House of Cards Contributions Log

Of Dues & Obligations

posted by Blake at 10:29 PM, February 12, 2004 | Filed under : Fiction | Comments and Followups

Shortly after Eric’s death but before the departure of the Elders for Chaos…

“Are those chores about done?” Shera asked, turned to look at Beldan. “I don’t be wanting to find out that the sheds are cluttered when I’m putting things away.”

“They be done just awhile ago.” her son replied, hurriedly swept the last of the dust from the stone floor of the inn’s dining hall. “Matty and I finished it good. Can we be going now?”

“To the old grove. I’m thinking not.” his mother replied, the disapproving tone easily heard. “Tis late in the season. Why don’t you do your drawings? Meldan said he’d buy your next batch if they’re good enough.”

“Come on, mother.” Beldan said, frowned as only a ten year-old can. “It be alright. We’ll be back in plenty of time.”

“I said no.” she said, the mildly disapproving tone replaced now with sternness. “You be knowing that it is dangerous. The grove not be safe this time of year.”

“It’s safe all the time mom. The stories just be stories is all.” Beldan said, put the broom up in its corner.

“The stories didn’t kill your father.” she said simply.

Beldan frowned again, walked back towards his mother. “No, he died falling into the lake mother. The stories be what uncle Derbin be trying to put into my head. I don’t believe none of that. It just be stories to try to frighten me into line.”

“Your uncle Derbin be knowing more than you realize Beldan.” Shera said. “You used to listen to him before.”

“That be before he got all foolish on me.” Beldan said. “Before it be fun to do the training. But I was just a young one then. Now he’s starts talking about things. How dangerous things will be soon. That the Shalob be around and that I be needed to be ready for it. That father would have faced it and been ready, like his father. But his accident while helping the Black One took him away. Now he says it makes it my duty.”

“We know there be no such thing as the Shalob. It’s just fairy tales and cobswebs. Things to keep us quiet when we’re not behaving in bedtime. If there were, why hasn’t anyone seen it? Or the sword? Where the sword be if the Shalob be around?” Beldan said with a frustrated shake of his head. “It be just stories mother. Matty and I be fine if we’re to the grove.”

“I still don’t want you going.” Shera said. “And don’t you be daring to cross me, no matter what you’re thinking of your uncle. You may be a growing lad but you’re still my son and I’ll still put you across my knee for disobeying. Don’t you even be thinkin that I won’t. Off you go. You and Matty don’t be going near that grove. And I expect you home soon before the dusk come.” she said after his retreating back, watched as the door closed with a loud bang.

She looked at the door for a moment before she moved to pick up the empty mugs and plates from the tables. The quiet room pulled at her for that moment and she noted the number of plates as she put them onto the carrying tray. Fewer and fewer as the days pass and she sighed quietly. The boys may not believe, but the older folks did. The people stayed away, the old stories took hold.

“They’re very persistent aren’t they?” a voice said from the side booth and she started when she heard it.

“Pardon?” she asked, remembered the stranger, his meal finished along with the ales.

“Young boys.” the voice said, a hint of amusement to be heard. “Persistent in their desires. The youthful enthusiasm that makes them so strong that they can do anything it seems. But blind to the risks.”

“Aye, they be blind sometimes.” she said, came over to collect the stranger’s plate, noted the large ale mug finished. She mentally made note of the number he had drunk, wondered at the eloquence of the man’s voice. His voice should have been slurred by now but there was no trace of it. But his coin still flowed generously she noted, swept the small pile from the edge of the table into an apron pocket. He would make up for the lack of customers today.

“My mother made mention of something similar to me when I was growing up.” the stranger said, leaned forward a bit on his chair.

Shera could see his features a bit better though the shadows still kept his expression guarded. Tall, with long brownish hair and lightly bearded. Almost handsome she thought. A foreigner for sure, probably from one of the coastal cities. His dark clothes were in good condition, well stitched and without a single patch. The sword marked him as a city dweller as well. Few of the villagers could afford such a blade as he had beside him and not a trinket either she thought. She had seen from his hands as he had accepted his ales, the hard callouses from sword work but nothing on his face as you would expect from a farmer or a miner.

“She would tell me that I needed to pay more attention to my lessons, to be more patient, less impulsive.” he said. “I remember just wanting to play though. The lessons and chores were so boring all the time or so I thought then. It takes a few scrapes it seems to make us value the lessons for what they are.”

“If the scrapes not be the kind that make you not be able to value the lessons.” Shera replied. “Sometimes boys need to be protected from what’s not good for them.”

“Like this grove?” he asked, watched as she nodded guardedly. “My apologies but I had not intended to eavesdrop. But without the midday crowd, it was difficult not to.”

She nodded again, relaxed a little as he smiled while he spoke. There was an calming sense about him, something she recognized. Like her husband. Denar had been trained in the coastal towns, served aboard several of the local brigs and frigates. She remembered his hands too, calloused like the stranger’s. Denar knew how to calm people, to make them talk and trust him even when they had no reason to. And how to fight, and how to love.

“Aye, the grove.” she confirmed. “The boys like to go there, now that the farm chores are mostly done. With the harvesting over, there is not much time before the snows arrive. Then they’re cooped up with just lessons and some hunting to do.”

“But this grove…I take it there is some risk to being there?” he asked.

“It…be not a good place to be right now.” she said, unwilling to go where that story would demand. She placed his plate onto the tray and turned to go, breathed a bit as cold memories struggled upward.

“It would seem to be not the only place that is not good to go.” he said, stopped her suddenly with his words. “I would apologize again if my question has caused you grief, though I wonder if perhaps it might not have been just waiting to be asked.”

“And what would you be wantin’ to know about the grove for?” she asked, turned to put the tray down. “What be your business with it?”

“A curiousity perhaps.” he replied. “Though a part of me thinks now there is more to it than curiousity. Your son spoke of the place desperately, as if going there somehow was important. You speak of it similarly, though you would deny to talk about it.”

She listened, heard the words but did not respond immediately. He had Denar’s voice, a bit. That and his manners, she thought. Strong, proud. Sure of himself. And how he pulled at you. Made you want to answer.

“It…be not a good place.” she said, repeated herself, wiped her hands on the apron. She moved a step forward as the stranger gestured to the seat opposite him. She was quietly grateful as she sat down, felt the ease of him as he adjusted himself, watched her as she assembled her thoughts.

“The grove…it be part of the local lore.” she said. “You’re from the city, be ya?” and he nodded. “Well, around here, the grove does not have the best of reputations. A lot of bad things happen there. Children that go swim in the lake nearby can drown yet be a few feet from the shore. The caravans avoid pitching camp while travelling near it. Things disappear and people get sickened at times. City folk, they say it just be superstition, but we know better. We live with it.”

He nodded, listened attentively. “And the Shalob?” he asked.

She swallowed, replied hesitantly. “That just be old folk tales.”

“Not to this uncle Derbin.” he replied seriously. “Or to you a moment ago.”

“Or my Denar.” she said quietly. “He was my husband. He died out by the grove.”

“I see. I’m sorry.” the stranger said, his voice equally quiet.

“No need to be sorry. It was years ago.” Shera said. “Beldan was barely five then. He remembers his father only a bit - big and strong and god-like. The way fathers always are to young children, especially young boys.”

“Is that why Beldan goes there?” he asked. “To where his father died?”

“I used to think so. I’m not sure now. Derbin has been talking to him about the Shalob of late. I wonder if maybe he’s trying to prove Derbin wrong.” she said, paused. “Denar, he was from here. Born to a family who’s farm has been here for something on twenty odd generations. They came with a few other families and started the village. The land here is very good for crops for sure if you’ve noticed.” and the stranger nodded, having noted the lush vegetation during his brief stay.

“According to the stories, when the families came here, they were bedeviled by something. A beast it would seem, though cunning and ferocious like a man. It raided at will, killing any who entered the area. One of the family, Kendar, Denar’s old ancestor, he fought it. He was a sailor from the cities too. Some say he was a pirate. It didn’t really matter then. It’s said he knew a pirate captain from a far land and had served with him, travelled to strange lands. Magical lands he called them. The stories always say that Kendar was a bit of a storyteller too. Kendar went to his old captain, a man named Caine and told him about the beast. The captain came back with him to check the land and called the beast a Shalob. He gave Kendar a sword, silver with etchings on the blade that shone a deep blue when Kendar held it. It’s supposed to have held special powers.”

“The stories go that Kendar fought and killed the beast, but that it couldn’t really die. It was tied to this place. It’s life gives the land it’s beauty. They say it’s the tradeoff for having such bounty.” Shera said. “It returns with each generation, and a new man from the family must fight it.”

“That would have been your husband?” the stranger asked, noted her affirmative. “And did he defeat it?”

“No. He died before he could challenge it’s return.” she said.

“You mean the Shalob has been back all this time?” the stranger asked curiously, resting back in his chair.

“Not that you would think, though Derbin says it be back. And most of the old folk think so too. Tis why they not be out at night anymore. Derbin says it has gotten smart. That it kills quietly now, taking from the fringes while we hide. He thinks maybe it realizes the heir of Kendar is no more.”

He nods, rubbed his chin. “Your son. He would be the heir would he not?”

Shera shook her head. “He is too young. And even if he were not, he does not have the sword.”

“What happened to it?” he asked.

She paused as unwelcome memories pushed. “The night Denar died, he was out by the grove. It was a fortnight before the Shalob was supposed to return. Derbin was with him. He says they came upon a strange man. Derbin calls him the Black One. A man, cloaked in black and silver and with only a brief look at his face. They came upon him in the grove, fighting something. Derbin could not describe it though it be not the Shalob. A demon of some kind that fought with the Black One. Denar ran to help him.”

A ragged breath, another. “Derbin says they fought it. Twas a thing from nightmares it was. Tentacled and blood red and slashing. The Black One, he fought like the devil possessed. Derbin says he never saw anything like it. Together, Denar and the One, they ran the beast through and killed it. Twas a close battle Derbin said. Then something happened. Derbin says the ground, it rippled somehow. Denar and the Black One, they were close to the edge of the hill, a slide down into the lake. They fell over the edge into the water. The edge has rocks along the shoreline but goes deep. The Black One, he survived the fall.” she said simply.

“Derbin found the Black One on the shoreline, lifting Denar from the water. There be blood on Denar’s head, a rock he thinks. There was nothing could be done, Denar was already gone. But the sword was gone too. Dropped into the deep part of the water. The Black One he spoke not a word but left Denar with Derbin and dived back under, like he was trying to find it. But he never did. And he didn’t come back up.”

“Has no one been able to find the sword?” he asked.

“No. And Derbin has tried ever since. It has become his life since that night. But it not be there.” Shera said, her voice tired though with none of the sadness from before.

“I’m curious…” the stranger began, then stopped.

“Shera???” Derbin called, pushed open the door to reveal a middle-aged man, barrel-chested and sunbaked but with the city view in his eyes. “Where ya be woman?”

“Over here.” Shera said, rose from the chair to walk over to her brother-in-law. “I’m just finishing up. What do you want?”

“I was wondering where ya be.” Derbin said. “It’s getting close to dark and I noticed the windows weren’t shuttered.

“I was just talking to my last customer.” she said, an amused clucking tone to her voice as she smiled to her old friend.

“You were?” Derbin asked, a questioning tone in his voice.

“Yes, the one over there.” she said, pointed at she turned to note the empty chair and table. She looked around, watched the door to the back rooms slowly swing shut. As she looked back at the table, she spied the small pouch sitting beside the empty ale mug and picked it up, heard the clink of coin within. “Seems he was in a bit of a hurry.” she said.

“Come on. I’ll be helping you with the shutters.” Derbin said, moved to one of the windows. “Time to get things locked up.”

****

The scrubbing helped with the smell, she noticed, helped to keep her mind off the events of the previous evening. Still her hands shook though when she took a break from the work, watched as two of the other women from Meldan’s house worked to scrub the black from the table.

“Here.” Derbin said, handed her a mug of brew, steaming hot. “You been working all morning. Time for a break.”

“It’s better that way. Don’t have to think about anything.” she said, but grateful for the drink. Something to wrap her shaking hands around.

“I know.” he said, settled on the floor beside her, his own mug in hand. He watched as she drank, said nothing. He knew she would speak in her own time.

“It was close.” she said, took another sip. “It was so close. I could smell it.” and she breathed raggedly. “A foul stench about the thing. Black and horrid and foul. Death and worse. So close.”

Derbin sipped. “Did you see it?”

She nodded. “Beldan came racing in from outside. Matty was just behind him, but it caught him outside. We heard the screaming as it…” and she stopped. “It took a few moments to kill Matty. Enough time for Beldan to get inside.”

“We ran for the storm room, just like Denar had told me to do. We heard it smash through the door. A great screech of the wood.” she said, motioned to the entrace, Meldan and his son busily hammering away, a new door taking shape.

“It was clawing at the storm door. A horrible, screeching sound.” she said, barely breathed as she spoke, forced herself to speak. She knew once she was done she might never be able to repeat it. “Like metal on stone. And a gasping sound, like it’s breath. But all I could think was that it wanted to devour us.”

She motioned to the storm room door, barely visible through the kitchen entrance. Derbin turned to look at it, a gaping hole smashed in it. “Then what?” he asked.

“Then I saw it.” she said. “Black and hideous. Vaguely man-like it was. But that was the extent of it. You saw it. Stretched out on the table impaled. But then you saw it when it was dead. It smashed the hole and I saw it and I screamed. I never saw anything like it before.”

“Then it was gone. Like something had grabbed it and pulled it away. And then there were sounds. It was screaming I think.” she said. “After that, it got quiet. Then sometime after, you arrived. And that’s all I know except for scrubbing my hands and hugging my boy knowing he’s still alive and that thing was dead.”

Derbin nodded. “Aye, it be dead for another generation. That we can be thankful for.” he said, took a long gulp of his drink, noted its coolness. “Rest a bit. I’ll go look in on Beldan and then come help ya. Your hands will be raw if ya keep this up.”

She nodded, a tired smile for her brother-in-law and friend as he rose and headed over to the kitchen.

Derbin looked into the kitchen, watched for a moment as Beldan sat at the table. The boy sat silently, sketched as per his want and Derbin smiled. Like his father he was. But a boy still with all their resilience and he wished for the same resilience for the boy’s mother. The youth could hide from the terror for a time and Derbin slowly lost his smile. But not for long he feared.

“How are you lad?” Derbin asked, moved forward to refill his mug from the kettle-pot. “You haven’t slept yet?”

“I haven’t been able to.” Beldan said, put down the charcoal tip. “Not since…” and he stopped, tried to find the words.

“Aye. I know.” Derbin said, put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It be hard I know. It will come in time. Just let it come then.”

Beldan nodded silently, studied the charcoal drawing as Derbin looked over his shoulder. “Is that him?” Derbin asked quietly.

Beldan nodded again. “You saw him? You saw him fighting it?” Derbin asked. Another nod. “What did you see?”

“Like you described.” Beldan said, not taking his eyes off the drawing. “A man, dressed in black and silver. I could not see his blade when it moved. It was just a blur. And the thing…it screamed when they fought and he cut it. There was blackness that ran from it as it bled. Then he struck it one last time, pinning it to the table. It was still moving, still alive, when he came to get me.”

Derbin looked at Beldan. “What then?”

“He opened the storm door, pulled me out. Mother was on the floor. I think she passed out. He dragged me over to the thing. I thought he was going to hurt me. I tried to fight him but I couldn’t. He was so strong. He took my hand and made me grab the blade. That’s how I got this.” and he motioned with his right hand, the bandage covering the sword cut. “There was this terrible scream from it as the blade…it started to glow this blue colour. Then it died.”

Derbin nodded, sat beside Beldan now, put his arm around the boy’s shoulder as Beldan started to shake. “It’s over now boy.”

Beldan shook his head. “Only now.” he whispered. “He said to me, as he was bandaging my hand. He said, it’s dead. But it will return. That I had a duty now. That I was my father’s son and I couldn’t walk away from it.” Beldan paused as the shaking of his body slowed a little.

“He said…he said he was sorry. About my father. That he couldn’t save him that night. But he said, he found it, brought it back. And he left that too.” Beldan said, pointed to the iron-bound chest in the corner before he looked at Derbin, then at the drawing. “That’s who I saw…the Black One isn’t it?”

Derbin nodded, noted the picture, remembered five years before. The beard, the dark brownish long hair. The same focussed expression…power and strength. And sadness. “Aye, it be him. I’d not forget him.”

“What do I do now?” Beldan asked, looked up at his uncle.

Derbin took a breath, put down the mug. He picked up the wrapped case on the table, the sword within and he looked at Beldan. “You be your father’s son.” he said, handed him the case. “You can be nothing else. We start again tomorrow lad.”

Beldan nodded, took the case in his hands, the right hand awkward with the bandage. “I’ll be there uncle.”

Derbin smiled a little, patted the boy’s shoulder once before heading out of the kitchen, took his mug with him. He headed over to the door, watched the fitting of the frame replacement. As he took a drink, he noticed the movement in the trees, near the one hundred pace mark distant and he stepped outside suddenly…

****

He sat upon the horse and watched from the trees as the men re-assemble the frame of the door, rubbed the horse’s neck absently, the sound of hammering intermitent. As he watched, he saw Derbin come through the door suddenly, stopped a few steps outside, the mug in hand as he stared at Jerod.

Jerod returned the look across the distance before he turned the horse away, remembered a good man long dead. And a debt of friendship. The gold in the storeroom chest would help a little, he knew. Though it was not a father. There was no price for that.

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