Scrivenings of the King-Beyond-The-Wall

Stolen Artifiacts #47

I couldn't believe that all he gave me was a stupid book. My father was many things, but today was the first time I considered adding senile to the list. He was never a particularly generous man, but this seemed a bit cheap even for him; especially considering the occasion.

As was the custom of our people, it was my duty – along with the first born sons of the other regents – to accept a tour of duty in the Outer Realm, where extreme temperatures, dangerous terrain, and warring tribes of savages made the land far less hospitable than the oasis of civilization we enjoyed within the Inner Realm. We were given some speech about tradition and training and honor, but I wasn't alone in feeling that there must be a better way to recognize the heirs to each house.

Other sons had received new armor, finely crafted weapons, or other equipment that would help ensure their survival out in the wild. Even Lord Damara gave his (second) son a heavy shield, and our house had twice the status and wealth his did! What was I supposed to use the stupid book for?


It was early morning when we set out for the Outer Realm. It would take us three days to make it to the small keep that would be our home for the next year. We thought it would be an uneventful three days of marching, but the second day brought with it our first lesson: one should always be prepared in the Outer Realm.

A tribe of savages blindsided us as we were marching through a small valley. It was brutal; most of us didn't even have our weapons readied when the first arrows struck the boys at the front of our marching order. The savages weren't nearly as fearsome as we had been led to believe, but they had the element of surprise, the advantage of knowing the terrain, and absolutely no sense of fighting fair. We would learn soon enough that ambushes and concealed traps would be part and parcel of the experience out here.

Three of us fell in that first attack before we were sufficiently capable of defending ourselves and able to repel them. It wasn't easy, but our combat training and superior weapons allowed us the advantage over their crude technology, once we were on even ground. Still, three of us wouldn't even make it to the keep alive, and I noticed – with more sadness than I had anticipated – that I sincerely hoped Lord Damara's third son would succeed where his brothers had failed.

That first night, we were attacked by the savages again. They were easily repelled and we maintained our numbers with the aid of the keep's strategic defenses, but we had to be on guard every moment of every day (and night). The knowledge of our relative vulnerability, and the need for constant vigilance, wore on many of us; most of us slept fitfully, if at all.

I was one of the ones who couldn't sleep. Feeling a pang of homesickness, I reached for the one item I had been given by my father. The book, which had remained forgotten in my pack since I stuffed it in there, was a surprisingly welcome relief. I traced my fingertips across the worn leather cover, savoring its supple exterior. As I flipped through the pages, I was astonished to find that this wasn't a printed text like the books in our libraries at home; this was handwritten and, from the looks of it, by more than one person. It was a journal! It was an account of their time spent in the Outer Realm, filled with their experiences and insights when they were our house's eldest son.

I read the book cover to cover. It was filled with an incredible amount of information, both practical advice and personal thoughts, describing their hopes and fears as they struggled to survive and lost other sons, many of whom they had befriended out here. This book contained the key to our survival. My father's parting words, to me, were the same as his forefathers to their sons:


Shields break and swords dull. Knowledge will always be your most steadfast weapon against an enemy. Use the wisdom of our past to ensure your future. When you return home, return with your own wisdom for your sons, and bequeath it to them when it is their time. Our family's success is built with our heads, not with our hands.


True to the words my father had written, the finely crafted weapons and equipment of other houses that I had so desperately envied while back in the Inner Realm proved to be less useful a gift than my book.

And suddenly I realized why our house was so revered; why so many of the other regents deferred to my father even when they had more holdings or greater wealth. It was because my father had saved their lives out here, just as I was saving the lives of those regents who would serve their houses with me. Our family's book had not only ensured our own survival, but the survival of many of the other sons, who would now and forever be counted among our most loyal supporters and greatest friends.

I wondered why my family was the only one who gave a book like this, instead of weapons and equipment.

Years later, when I was preparing to send my own eldest son on his journey to the Outer Realm, I gave him the book and he shot me the same indignant glare that I had given my father when I was his age. I couldn't resist the urge to offer him the same self-satisfied smirk my father had given me. He would learn soon enough.

Maybe one day the other houses will learn what ours learned five generations ago. Until then, our tradition will endure alone.


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(989 words)


Prompt: Write a story about an object that has been around for centuries or passed down generations.