The Shattered Path

Chapter 36 - The Guest

The night was darker than it should have been. The valley was nestled between a cliff and a steep slope, blocking most of the starlit sky. The moon shone from somewhere beyond the mountains, providing little light to penetrate the thick gloom. Aryl would have found it disturbing if the frontier had been as dark, but the village of Reorc was the safest place he had been in weeks. Now, the darkness was almost a comfort.

Aryl sat with his back to the cold stones of the outside wall of the meeting den. It was the largest building in the valley, constructed of great stone blocks. The roof was a wooden frame covered in thick thatch. It was not so different from the buildings in Saroken and Minogradia, except for the size of the stones.

Laughter and cheerful shouts emanated from within. Many of the rough Merthian men who had fought in the battle against beastmen three nights earlier had come to celebrate the victory. It was their tradition. The first night after the battle had been reserved for burying the dead and seeing their spirits to the next world, which the Merthians called Gaecilaen. The next night had been for mourning the dead and the third night was a celebration for the living to honor the sacrifice of the dead.

Aryl and his group had arrived during the previous day, during the day of mourning. Those ceremonies had given him a glum first impression. Tonight, however, he saw they knew how to drink and share their enthusiasm with a slap on the back. If another mountain man slapped him on the back, he was going to scream, at the least. He still had bruises and soreness from his incredible fight with the giants. His ribs and legs ached with every movement. A cheery slap was the last thing he needed. In fact, he never really needed a slap on the back. Not ever.

He was in no mood for celebrating. He was more surprised by that than anyone. He had dreamed of a sturdy chair and a large mug of ale for days, but he had left them at the table and found comfort outside in the darkness. He felt out of place in the room full of merriment. Although, he had desperately wanted to escape the frontier and return home, he realized that things would never be as they had been before he had followed Aerham to the Fortress of Light. It was unthinkable that Beuthis was dead and Aerham had been exiled. But those were things that couldn't be changed.

Aryl pulled his fur cloak tighter around himself, trying to ignore the festivities on the other side of the wall. Two men argued over who had killed more beasties and their voices likely carried to the far end of the valley. He wasn't going to escape that argument until it had been settled.

Aryl didn't like the loose-fitting, green shirt that he wore, but at least it was cloth. He was sick of wearing dirty leather. His brown pants were worn and had been sewn many times, but at least they were comfortable cloth, too. The kind, elder woman who had given him the garments had also given him a concerned look when he had requested cloth rather than leather. The Merthians loved to wear leathers and furs. Let them. And, of course, he was grateful for the clothes, lodging, and company. His time spent struggling through the wilds had humbled him in many ways. He would have taken this hospitality for granted a few months ago.

Graefaen, the village chief, had given Jaegor a new bow. One would have thought that the scout had been crowned emperor of Old Minograd by the way he had acted. He really had acted like a child with a new toy. He had run around the village drawing the string taught and taking aim at villagers, rocks, and anything else that he saw. When Graefaen had looked at Aryl questioningly, he had replied to the leader, "Don't look at me. You gave it to him." The chief had walked away with a confused expression, casting at least four worried glances at Jaegor before entering the meeting den.

Aryl had kept his beard, which had grown thick, though was still small compared to those of the hairy Merthians. He had wanted nothing more than to shave it off, since it didn't feel right and reminded him of his trials in the excavation. He had inquired about a razor and the Merthians had eyed him suspiciously. Then he had considered that every man in Reorc had a full beard and it was likely a sign of manhood, or a lack of razors. He determined that shaving might cause him to lose respect in their eyes. He didn't want to be treated as a boy, rather than a man. He could wait another week or so to shave.