning a bright flame flared up in front of him. His
eyes, accustomed to the darkness, blinked in rapid response. In front of him
stood a wild-looking older man, his gray hair and beard uncombed and
disheveled. The old man limped toward him. His hands were gnarled and his
clothes torn. Kelln tried to think through his options.
In the palm of one of the old man’s hands appeared a small ball of
light, not unlike the one Darius had produced in the library basement a year
before.
“Don't worry. I won't hurt you.” The old man moved closer. Kelln
began to smell the man's woodsy breath. It was then he noticed the man’s eyes.
A solid milky color. Kelln let his breath out in a deep rush. The man was
blind. That was all. Nothing to be afraid of.
“How did you get in here?” he finally got the nerve to ask.
“How did I get in here?” repeated the old man. “I should be asking
you
that question, my young one. This is the back of my home. I was
trying to rest when I began to hear a lot of racket going on.”
“You live here? Out in the forest? But, you can’t see!”
The man laughed a loud crackle. “The eyes are only one way to
see.”
Kelln was definitely confused. The man in front of him was crazy!
The man stepped close enough for Kelln to smell his breath. “You
thought striking your flint to steel would be the only way to light a fire?”
“I guess so.” Kelln answered, not knowing what else to say.
“Then how do you explain this?” The man waved his hand around the
ball of light. “There are many ways to accomplish the same task.”
“So you are a wizard?” Kelln surmised.
“That’s a title people give those who do things in a different way
than they understand. I’m no different from you. We both see— you with your
eyes, I with an inner power. We both make fire— you with a flint, I with the
wave of my hand.” The old man stopped and smiled. His wrinkled face looked
friendlier now. “But here I am lecturing you when you probably want to get warm
and dry. Come with me, and we’ll get you all fixed up.”
The old man motioned Kelln forward. Kelln picked up his pack and
stuck his knife back in his belt. They walked for a minute through a few turns
in a small tunnel.
“You can really see without your eyes down here?” Kelln asked.
“When I am using the power I can sense auras and physical objects
around me. It suits me just fine down here.”
“I didn't expect anyone.”
“No, I guess you didn't.” The old man laughed again.
“Sorry about the eyes.” Kelln felt like he had to say something
although it sounded foolish.
“I don't need to see now. I have seen enough in my lifetime. All
there is to watch now is wickedness and foolishness.”
They came to an open door in the rock and entered into a small
furnished cave. The old man motioned Kelln to sit down on a small wooden chair.
Before doing so, Kelln remembered his manners.
“My name is Kelln. I was looking for a way to keep dry in the
storm.”
“You were lucky to find this place. The storm sounded like a
serious one.”
“What is your name, sir?”
“My name is Alastair.” The man turned to start fixing a warm meal
for them.
Kelln looked around the remarkable room. A small stove made of
rocks blackened by use sat as the centerpiece of the crowded room. A metal flue
rose above it into the rocks. A few shelves stood against one wall next to a
table made from fallen trees and branches. A lone sword stood against the
opposite wall. Straight ahead, Kelln spotted a stack of books with loose papers
crammed between the pages. Kelln wondered what a blind man did with books. Yet
another corner held a few skins bundled together to sleep on.
“How long have you been here?” asked Kelln.
“It's hard to tell.” The old man seemed to be thinking. “Spring is
coming once again, so I would say about five years.”
“That’s fantastic.” Kelln could get into an adventure like this.
Living in a cave in the woods could be fun for a while, though he would need
someone around to talk to, he guessed. When Kelln asked about the books, the
old man shrugged and said he hadn't always been blind. He didn’t seem to want
to discuss anything more on the subject, so Kelln dropped it.
The old man finished preparing a meal of fried vegetables. Kelln
was hungrier than he had first thought. They ate in silence, with Kelln
wondering how Alastair survived out here in the forest all alone.
After finishing the meal Kelln titled his head back and enjoyed
the final lingering flavor of the meal. “Where do you get your food from?”
Alastair stood and began rinsing the plates in a bowl of water.
“I have a few friends in Belor that bring me items now and again.”
Kelln stood up and helped Alastair finish cleaning then returned
back to the two chairs in front of the rock stove.
“Tell me what troubles bring you here, young friend.”
“How do you know I have troubles?” Kelln asked with defensive
suspicion.
Alastair smiled. “Not too many people travel the Black Forest
alone in the middle of a storm.”
Kelln smiled back and relaxed. Why should he be suspicious of this
old man? He thought about the flame and wondered how much power the man
actually had. He started by telling Alastair he had come from Anikari but had
lived in Belor for the past nine months, three of them in prison. The old man
sat with patience and listened to Kelln's long story. He didn't ask any
questions or offer any comment. Kelln thought he saw a sadness settle into the
old man's face.
Kelln told Alastair about the Preacher and his teachings. He
related his capture, imprisonment, torture, and recent escape. All the while
Alastair sat with hands clasped and head down. When Kelln finished, the old man
looked up, and Kelln glimpsed tears in his eyes.
“Would you like to hear the beginning of the story?” asked
Alastair.
Kelln was a little confused, “What story?”
“Of the Preacher.”
“You know of the Preacher?”
“Only too well,” Alastair sighed, then began. “Years ago, Belor
had grown into a beautiful city with wonderful people. They worked hard and
trusted one another. It was a jewel of the Realm; people came from all over to
vacation there, to be close to the sea. Belorians had peace with the rest of
the Realm and were secure. One day, about fifteen years ago, a man came into
Belor. He brought with him darkness and anger. He stirred the people up against
one another. He prospered on prejudice and pride. His name I cannot even say. I
only call him The Dark One. He had foreign magic and used it for his gain and
evil purposes. For five years this man ruled the underground in Belor. He
influenced many important men, spiritually, economically, and politically.
Families were ruined, and Belor became corrupt.”
Kelln opened his mouth to ask a question, but the old man held his
bony hand up in the air to stop him.
“Let me tell the whole story, young man. Then you may ask
questions. One man stood up to this dark one. One man felt a spiritual
enlightenment and taught that God would protect the righteous from outside evil
influences. He was a mighty man who had a lot of influence, especially over the
older people in Belor; he had taught them for years. He, too, had the old magic
in him. He wasn’t necessarily strong in its use, but he used the power for
healing and help. Many joined with him to fight against The Dark One and his
evil. They fought not with weapons, but with words. They did not want to
increase the violence.”
Kelln shifted in his seat as Alastair paused to put some more wood
on the stove. It was dry and started popping and snapping. Kelln’s clothes
began drying out with the increased heat.
“This man had a son who also had a beautiful daughter. The wise
man sent his son to Mar and then across the sea to be taught by the wise ones
in the eastern kingdoms. He hoped his son would one day return with the
knowledge and strength that would help to save the city and carry on in peace
after the old man died. For five years the man, with less and less support,
fought against the growing evil, waiting for his son to return.
“His son returned with fire and determination to set right that
which had gone wrong in Belor. He had pride in Belor and taught this to the
people. He was tall, powerful, and charismatic. Many people began to follow
him, and with the help of his father, they began to turn the tide of evil. But
The Dark One held strong power over many of the city’s organizations. The
father thought that as the people returned to righteousness and peace, this man
of evil would lose his power and leave. His son, however, became preoccupied
with The Dark One and vowed to destroy him himself. This son forgot all other
things in his quest against this evil one.
“One day the son came to his father with a gleam in his eye and told
him The Dark One would bother them no more. Hours later a servant found The
Dark One dead in his bed, a pure-silver knife stabbed through his heart. The
son took personal pride in the killing. His father, of course, was saddened.
His son, his joy and the hope of the people, had committed a grievous sin.”
“But he had rid the world of an evil man.” Interrupted Kelln for
the first time in the long telling.
“Yes, but at what price? No matter how evil the man was, it is not
our decision to take his life in cold blood. The son continued his preaching
against evil, the people joined him, and the city began to prosper once again.
However, as prosperity increased, the son took more and more power upon
himself. He began preaching against everyone who had influence with Belor but
was not Belorian.”
“The Preacher,” whispered Kelln.
“Yes, he became known as the Preacher, a mockery of what he
claimed to be. He became even worse than The Dark One in many ways. The Dark
One taught evil as evil. The Preacher taught evil but disguised it as good. His
pride knew no limits, and he claimed Belorians were God’s own people and needed
to rid themselves of all but the true Belorian blood. People from other cities
and backgrounds began to disappear. The Preacher forgot the original teachings
of his father, of peace and love, the things God stands for… the things of
human decency.”
“What happened to his father?” Kelln interrupted.
Alastair paused. “He tried to reason with his son. He tried to
turn his heart around, but the son wouldn't listen. The Preacher and his father
fought. Their argument turned from words to magic. You see, the Preacher had
become obsessed with the magic The Dark One possessed and had begun to study it
himself. He couldn’t control it yet, and in the midst of their fight he lashed
out in anger against his father and struck him down, hurting him terribly.”
Tears rolled down the old man’s wrinkled face and Kelln was sorry
to have opened up old wounds. He knew all too well the length the Preacher
would go to keep his power and control the people. Absently he rubbed his
forehead with his hand, pushing back the memories of when the Preacher had
invaded his mind and stolen his thoughts.
After a few deep breaths Alastair continued. “The Preacher’s
father was weak in the power and couldn’t fight back. Some friends of the
father begged the Preacher to let him live. So, instead of killing him, the son
banished his father from Belor and exiled him with a promise that he would not
go to any other cities of the Realm but live as a vagabond for the rest of his
life.”
“Where did he go?” asked Kelln. “Is he still alive?”
Alastair stood, turned and wiped his eyes, then faced Kelln again.
“Oh, yes, he is still very much alive, though many days he wonders if it would
have been better to die. He now lives in a small cave in the Black Forest.”
Silence sat thick in the small room. Kelln took a few moments to
consider the story. His hands sweated with the heat of the stove. What could he
say? “The Preacher is your son?”
The old man nodded his head. A heavy sadness filled the air.
“And your eyes?” Kelln touched his own eyes absently and realized
his own torture could have been worse. “It was the Preacher that did this to
you. This is how he hurt you?”
“Yes.” Alastair sat down and gathered his emotions.
Kelln gazed down into the fire and stirred the coals around with a
stick. “What stopped you from going and getting help? Why would you promise to
stay silent?”