The Siren & the Sacred Lie, Chapter 2

THE SIREN & THE SACRED LIE

CHAPTER 2: A PLAN AND A PROMISE

         It should have been exciting, this late summer afternoon. Corvan had finished the day's chores. A warm breeze whisked through the maple leaves, ushering dusk from the eastern horizon. Early that morning, a caravan of merchants were greeted at the village gates; their tents, now strewn about the east-side lawn. By nightfall, the taverns would be bustling with songs and stories from the road. The sheepish of Maplewood might find this good reason to stay home, but not the young Corvan and his friends. For these boys, the night would be a rare treat-- a chance to meet travelers, wild-land sentinels and of course, merchants' daughters.

         But in spite of the gorgeous day and the night's possibilities, the anticipation didn't feel the same as it once had. Corvan was getting older now, his boyish excitement given way to a longing-- a lump in his stomach that ached for something new. Even his favorite history books and travelers tales could not inspire him like they used to. The maps, the legends, the lords and ladies, kingdoms and castles... He devoured it all. Lately though, the tales sat heavy atop the wretched lump in his stomach. An angst grasped at him. He didn't know it, but the angst was really a fear-- a fear that his own call to glory may never come.

         “Corvan!” The billowy voice of his father rumbled through the courtyard like a drum. “Come, Corvan. Let us resume your training.”

         The day still promised a few hours of sunlight, and Corvan felt no urge to escape into his book. So he hopped to his feet and shuffled over to the clearing beneath the old tree on the Merrith estate.

        "Sounded like you were calling for a hound named Corvan, Pah."

         “There you are.” Kneeling in the shade of the grand old maple, the former knight commander rested his arm on the hilt of a wooden training sword. When he rose to greet his son, Eldric stood six feet tall, with broad shoulders on a sturdy frame. His hair was a few inches long, bristly, brown and gray, like his neatly trimmed beard. “Shall we begin?”

         After several strikes, Corvan paused to wipe away the sweat. Like his father, the young man was agile and talented with a blade in his hand. He was thinner than his father, clean shaven, with a shade darker hair. Their eyes were the same golden brown.

         “That's good, son. Looks as though you've spent long hours training since we last sparred.” The truth was Corvan hadn't picked up a sword in weeks. Still, he felt strong on this bright afternoon. After another bout of thrusts and slashes, Eldric noticed it, too. “You possess your father's might,” he chuckled, recalling younger days. “But might will not compensate for poor technique, son. A clear mind to accompany strength and skill-- all must be honed if you wish to become a master swordsman.” 

         “Master swordsman?” Corvan mocked. “For what? So I might out-duel the kindling wood and rescue my hatchet? What's a sword needed for in this part of the world?” 

         Corvan was twenty years old, an age when Halcyon boys still lived in the shadows of their fathers. But twenty was an age of men elsewhere in the kingdom. On the eastern continents, the world was rugged and dangerous; fraught with beasts and brigands, and men guided by darker persuasions. In the east, boys learned to fend for themselves at half Corvan's age. Halcyon was no place like these. It was peaceful, gentler land-- a kingdom deserving of its name. Here, time passed slowly, and the same might be said for the aging of sons. But Corvan Merrith was of a different pedigree than most of Halcyon's sons. He was born of a decorated legion commander, the man known as the "hero of the warlock's siege." 

         “Pray it never comes, Corvan, but one day your very life could depend on this training... And must I remind you that the people of our village will one day rely upon you to serve as their warden?” 

         Corvan was surprised by the sobering response. Lately, he wasn't the only one who hadn't felt quite himself. For days, his father had been pestered by a restless foreboding. Where Corvan's angst emerged from adventures never lived, Eldric's stemmed from one he barely survived-- an adventure that was not as fortunate for his only brother. He could no longer ignore it, something strange was drifting along the late summer winds. Something unnatural. Eldric hoped his instincts were deceived; his memory betrayed by the ghost. For they reminded him of the winds that harbingered the warlock of the forsaken isle, almost twenty years ago. The day the Emperor's City was besieged by the sorcerers of exile and their army of half breed savages. The day his brother was killed defending his city. The knight commander led his legion to victory that day, but he would never forget what he lost. Even twenty years later, Eldric still had a mind to sail east to avenge his brother's life. But sailing into the Godstorm was a desperate fantasy; so long ago, he chose instead to go west-- to the peaceful reaches of Maplewood forest in Halcyon. He made that choice for his wife, Annalyne, and Corvan, then his newborn son. In time, Eldric endeared himself to the people of Maplewood and was appointed to serve as their warden. One day, this title would fall to Corvan.

         “No, Pah. You needn't remind me. I know the duty I shall inherit. Though I suspect it looms still many years from now.”

         Eldric nodded reassuringly. He sensed his son's restlessness. “What say we fletch a few arrows and hike out to the weald? Let's catch ourselves a hare.”

         Corvan liked the idea.

         

********************

         Just before nightfall, Corvan shoved open the door with his shoulder, clutching a full-grown, floppy-eared rabbit by the ears. It was a portly, grayish brown male with a snowy white belly. The Maplewood forest teemed with these critters and quick as they were, they made for tricky hunting. Better yet, when spiced and roasted over a flame, they made for a splendid supper.

         “Amos, you won't believe what happened!” Corvan blurted as his young brother ran to the kitchen. “Pah and I were 'bout to give up our hunt until he finally put an arrow in this chubby one. Under a hedge, we found him flat next to a fallen branch. Well, when Pah knelt to pull out his arrow, I heard a rustling in the leaves. Guess what it was!"

        "Was it a jackal?.. Or.. or a fox!?"

        "A troll sprung out at Pah from the other side of the hedge. My hand was ready, so I unsheathed my dagger and slew him just as he leaped out to steal our supper!” 

         Amos' lip curled. His eyes widened. The boy had never seen a troll before. Halcyon trolls were menacing, despicable little creatures. But unlike their monstrous cousins in the east, fully grown, they stood only waist high to the average man. Nasty they were, nonetheless.

         When she turned from slicing vegetables, Annalyne's glare plainly conveyed her disapproval. After all, Amos was just six years old. Such tales were rarely appreciated by the mothers of boys so young.

         “You should have scared him away, or just batted at him with the pommel end of your dagger.”

         Corvan was agitated by his father's critique. “Well, what if that foul creature had lunged at your neck instead of the hare? Should I have waited to find out?”           

         Eldric shared a ceding glance with his wife. Silent, he flopped the rabbit onto the skinning table.

         “In any event, you shouldn't go scaring your brother,” Annalyne concluded, as she set her knife down to greet her son. A few days had passed since Corvan spent time with his family in their main household. These days, he had his own little hideaway.

        Corvan's one-room cabin, he built for himself on the branches of his birth maple. A "shantal" is what they called this tiny bungalow. The wide trunk served as the girder on which several uniformly cut maple beams were trussed and joisted. To be completed alone, the labor served as a rite of passage when a boy of Maplewood turned 17. Woodworking had long been the passion of these folk, and soon after he brought his family to Maplewood, Eldric inherited their passion. The former knight commander first apprenticed for Jessel Bremmin, doing heavy logging work. Some years later, he learned to carve moldings and decorative trimmings-- friendlier work for his aging bones. These skills had since been passed on to Corvan, and soon, would be to Amos as well. This was the heritage of Maplewood Village. Simple, unaffected... in a way no place can endure. By tradition, a father planted a maple sapling for each birth of a child. Eldric and Annalyne came to admire the custom, so they planted one for Corvan on his second name day. 18 years later, high in the branches of his birth maple, Corvan spent most of his nights.

         “Will you be staying for supper?” Annalyne asked. “The roast should be ready in an hour.”

        Her hungry son nodded, then reached for a glass and the decanter of wine.

         

********************

         The sky had darkened as the Autumngale crickets chirred in the trees around the Merrith cabin. The roast sat plumply in their bellies.

         “Falling asleep at the supper table, little brother?” 

         Amos shook his head no, but his eyes conveyed otherwise. “Corvan, will you come play with me tomorrow? I made a sling from boar bone and sinew," he said. "I want to see you shoot rocks with it.” 

         “A slingshot, aye? Shall we shoot rocks at the trees? Or trees at the rocks?"

        "Rocks at the trees, silly!" Amos said laughing.

        "Alright, alright. How 'bout I find you a bit later. In the afternoon.” 

         With a grin, Amos trotted off to his bedroom. After wishing his youngest son a good night, Eldric then turned to his oldest. “Before you spend time with your brother, come find me again tomorrow. After your work is finished. I have something I want to show you.”

         "Of course."

        Eldric then left to his study.

        Corvan looked to his mother, but she shrugged her shoulders. He then picked up a cloth to help wipe down the table. “Hmph." Wonder what that's about. "So, Pah's still working on those manuscripts, is he?” 

         “Well, he was commissioned by the emperor, hims--”

         “Yes, mother. I know,” he interjected. “But how long has it taken him? How many years?”

         Annalyne hesitated, then spoke in a gentle voice. “When emperor Titus fell to sickness, your father lost his most dependable ally in the Assembly. And one of his oldest, most trusted friends. With all his heart, he served Titus and the knights in his command. That is, until you were born, Corvan. I suspect your father has labored so long because once his manuscripts are finished, his duty to the crown will end. And in kind, the last bond he's shared with the knight commander he was... that will end, too."

         “I see,” Corvan said, trying vainly to relate.

         Annalyne smiled, but quickly it left her. “After the siege... when your uncle was killed, he no longer believed our family would be safe in the Emperor's City. But it was no careless choice for your father to walk away from that life. 19 years it has been. And yet, I fear he still bears the guilt.”

         “Guilt? For what should he feel guilty?”

         “The caravan folk say the legion has fallen to apathy and disorder, and they number nearly half as when your father served the Assembly. The knight command is weak. Leaderless.”

         “Well, what about Emperor Calias? What does he say?” 

         “The emperor? Tsk. Emperor Calias says nothing, and does less. Immersed entirely in matters no one seems to be talking about. So all this has motivated your father to complete his commission, with a hope that he may inspire the Assembly. To give rise to a leader." Annalyne looked down the hall, to Eldric's study where it seemed he'd spent half his life. "Sometimes it's hard for a man to let go of his past, son. But this is what will remain of your father when he is gone. These manuscripts are his legacy. In truth, his knowledge and experience are invaluable. The Assembly would be wise to take heed.” 

         Corvan swelled with admiration. When she looked at him that way, he recognized the parallel she had intended.

         “He saved the great city, son. Your father was a champion among men, without whom, Emperor Titus himself may have been driven from the palace.” 

         His mother had never spoken of Eldric's victory this way, and Corvan certainly never heard such accounts from his father. He knew the story from books, but hearing her speak of it made it real. He slouched into his seat, feeling breathless under the weight. He remained quiet for some time before turning the discussion.

         “... Mah, do you like it here? You and father left the Emperor's City when you were twenty or so. It must have been thrilling-- living in the capital, the beating heart of the empire.”           

         “Well... yes, son. Your father was a bit older, but I was nearly your age... I loved it. The wondrous architecture, the arts, the theater, the culture. The never-ending chorus of industry. I miss it sometimes. But such excitement rarely stands without turmoil. There are many dangers in the eastern lands, son. Even behind those towering city walls. And there is much about Halcyon, and right here in Maplewood, that I have come to cherish. The beautiful landscapes, the gentle seasons and gracious people. Every day, I can step out into the warm air, walk down to the banks and dip my feet in the water, or pick berries in the weald with little fear of thieves or beasts... or worse. Among these, there was much to love. And I know that here my children will be safe-- safe as anywhere in the Island Kingdoms. Your father withdrew from the highest rank in the legion for us to feel that security, Corvan. That, too, was easy to love.” Annalyne then tried harder to relate. “Now, I understand you are a young man, and that new sights and ventures tug at your curiosity. And I will offer my blessing should your travels lead you to the farthest corners of Halcyon. I might even hope you see the Emperor's City for yourself one day. But I've no longing to push my firstborn son out the village gates just yet. For that, I'm afraid I'll never be eager.” 

         Forgiving his mother's sentiment, Corvan reached for her hand. “Well, I'm sure there is still much to learn before setting off on my own for a while. For one, I know there are more worrisome creatures out there than small forest trolls.”           

         With a squeamish grin, Annalyne nodded. “Don't worry, Corvan. You will shape your own path, and in time, you will accomplish many great deeds... just as your father has.” 

         Corvan appreciated the kind words but found little truth in them. No matter his wanderlust, destiny would ultimately lead back to boring old Maplewood. For he was betrothed to serve as her warden. Anxious again, he ended the earnest discussion. 

         “Well, Mah, I hope you're right. And I appreciate your encouragement. But for tonight, those great deeds must wait. For my travels lead only so far as the Kiln & Berry Meadery.” 

         Annalyne managed a laugh. “That will do for tonight, son... If you like, invite the boys to midday meal tomorrow. There's a bit of rabbit left for stew.” 

         “If I tell Joel, he might show up before the night's ended.”

         “Oh... and Corvan..."

        "Yes?"

        "You be nice to those merchant girls from the caravan.”

         Smirking, he replied, “Of course, mother. I'm always nice.”

        Annalyne and her son shared a hug and wished each other a good night. Corvan then reached for his lantern.

         Most preferred the old meadery to the lavish new tavern under the Seaside Inn. That's where the caravan folk liked to gather, so that's where Joel and Galad awaited their friend. Corvan strode past scores of radiant lantern posts along the village's twining, stone-chiseled pathways. Above him, wooden platforms were strung from one tree to the other, and one tree house to the next, all lit by hundreds of smaller lanterns. Every home in Maplewood was built into, onto, or surrounding a great maple tree, and the meadery was no different. An exceptionally wide tree trunk sprung from its center, soaring through the smoke louvre in the roof. The first floor was organized for distilling and fermenting the mead. The second floor, for drinking it. Running late, Corvan scampered up the beautifully carved staircase which spiraled around the base of the huge maple. From the top of the stairs, he spotted his friends gazing at a young woman playing the harp. Joel had a mug waiting for him.

         “By Gwynneth, I nearly drank your mead, Len. Goddess moon to ye!” he welcomed. 

         “Goddess moon, to you.” For no good reason, Joel liked to call Corvan 'Len'-- for his middle name, Lennock. "And thank you, friend."           

         “Thank me, you mean. I was the one who paid ole' Bandal his coppers,” Galad corrected.

         The boys shared a laugh and thumped their mugs for good cheer. As the mead washed its way down, Corvan soaked in the harmony of flutes and harps and song, and the kind of shouting that could only be tolerated in a crowded tavern.

         “Now Corvan, before you go batting those princely, gown-dropping gapers o' yours, that merchant girl over there playing the woodharp is mine.” 

         “Well, curse me for running late. I'll bet you two have claimed all the pretty ones... Supposing you haven't already offended them all.”

         “Ha! Well, if you'd teach me that magic spell a' yours, I could be like you-- Just sittin' on my footstool sloppin' down mead while the maidens dance their way over to me.”

         “Joel, it's no spell. It's all this sitting next to you that lends my good looks.” The boys laughed until Joel nearly choked on his mead. Like always, Joel had spent his day by the water, baiting, catching, and sorting fish on Maplewood's western banks. Aside from the oversight of "old man" Edisell, his were lonely days. Joel was just two years a child when his mother and father died. With no family to take him in, he was committed to the chantry's orphanage in Halcyon Castleton. There he remained for eleven years, until finally, the chantry brought him to Maplewood to work for Edisell's Fishery. Five years later, he'd done a fisherman's work almost every day since.

        “So Galad, how about you?” Corvan asked, peering shrewdly around the room. “Which one do you like?”

         “Well, I've seen quite a few comely ones in this caravan... But we're talking like we've strolled up to the baker's tent for a sweetcake. Never so simple as pickin' which one you like, is it?”

         “No, it's certainly not," Corvan agreed. "Anyway, I'd like to hear what the caravan sentinels have to say. There's been talk of disorder in the knight command, or so says my mother. And the emperor is restless with something or other.”

         “My father and I heard the same.”

         “What's any of that have to do with us? That's trouble for rich, highbrow folk two hundred leagues from here.”

         “Well maybe so, Joel. But it'd be worth a listen, wouldn't it?"

        Galad added, "When it rains on the mountain, the water eventually trickles down to the river."

        "Besides, haven't you ever given thought to the wide world outside Maplewood? Aren't you at least half curious? We're swaddled away here like babes... with no stories of our own to tell. We've got no say and no role in any of it.”

         “In any of what?”

         “In any of... in any of anything, I suppose.” The angst started turning his stomach again, so Corvan drowned it with a long pull of mead. It worked well enough. Galad empathized with a long swig of his own. Galad Havelroy had been Corvan's friend since they were young boys; his family, friends to the Merrith's just as long. Although anyone in Maplewood could hunt their own fare, the Havelroys were depended upon to stock the butchers' tents for trade, feasts and banquets, and feeding the occasional merchant caravan. Galad was the finest archer in Maplewood. He'd probably shot more hares and pheasants in 21 years than his father had all his life. As it happened, Mr. Havelroy was more interested in other prey.

         Nobody wanted trolls like the one Corvan encountered creeping any closer to the village, nor scaring away the weald's pheasants and hares. So the Havelroys made it their mission. At the end of each summer, Galad and his father set out to the weald for an overnight troll hunt. They'd put arrows into five or ten of them each year, leaving the corpses to the discovery of their kin. In all the realm, trolls were considered an abomination, an unholy corruption of nature. According to legend, they and the other rotten creatures of the world emerged only because Tychon, the banished god, tainted the pure kingdom in the ancient times before men. These were the words of the moon goddess, herself-- Gwynneth, for whom the Island Kingdoms were named.

         When he finished his mead, Corvan told his friends about the twilight hunt with his father, and how he dispatched of the plundering troll.

      Galad was surprised. “Well, I've never pulled a blade on any troll in the weald, Corvan. We get at 'em from distance with our arrows, but... I've never seen 'em so close as I could reach one with a dagger.” 

         “But you've heard of trolls biting and clawing at travelers in the weald before, haven't you?          

         “Sure, I've heard it. I've just never witnessed it to be true.”

         “I might have only seen two or three of 'em before, but this one was more rabid than I remember of the others. His eyes were... wild.”

         Galad's eyes thinned, revealing his interest.

         “Well, I'd say you two are lucky to get out into the woods at all. With my post down at the water's edge, fishin' all day for old man Edisell, I'd be bloody glad for a little excitement.”

        “Now see, that's what I've been getting on about. I've been hungry for a change of the scenery... to get out past the weald, to the Halcyon countryside and Castleton. To the Southern Harbor or the Bane Bridge, Verbosa... even the Emperor's City.”

          Galad and Joel were surprised. It was a lofty suggestion, yet they couldn't help but abide Corvan's excitement. It wasn't like him to speak so impassioned. He wasn't the dull type; it just took a lot to impress the warden's son. He ranted on and on, forgetting the clamorous music, the caravan sentinels, and even the merchant girls dancing about the tavern. After another mug or two of mead, the boys switched to ale, then Joel and Galad forgot them, too. 

         By the time their mugs were empty and the chants and songs ended, the three friends had made a plan and a promise. At the turn of spring, they would take leave for Castleton and the northern plains. The spring would be timely for crop and berry picking along their route, and it would give them plenty of time to clear the absence with their fathers. Or in Joel's case, with his foreman, Edisell. The boys expected to work long hours before departing on their trip, but all were willing to suffer the added chores for the promise of a long holiday. And for Corvan, the promise of new sights and sounds... the promise of his own little adventure.

         Even after they'd swallowed their last sips of ale, Joel still had a mind to approach the woodharp girl and her pretty friends. “Come on' fellas. Hiccup! I'm the charming one of us, so I'll do most the talkin'. Then you impress 'em with your wits, Galad. And Corvan, you just... well... you just do whatever-it-is you do. Hiccup!.. How 'bout that one in the blue gown? Isn't she a stunner?”

         Joel had guzzled more than a night's share of mead and ale, so Galad convinced him to postpone the clever onslaught. “They'll be in village three days longer, Joel. Best leave them still wanting for tonight,” he said, compelling a chuckle from Corvan.

         The boys wobbled past the huge, arching doorway of the meadery, where they uttered their goodbyes and went about their separate ways for the night. Corvan trotted down the path merrily, inspired by the plan he'd made with his friends. If only the spring might come sooner. On his stroll, he daydreamed of new fields and streams, new trees and sprawling countrysides, new foods, new ales, and new maidens in new towns. He could hardly stand the thought of waiting all through the cool season. But he understood there was much planning to do and many preparations to be made. After all, he'd never been farther than a day's hike from Maplewood before, not since he was a suckling child. For years, he'd read books and heard many tall tales of the lands beyond the western reaches of Halcyon. The world abroad daunted the threat of lawless bandits and highwaymen, mercenaries, savages, witches, warriors, werewolves, and wizards. Lest be considered the wild creatures, beasts, monsters, ogres, hollows, ghosts and goblins... If one was inclined to believe in such things. The fearless age that he was, Corvan snickered to think the tales could possibly be true. Surely children's stories. Just then, a cool breeze blew softly into his eyes. It felt strange. Ominous. He didn't know why, but his instinct was fearful-- of a nameless, faceless peril. Then just as suddenly as the breeze nipped at him, it slipped by and stole the worrisome feeling away. That was odd, he thought, but his mood could not be spoiled. 

         Lined by tall maples on either side, he descended the path to his family's estate. In the garden where his birth maple stood, Corvan peered up at the moon to thank the goddess for his cheerful evening. Finally, I've something to look forward to. Quietly, the faint musings of the midnight siren came dancing along the eastern wind. The melody was especially haunting on this clear, starry night. I wonder what this sad song is about, but he paid little mind. He yawned once more, then climbed the ladder to his shantal, his peaceful hideaway among the trees. He got right into bed and before long, the siren ended her song. Lying there alone in the quiet, a more sober reflection occurred to him-- When I was a child, my parents traveled two hundred leagues to raise me in the safest of the Island Kingdoms. They left their friends, their families and their livelihood to start over... for me. Yet now that I've come of age, I find myself itching for danger in far away lands. What sense is there in such whims? Am I truly so selfish? With the last question in mind, he passed into sleep.

         

********************

         It was a vivid dream, the kind Corvan would surely remember. His first sights were the iron bars confining him to his cell. The dungeon was dark and his sentiment hopeless, until a light appeared in the narrow hallway outside the door. He then realized he'd been stripped of his belongings, but in particular, something of great importance felt... missing. They took it from me. The light flickered steadily as it drifted closer to his cell. Finally, he could see it was a sprite with shining silver wings, fluttering along, carrying a tiny wand gracefully in her tiny hand. The sprite did not speak, but she smiled at him comfortingly. What is she? Corvan had only heard of such beings in tales. She then waved her wand back and forth, glittering sparkles into the blackness. Soon, the sparkles turned into fireflies, as they swarmed around the lock barring the door. With a gritty clank that caromed from the dungeon walls, the silence was broken, the lock fell, and his cell door swung out into the corridor. The sprite smiled once more before her light faded into the dark. Corvan thought her a strange little creature. But he was too grateful for the thought to linger. With that relief, the dream ended, and he slept at ease through the rest of the night.



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