Resuming a story...
For every one that believes, a hundred non-believers are nullified. Or at least, that is how the histories write it.
When faced with the undeniably large number of enemy in comparison (1,000 to one), true belief was hard to maintain. Yet a few, enough, saw the path, and never swayed. Their example led to death, but also to honor, and the stories of the ancestors.
We have lost the path of our ancestors. We no longer have storytellers that can tell us the truth. And those that do are either stifled, or surrounded by ones who can suppress any undesirable stories.
So it has been through the ages, and mankind should know by now to worry when the storytellers are suppressed. Worry when you only hear one, or two, canned messages, repeated continuously throughout the day.
No two people see the world in exactly the same way. We don’t even see the local environment the same. What is progress and expansion to one is urban sprawl and the death of green spaces to another. Yet we must co-exist, or all is lost, to both sides.
The important key to this is to see that both sides DO have a right to exist, no matter how abhorrent they may appear to the opposing side. To know one’s deepest depths, the lengths to which one would go to survive, gives one insight into the world of another. Perhaps it is not always understanding, or acceptance, but the realization that, but for a few twists of fate, there go I.
She sat hunched over her ale, wispy mouse-colored strands of hair painting in the puddle on the table in front of her. The barmaid had been almost rude as she set the last round down, sloshing good (ok, mediocre, but paid for) ale onto the rough-hewn oak table in front of her. Years of sandstone cleaning away the remains of evening after evening had left slight valleys on the surface. But the table was well made, and worth the loving upkeep provided by the tavern owner’s daughter.
She was not allowed to serve in the tavern. Her father would not have her exposed to such a rough environment, therefore she must content herself with the sneaked peeks through the door between the kitchen and the main room. Many a night she envisioned one young farm lad or another noticing her eye spying through the knothole, and daring to find out who was behind the door.
One October night, while her father was banking down the fire in the massive fireplace, the ashes flew in his face as the door burst open. The sudden rush of oxygen caused the whimpering coals to roar into life, singeing hair, eyebrows, and clothing as the hot air rushed upwards.
Momentarily blinded by the unexpected burst of light from the now-blazing fire, he yelled gruffly over his shoulder, “Shut the damned door, ya fool! Ya wanna burn us all out?”
“My apologies, good merchant. I regret my impetuous entrance has caused you such turmoil, but it is rather late at night, and neither my horse nor I can travel any further. Do you have a stable boy to tend my mount, and a room to let for the night?”
She pushed back the fur lined hood of her great cloak, exposing coppery curls to the fire’s blazing welcome. Seeing the look on the innkeeper’s face, she re -stated her inquiry. “Do you have a room and food for me, and a place for my horse?”
Still on his knees, the innkeeper wiped the soot from his hands, then brushed back his hair, smoothing the singed grey locks into a semblance of order. Stammering as his mind caught up with the fact that here was a customer, a PAYING customer (he swept a quick glance at his brother in law, passed out in the corner as usual) and a BEAUTIFUL, WOMAN customer who could obviously afford to pay, Isak said, “Yes, Mistress, we have a room. And a place for your animal.”
“Good.” She strode over to the front table, closest to the fire. “I will sit here for a while. Bring me meat and wine.”
Isak got to his feet and left the room quickly, casting a quick glance back at his unexpected guest. Ah, but it was a full moon, so unexpected was not as much so after all.
I looked around, and noticed everyone else had resumed what they were doing, while pretending that they hadn’t noticed my arrival. Removing my cloak and placing it over an empty chair, I turned it towards the fire. Endean cloaks do fair well against the elements , but even the best need to be dry upon occasion. A solid week of moisture, first rain, then steam, then snow, and now ice, had tested the fabric to its limits, and it needed time by a fire.
The leathers I wore began to steam as the moisture that had soaked in was wicked away by the warm currents that swirled up the chimney from the now subsiding fire. Taking up the poker abandoned by the innkeeper, I began to push and pull the wood in the firepit. A face started to form in the embers, but I poked them apart. “Not now”, I hissed.
Just then, the innkeeper’s daughter, annoyed at being late for her “chance” meeting with the young guardsman at the stables, thrust a trencher in front of me, a hastily carved piece of end meat against some quite well done tubers, with an end crust of bread to sop the juices. With a twinkle in my eye, I stated in my most imperious tones, “Is this the best fare you have? I’ve a mind to send it back to the kitchen, to be redone. If I need for you to wait to bring me better fare, I will do so. I REFUSE to pay full price for the hog’s scrapings from a business day for you.”
“End of the business day? Do you think things are so great here, that what I serve you is the day’s leavings? This (stated with sarcasm) is what remains of the feast of the day. From yesterday. Because nobody came in to eat. And this is what is left after the innkeeper, and his family, and his servants, have had their meals. Are you so much better than us, that you deserve more?”
She flounced her skirts as she left, heading through the kitchens and thence the gardens to the stables, to meet with her lover.
“I thought you would’t come”, he said, pressing her against the wall of the stall. Her body moved with him, rubbing against the length of him. First her hands pushed against him, her palms against his biceps, but as they slide down, feeling the strength of him, they softened, as did she. Her body melded against his,forcing him to take her weight against his rather than let her slide to the floor.
Their bodies were thrown even closer together as the wooden wall they were leaning against shuddered in response to the solid blow of a horse’s hoof against the opposite side.
She shook her head slowly as she returned to her oats, ignoring the ones who scurried away in the nght. Silly humans. When will they learn to distinguish from a fuck and a love? Of course, they don’t always get to experience life.
Experience life. The roan shook her head. As if traveling around from town to town, seeing stable after stable, was any kind of life. Admittedly, there was the occasional full speed skirmish to the limits of a village, but usually only when they had been down on their luck for a while. And recently, things had been pretty flush.
I turned my cloak near the fire, letting the other side dry. Removing my boots and putting on my house shoe, I placed the boots near the fire, but concealed from the room by my cloak. The village did not look successful enough to preclude theft, and the wool, fur, and embroidery were worth a year’s wages.
As the room emptied, and the logs turned to coals, I raked the fire constantly, keeping it hot but subduing the light, encouraging those who remained to seek the warmth of their beds.
A year’s wages for most, a few months for me. My skills are in high demand, and I do not use them cheaply. If I am to perform in the manner expected, I should have the best of what I need to suit my requirements.
Finally the room settled down, everyone gone except me, a full flagon of wine left by the innkeeper’s daughter before she fled upstairs, seemingly shaken by some sinister experience. I raked through the coals again, this time making a small pile that glowed hotter and brighter than any for many hours.
A face slowly formed in the coals, smug as a cat that got into the cream. Slowly turning from side to side, it appeared to be absorbing the flame energy.
“OK, elemental’, I said. “What is the latest report?”
She ignored my question, twisting and sliding between the embers as she brought herself into our realm, pursuing the warmth of the coals. Placing another piece of wood on the fire, this one aged and well dried, I watched her slide along the length of the branch. As it slowly caught fire, flames licking the underside then taking hold, she lay on the opposite side, like a woman lying along a stream in the summer.
After a while, she rolled to her back, facing the ceiling while flames licked around her sides. “Things are intensifying to the North. I do not know what to make of it, other than that this IS the time of year when earth, hearth, and home all tend to hold sway.”