Dawn of the Nephilim

3. Windar part I

Ronan quickened his steps as he walked towards the edge of the square. A modicum of exercise would be the best remedy for his many aches. Little clouds of dust rose around his feet. It had been dry for several weeks already, a long time even for the height of summer, let alone its beginning. The water levels in the Amun swamp – one of the names it was known by – had dropped at least two feet. Not that he was complaining. The lower water levels meant that the fish were much more concentrated. He and Jack, his father, had made some record catches this year. There was actually a surplus of fish in the village, much to the summer-time merchant's delight. A lot of people from the far south seemed bizarrely interested in dried out and salted freshwater fish, never mind that most of them lived closer to the coast than the swamp. Well, that's their business, he thought with a careful shrug. It was excitement rather than haste that made him hurry. It would be hours until the ceremony.

As Ronan made his way across the so-called main street of the village, he watched a dog trot from one house to another, seemingly somewhat agitated. It was whimpering a bit, and occassionaly peered in the direction of the swamp. Maybe an alligator took its bone, Ronan surmised. Silly beast. When he peered to where the dog was looking, in the distance he only saw the usual open water, reeds and lush swamp vegetation. He had to admit there was something rather undefinably sinister about the swamp today, that made his neck all prickly. Probably, he was just a little shaken from the fight and the dog's odd behavior. He shook his head and berated himself. It was the beast's job to worry after all, not his. In a village like Brendon, on the brink of civilization, dogs were necessary as guardians. The swamp was riddled with snakes, alligators and many other dangerous and unseemly beings. If a creature that did not belong entered the village at night, the canines would usually cry foul, or take care of it themselves. Though even their sharp senses could not intercept everything, and checking your boots for guests in the morning was ever the wiser option. Nevertheless, they were precious things. That's why all the dogs in the village were taken care of by the community as a whole, coming and going as they pleased.

As he watched the dog stroll away, he almost walked straight past Windar's house. Quite an accomplishment really. The smudgy wooden house was the only one in this part of the village elevated on flood-poles. A remnant from when the lay of the swamp was slightly different. The swamp was ever changing, and the village changed with it. There were few houses that had seen more than two generations grow up. Windar refused to break the house down and build a more easily accessible one though, claiming that he enjoyed altitude.

When the people asked him why, he would just stare at them strangely and say the house was closer to the moon like this. The people of the village thought it odd, but it was his house after all. So they let it be. Ronan sighed. It is entirely beyond me that Windar still climbs that ladder every time at his age. According to his father, who had seen over 40 springs himself, Windar had left the village as a young man, before even he was born. It was rumored that Windar had picked up the gift of longevity along the way. Having become heavy of heart with too much experience of the world and its creatures, he had returned to his origins after many years, and now lived in his elevated house in solitude. Having lived long and untethered, Windar was a wise man of many trades, apt at mending things and often curing sick people with esoteric medicinal tinctures. All in all, they were glad to have him. He was born in this village and had outlived almost all that lived there now, after all. Though there was some nascent suspicion about his sanity.

As Ronan walked towards the ladder he mused about the evening ceremony. It was one of the more exciting events of the year, the hallowing of the quarterstaff-champion being only a small, trivial part of it. A remnant from when the village often had to fend off intruders, not many of them human, which had spilled over from wars in lands far and near, sowing death and destruction. Such times might always return, and the village maintained a strong martial tradition. But the bulk of the ceremony stemmed from an era beyond remembrance, and felt strange and magical; almost like a remnant of a lost age, and a longing for its return.

The sports cracked and moaned underneath his weight, along with his sore muscles, momentarily making him wonder if either were able to support him. He was quite a big man after all. But they managed to carry him safely to the top. Not today Ionara, he thought as he let out a sigh and stretched his legs to prevent a cramp. Not today. He would have to tell Windar to make a new ladder if he didn't want to be held responsible for a broken leg in the not so distant future.

As he stood at that peculiar height where you might or might not break your ankle if you jump without rolling over, he measured the hours of sunlight left. Three hand palms, three hours. Plenty of time till the ceremony. For a moment, he stood enchanted by the beautiful land he inhabited. To the north, the swamp basked in the midday sun, its tantalizing, green tree tops modestly veiling themselves in white whisps of cloud that rose from the swamp's steaming waters. All manner of life made its presence known with a cacophony of hoots, croaks and shouts, forming a sharp contrast with the grassy, rolling plains of the north, which were empty save for the occasional copse of trees or farm. The swamp was a green oasis in which the Amun river dissipated, jutting into the endless grassy plains on which large herds freely roamed, which were only more populated and cultivated in the south. Theirs was a mysterious land at the edge of two vastly different environments, that only lightly felt the human touch, changing much yet little, where much was remembered that was elsewhere forgotten. It was beautiful, seemingly invulnerable, and yet, something was off about it. He could not shake that feeling. Slightly annoyed, he turned towards the door of the house and parted the dangling wooden shackles with carved figures of strange birds and other creatures upon entering.