Post by david on Nov 21, 2005 22:19:47 GMT -5
A little more from Arkan and the gang in "Intercessor." You might need to read the other "Intercessor" postings to get a feel for what's happening...
Two days later Arkan arose from the small bed. He was still weak, his withered muscles trembling as he leaned on Holden and Jaela for support. Together, the three shuffled down the hallway of the small cabin toward the kitchen.
During the time Holden had watched Jaela care for the old man, administering white willow bark to keep the fever at bay and spoon-feeding him tiny portions of broth. Mothering what she did best, he thought, just as she had seven seasons past when Jaren had broken his leg in a fall from the tree outside his bedroom window. Then, as now, she had stayed close at hand, refusing to eat or sleep.
As they neared the table, she patted Arkan’s hand and brushed his cheek with a kiss. Holden helped ease him into a chair at the head of the table while Jaela went to the hearth and removed the lid from a large, blackened pot that hung suspended above the flames.
Holden leaned close to Arkan and whispered, “How long has it been since you’ve tasted a good rabbit stew, old man?”
Arkan’s eyes widened and he chuckled as a smile spread across the other’s face. “Too long, my friend. You’ve both treated me far too well.”
“Nonsense,” Jaela snapped. She turned and came toward the table carrying a small wooden bowl. Steam drifted enticingly from within, the aroma of fresh meat and vegetables awakening Arkan’s appetite. For days he had reluctantly accepted the tea and broth Jaela had fed him, not knowing how his body would react. Now, he found that he could hardly restrain himself. With careful, measured movements he began to eat, slowly at first, giving his belly time to accept real food once again. It wasn’t long before he had finished the bowl. The stew had tasted wonderful, and he found himself asking for more almost before he realized the words had come from his mouth.
Holden laughed aloud and stood with his hands on his hips. “By the One, Arkan Sael, I knew a man of your appetite would find food the best medicine of all.”
The old man smiled back, then glanced at Jaela. She stood for a moment, beaming at Arkan, then took the bowl and walked over by the hearth to fill it a second time. She returned and sat down near Arkan on one of the small, pine benches that bordered the table. Arkan’s thin hand reached out and gave a gentle squeeze to Jaela’s wrist.
“I have missed you girl, both of you. But your husband is right. I am here for a reason.” He paused, gathering up what strength was in him. “And I fear what I must say will make you regret your hospitality towards me.”
Holden grunted. “You should worry more about coming up with a respectable excuse for being absent so long. Your idea of traipsing across the countryside at night put ideas into my head about your sanity, but you are our friend and more, Arkan Sael, forever and always. You could not possibly say or do anything to change that.”
The words broke Arkan’s heart. From the moment he’d witnessed the rainbow deteriorating above the mists surrounding Candlestick he had known this time must come. The last time he had visited Riverbluff he had brought life and joy into their home. That had been more than a dozen cycles ago. He worked his bony fingers around the rim of his cup, turning it from side to side in his hands. “The three of you, do you observe Communion at sunrise?”
“What a question,” chided Holden. “Tell, me old man, has your recent brush with death turned your thoughts to the Becoming? It took more than an encounter with slunks to frighten the Arkan Sael I used to know.”
Arkan sighed. “Perhaps that is fitting. For I am no longer the man I used to be.”
Jaela’s eyebrows knitted together. She glanced at Holden, whose face wore the same look of puzzlement.
“Arkan, please,” she said. “We’ve not seen you in so long, since the day you brought Jaren to our doorstep. We heard no word from you, only hints that you were even still alive, bits of gossip and rumors from traders passing through the village. Now, you appear, more dead than alive, to speak in riddles? The weight of something hangs about you like a shroud for all to see. Please, let us help if we can.”
He frowned, and looked up first at Holden then over to Jaela. Then he expelled a long breath.”
“The magic is dying.”
Holden and Jaela stared, thunderstruck. A million questions swirled in their minds, but Arkan pressed on. “Do you remember the storm that swept through the land some days ago?”
Jaela continued to stare. Holden, regaining some composure, responded slowly. “How could we forget? Several in the village are still working repairs on their homes. That storm had teeth in it.
“More than you know,” replied Arkan.
Jalea, who had managed to emerge from the shock of Arkan’s words, spoke next. “But how can this be? You are still an Intercessor. The priests still occupy the temples, and all in Riverbluff gather for Communion each dawn as we are told in the Tome of the Awakening …”
Arkan’s smile was sad. “It is heartening to hear that, girl. But there is more to the lands than just this small village.
“Out there,” he gestured shakily toward the north, “there are many who have put their belief in the magic away. Seasons of good harvests and full bellies have caused many to put away their recollections of darker times. They believe themselves the reason for their success, and have relegated the One to a place of superstition and lore.”
The volume and tenor or Arkan’s voice had risen steadily throughout his discourse. When he saw the looks of fear upon his friend’s faces, he restrained himself and spoke in softer tones.
“It is one of the reasons I brought Jaren to you after he was born. Having known you both since you were young and your desire to have a child, I trusted that he would receive the love and care needed in order to grow into a strong man and a follower of the One.”
“As he has,” Holden said. “We could not wish for finer son.”
“Nor could I,” replied Arkan.
___________________________________________
Two days later Arkan arose from the small bed. He was still weak, his withered muscles trembling as he leaned on Holden and Jaela for support. Together, the three shuffled down the hallway of the small cabin toward the kitchen.
During the time Holden had watched Jaela care for the old man, administering white willow bark to keep the fever at bay and spoon-feeding him tiny portions of broth. Mothering what she did best, he thought, just as she had seven seasons past when Jaren had broken his leg in a fall from the tree outside his bedroom window. Then, as now, she had stayed close at hand, refusing to eat or sleep.
As they neared the table, she patted Arkan’s hand and brushed his cheek with a kiss. Holden helped ease him into a chair at the head of the table while Jaela went to the hearth and removed the lid from a large, blackened pot that hung suspended above the flames.
Holden leaned close to Arkan and whispered, “How long has it been since you’ve tasted a good rabbit stew, old man?”
Arkan’s eyes widened and he chuckled as a smile spread across the other’s face. “Too long, my friend. You’ve both treated me far too well.”
“Nonsense,” Jaela snapped. She turned and came toward the table carrying a small wooden bowl. Steam drifted enticingly from within, the aroma of fresh meat and vegetables awakening Arkan’s appetite. For days he had reluctantly accepted the tea and broth Jaela had fed him, not knowing how his body would react. Now, he found that he could hardly restrain himself. With careful, measured movements he began to eat, slowly at first, giving his belly time to accept real food once again. It wasn’t long before he had finished the bowl. The stew had tasted wonderful, and he found himself asking for more almost before he realized the words had come from his mouth.
Holden laughed aloud and stood with his hands on his hips. “By the One, Arkan Sael, I knew a man of your appetite would find food the best medicine of all.”
The old man smiled back, then glanced at Jaela. She stood for a moment, beaming at Arkan, then took the bowl and walked over by the hearth to fill it a second time. She returned and sat down near Arkan on one of the small, pine benches that bordered the table. Arkan’s thin hand reached out and gave a gentle squeeze to Jaela’s wrist.
“I have missed you girl, both of you. But your husband is right. I am here for a reason.” He paused, gathering up what strength was in him. “And I fear what I must say will make you regret your hospitality towards me.”
Holden grunted. “You should worry more about coming up with a respectable excuse for being absent so long. Your idea of traipsing across the countryside at night put ideas into my head about your sanity, but you are our friend and more, Arkan Sael, forever and always. You could not possibly say or do anything to change that.”
The words broke Arkan’s heart. From the moment he’d witnessed the rainbow deteriorating above the mists surrounding Candlestick he had known this time must come. The last time he had visited Riverbluff he had brought life and joy into their home. That had been more than a dozen cycles ago. He worked his bony fingers around the rim of his cup, turning it from side to side in his hands. “The three of you, do you observe Communion at sunrise?”
“What a question,” chided Holden. “Tell, me old man, has your recent brush with death turned your thoughts to the Becoming? It took more than an encounter with slunks to frighten the Arkan Sael I used to know.”
Arkan sighed. “Perhaps that is fitting. For I am no longer the man I used to be.”
Jaela’s eyebrows knitted together. She glanced at Holden, whose face wore the same look of puzzlement.
“Arkan, please,” she said. “We’ve not seen you in so long, since the day you brought Jaren to our doorstep. We heard no word from you, only hints that you were even still alive, bits of gossip and rumors from traders passing through the village. Now, you appear, more dead than alive, to speak in riddles? The weight of something hangs about you like a shroud for all to see. Please, let us help if we can.”
He frowned, and looked up first at Holden then over to Jaela. Then he expelled a long breath.”
“The magic is dying.”
Holden and Jaela stared, thunderstruck. A million questions swirled in their minds, but Arkan pressed on. “Do you remember the storm that swept through the land some days ago?”
Jaela continued to stare. Holden, regaining some composure, responded slowly. “How could we forget? Several in the village are still working repairs on their homes. That storm had teeth in it.
“More than you know,” replied Arkan.
Jalea, who had managed to emerge from the shock of Arkan’s words, spoke next. “But how can this be? You are still an Intercessor. The priests still occupy the temples, and all in Riverbluff gather for Communion each dawn as we are told in the Tome of the Awakening …”
Arkan’s smile was sad. “It is heartening to hear that, girl. But there is more to the lands than just this small village.
“Out there,” he gestured shakily toward the north, “there are many who have put their belief in the magic away. Seasons of good harvests and full bellies have caused many to put away their recollections of darker times. They believe themselves the reason for their success, and have relegated the One to a place of superstition and lore.”
The volume and tenor or Arkan’s voice had risen steadily throughout his discourse. When he saw the looks of fear upon his friend’s faces, he restrained himself and spoke in softer tones.
“It is one of the reasons I brought Jaren to you after he was born. Having known you both since you were young and your desire to have a child, I trusted that he would receive the love and care needed in order to grow into a strong man and a follower of the One.”
“As he has,” Holden said. “We could not wish for finer son.”
“Nor could I,” replied Arkan.
___________________________________________
