The Kingdom of Liticea: The Sorcerer Prince

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Last Warmth of Home

The Inn had turned out its candles and called it a night. After they cleared out, Jergan, Jenni and Horace returned to the keep. They did not meet Rengle again but they did enjoy one more of Mundy's pies together. Jergan began to feel pains in his stomach after he ate three pieces of pie. Mundy always made too much for him and his mother usually allowed him to indulge himself. It was late when he finished, and so Jenni kissed her son goodnight and went off to bed. Horace gave the young knight a hug before he too returned to his room. Tomorrow he would be the acting Lord of Carell Keep. Jergan was shown to his old room. It was just as he remembered. The dark green quilts were tucked in as if waiting for him for the past five years. It was in this bed that he spent nearly a year, each day spent wondering if he would wake up in the next. he removed his cloak. On it was the hammer of Blackfield. Tomorrow he would where the sigil of his own family. He lay onto the bed, recollecting the dreams and nightmares he had on this spot. The bed itself was much more comfortable that the beds at the School, which were unbelievably hard. He tried to go to sleep, but the emotions of being home prevented anything of the sort. Home at last, and he would be leaving tomorrow, and he might never return.

He wanted one last view. One last view of Home. He climbed out bed to go see it. The window opened to a view of the town and farms of Ruska. He could see the Iron Wall Inn, the stream where he used to fish and swim, the crops he would run through and play hide and seek.

He could not stay here. It was late, but he was not tired. Quietly he left his room and descended the stairs to the gates of the castle. He stepped out, the guards greeted him as he left. He needed to see Ruska as it was, on his own. Everywhere there were soldiers, either sleeping or leaning against something. There was nowhere he could reconnect to his home on his own, except maybe the stream.

The stream led through a small patch of woods and would later empty into the Great River. It was where he and his friends would go when they needed to be away from their parents. It was also where he went whenever he needed to be alone.

The Bankhouse! It was a tiny hut that he built out of sticks in a small patch of bushes by the stream. He forgot about it while he was at the school. Perhaps it was still there and had not fallen into the stream. Hopefully Jergan would be able to find it.

He took a small path that turned away from the road which latter forked into paths to farmhouses. Jergan's route took him in between two of the paths, and over a small field before he began to pass by trees and bushes. The light of the moon got more and more opaque and Jergan found himself in the middle of the woods. He would have no problem finding his way out. He could find his way out if he were blind. He glanced around and took in the woods. This was his sanctuary. Nearly every day he was here. Here he climb, play, explore, and grow. Not only him, but Kruger, Jackie, Wallis, Damon, and most of the Ruska children would pass their time here.

It was not like other woods. The tallest tree was not higher than thirty feet. He could see for a hundred feet. It was not the thick impenetrable wood that the Westland was known for. These woods were safe, warm, and nurturing. As well as the trees, there were bushes stuffed with Blueberries. He would often come home with purple lips from so many berries.

Crickets were chirping away. It was the beginning of Fall and soon the chirping would stop and it would be consumed by the silence of winter. But for now, the songs of summer were still ringing in the woods. The stream was still singing when he got there. The banks were steeper than they were five years earlier. This did not give him hope for finding the Bankhouse. He walked along the bank, but when he lifted his right foot after two steps, it got caught on a root and he went tumbling down. He landed on a soft bed of leaves and dirt. He did not feel pain. Oddly enough he felt comfort. Roots were a pest for the young Jergan Fallaner, and they proved to be a pest for the adult Jergan Fallaner. He found himself laughing at how some things never change.