FictionPress.com - let the words flow| FictionPress.com - let the words flow |
| Home Just In Communities Forums Beta Readers Dictionary Search | Login Register Extras |
Harvest Season
By Dany
(Timeline:
Approximately two months after Mithrandos’ awakening in The
Chronicles)
Mithrandos let his eyes roam over the sight before him. The field seemed to go on forever, acres upon acres of wheat stalks gently swaying in the cool autumn breeze.
Fields of gold.
To either side of him, the chattering and bantering from a dozen of his fellow Guardians was as soothing as the light winds all around as the warriors were sharpening and readying their various tools for the task ahead.
In addition to the Guardians, farmers, their families and other helpers were gathered along the edge of the field as well, their sickles, scythes and rakes at the ready. It seemed like an excessive number of people, but harvesting season was the busiest time of the year and the field before them was of truly enormous proportions.
Every year the Guardians of The Light offered their manpower and skills in assistance with the crop harvest. It was a long-standing tradition, and although aching backs and blistered hands at the end of the day were pretty much a certainty, there was a jovial mood amongst the warriors; it was a break in the temple routine, a chance for the men to mingle and flirt with the pretty daughters of the villagers. Mithrandos noted with amusement that some of them were engaging in this popular pastime at this very moment.
Someone bumped his shoulder and he turned to see Kandaar, First Scribe of the Temple of The Light, his chronicler and friend, grinning at him. The dark-haired Guardian was holding the wooden shaft of a long curve-bladed tool out to him.
“Well, we all know how well you wield a sword, Milord, but how are you with a scythe?”
Out of habit, Mithrandos almost reminded him once more against the use of his title. It had taken quite a bit of gentle coaxing over the weeks to get the scribe to finally lose his reverence and call Mithrandos simply by his name, but Kandaar’s current tone of voice was clearly that of jest, so Mithrandos only shot him a wry look.
“I will have you know that I have done this a few times during my era,” he said with a crooked grin and took the scythe from him. “Probably more times than you.”
Storm-grey eyes returned his sardonic look with a glint of mirth while Kandaar rolled up his uniform sleeves.
“Ah, but while my skills are still fresh from last year’s harvest, I fear that yours might have fallen into disuse. A long slumber would do that to a man.” The scribe grinned unrepentantly at the captain’s mock glare. “Just try to keep up.”
The sound of a horn drifted across the field, signaling the start of the crop gathering. A lot of ground had to be covered, and Mithrandos, Kandaar and the rest of the Guardians moved into position without further preamble. The harvesting had begun.
He looked over the freshly reaped field behind him where the host of farmers and their families were busy gathering the sheaves of cut wheat and carting them off to the central plaza where the threshing was still in full swing.
It was an abundant yield, and the village’s silo was ready and waiting to receive the bounty of wheat, corn, barley and oats that had been harvested from this and other fields all around the village today.
Sadly, a part of this hard-earned crop, no matter how well guarded, would invariably fall prey to thievery. The realm of Ithrandar was blessed with rich soil, and the spoils of the land hardly ever left anyone suffering from hunger, but for the minions of the Evil Powers dwelling in the lands beyond the Cursed Forest, it was a time-honored custom to acquire their grain by stealing it from the righteous rather than tilling their own fields.
Next to him, Kandaar made a pained noise while he rubbed his lower back, which was probably in the same overwrought condition as Mithrandos’ own.
“Ah, I will surely sleep like a stone tonight,” the scribe said, “and then be more than ready for some well-deserved fun at the Harvest Festival tomorrow evening.”
The festival…Mithrandos swallowed a sigh. When it came to Ithrandar’s biggest annual celebration, he was like any other citizen of the realm - he looked forward to it. Or at least he had back in the Seventh Era.
This time, however, everything would be completely different. This time there would be no chasing his brothers through the crowd as he had done when he was a boy. This time there would be no making the rounds amongst the multitudinous picnic blankets of the families of his lifelong friends, most of whom had also been his fellow Guardians once he got older.
His painful memories were interrupted when one of the farmer’s aides came to collect all of the Guardians’ scythes. Once relieved of their tools, most of the warriors headed off almost immediately in the direction of the path that would take them back to the Temple of The Light. Mithrandos and Kandaar did likewise, but unlike his fellow Guardians, bath and bed were not foremost on the blond captain’s mind. His thoughts irrevocably turned back to the event that would transform the very field he was leaving behind into the carnival-like tumult everyone in this part of the realm was looking forward to.
Only that he would see none of it this year. All that would be awaiting him if he attended the festival would be a mass of strangers, which could only evoke more unwelcome memories about times that would never come about again. Not to mention all the people staring at him due to his misplaced hero status…
No. It was all too early still. Better to stay within the familiar cocoon of the Temple walls. Maybe next year…
“I should tell you that I shall not be attending the festival,” he said out loud, taking care to make the words sound casual, yet not overly so. Kandaar was no fool, after all.
They were walking abreast on the dirt trail that lined the perimeter of the wheat field, and there was a short, yet noticeable faltering in his fellow Guardian’s step. A turn of his head revealed Kandaar staring at him, eyebrows raised in surprise and…disappointment?
“What? But…why not?” his dark-haired chronicler exclaimed. His arm shot out, waving across the ploughed acres next to them. “You have worked as hard as everyone else out here today; you deserve the respite no less.”
Mithrandos only shrugged. “Someone has to lead the night watch.”
Which was not necessarily true. The sentry stations at the Temple tomorrow night would be manned by a skeleton crew of Guardians, all of whom knew their duties well and needed no supervision with keeping a cursory eye out for the occasional scavengers of the Evil Forces that dared venture too close to the Temple village. And even that would be a rare occurrence, since the minions of the Dark Powers knew better than to risk an attack on a festivity attended by most of the remaining Guardian force.
Kandaar gave him a look of open puzzlement. “But…you would miss something as grand as the Harvest Festival for sentry duty? All the wonderful food, the music, the dancing, being surrounded by family and fr….. oh spirits!”
Kandaar choked down a groan when the sudden dual realization of the depth of his blunder and the real reason behind Mithrandos’ unnecessary guard shift hit him like a douse of ice water. Mortified at his inexcusable slip of the tongue, the scribe could feel his face heating up. He had not just said that out loud, had he? Yes, he had. He had just thoughtlessly raved about the joys of family to a man who had none - although Mithrandos’ composed reaction was not more than a few quick blinks of his eyes.
Kandaar swallowed heavily. “I…please, a thousand apologies! I was not thinking…I am such an oaf…” He broke off helplessly; the urge to slap himself overcame him, but he raked both hands through his dark curls instead.
“It is all right, Kandaar.” Mithrandos’ voice was calm and collected, but Kandaar was shaking his head before the captain had even spoken his name.
“No, it is not.”
What made this matter even worse in his mind was that, in theory, Mithrandos certainly still had distant relatives living somewhere in Ithrandar, most likely right here in the Temple village, but to the best of his knowledge, no one had come forth so far claiming a shared ancestral heritage with the legendary warrior. Nor had Mithrandos made an attempt to unearth any living blood connections to his long-perished family.
Kandaar could not blame him for the lack of effort. After all, how many times removed a cousin would one thousand seasons make a man to the descendants of Angaroth?
He was startled out of these gloomy ponderings by the captain’s voice.
“I have some very pleasant memories of the harvest festivals I attended back in my era,” Mithrandos was saying as they turned from the dirt trail onto the path that led them back towards the Temple of The Light. “Those are enough for me; therefore, guard duty will suit me just fine tomorrow.”
Desperate to salvage
what little he could from this disastrous situation, Kandaar
countered, “But it need not be this way. I mean, if you would
reconsider…it is not as if you were to find yourself surrounded by
complete strangers. My family usually has their blanket spread close
by the musicians’ stage and your presence among us would truly be
an honor…”
Mithrandos’ slowing pace halted his babbling, and
Kandaar cringed inwardly at the thoughtful look the handsome warrior
was now openly regarding him with. Had he done it again? Why could
he not keep his wayward tongue in check…
“Kandaar, do you truly wish me to come?”
He could not deny it, not when those green eyes bore into him in a way that set his heart aflutter. “Aye, I do.”
There was a short hesitation, but then the blond head inclined in a slow nod. “Then I will be there,” Mithrandos declared. “Although I know not when, or how long I will stay.”
He picked up his pace again and Kandaar fell into step with him, the relief painting a slow smile onto his face. ‘Even five minutes of your presence would make my evening perfect. How I wish I could tell you!’
For the dozenth time Kandaar turned to stare across the field towards the nearby Temple of The Light up on the sacred hill. The young woman beside him let out a long-suffering sigh and shook her head.
“Be calm, Brother. The festival has barely just begun and this night still holds many hours. But since you seem to need a distraction…” She plucked the toddler from where he was balanced on her hip and thrust him into Kandaar’s arms. “Here, play with Sidan. Your nephew would surely love your attention.”
The little boy promptly let out a happy gurgle and reached up with stubby little arms to pull on a strand of his uncle’s dark curls. Kandaar gave him a strained smile before he let his gaze wander over the throng of people all around them once more, scanning, searching…
As every year, the crowd was huge. The Harvest Festival was the biggest festivity of the year, and everyone from the village and the Temple was eager to attend. It was being held on the freshly ploughed wheat field, and over half of the area was taken up by the picnic blankets of numerous families. Half a dozen bonfires along the outskirts of the field held back the darkness and illuminated rows upon rows of tables laden with freshly baked breads, cakes, pies and dozens of other culinary delights. The air was redolent with a myriad of mouth-watering aromas, and everyone took liberal advantage of the multitude of free food.
Squarely in the middle of the festivities, a large wooden platform had been erected. It was currently occupied by a band of musicians gaily playing light-hearted tunes very fitting for the cheerful atmosphere enlivening the crowd. All around the stage, people were dancing or clapping along to the beat, and normally Kandaar would have been right among the dancers with a very willing sister in tow. So far, however, his usually gregarious mood had yet to overcome him, and said sister was quite aware of his uncommon state of mind.
A sharp elbow jabbed into his side. “Will you cheer up already?” Selini exclaimed. “He may just be held up by Guardian business. He is the senior officer at the Temple tonight, since Captain Eliathar is right here.” She made a sweeping gesture that ended in an outstretched finger pointing at the large blanket twenty paces to their right where the official Guardian-captain’s rather extensive family was assembled.
Like a benign monarch, Eliathar sat surrounded by his wife and eight children which ranged from toddling girl to full-grown man. With an old warrior’s sense of being watched, he suddenly turned his head, smiled and raised his tankard at Kandaar and Selini in greeting. Somewhat abashed at having been caught pointing, the siblings waved sheepishly and quickly turned to busy themselves with the fidgeting boy in Kandaar’s arms.
“Have some more patience, Big Brother,” Selini said after a while. “I am certain that, as soon as the captain’s tasks at the Temple are completed, he will be here.”
The worried expression on Kandaar’s face, however, would not budge. “But what if he is still angered at my witless remark?”
“Well, I do not see any welts on you, so he cannot be that angry since obviously he did not beat you for it with a stick,” Selini noted sardonically.
“Maybe he should have.” Kandaar winced as his nephew made another, this time successful swipe for his hair. Selini disentangled her son’s fingers from the chestnut curls and put a reassuring hand on her brother’s arm. “Kaa, you worry too much. From all the things you have told me about him since his awakening – and you speak of hardly anything else – he strikes me as a man of his word.”
Whatever reply Kandaar intended to utter died on his lips, for at that very moment a movement caught his eyes, a distinct flash of brightness as a light blond head distinguished itself from the rest of the crowd, gaining height and shape as it came closer.
There was no need for Kandaar to point him out to her; although he was clad in plain garments of a blue tunic and grey pants instead of his white uniform, Mithrandos looked exactly like he had the last and only time Selini had seen him.
Years ago, when Kandaar had been freshly inaugurated from novice to full-fledged Guardian, he had finally relented to his younger sister’s incessant nagging about her desire to lay eyes upon the legend housed in the topmost chamber of the Guardian tower. Kandaar never revealed how he had charmed or bribed the tower sentry to look the other way while he snuck Selini up the winding stairs to the sleeping figures inside the stone sarcophagus. It was a feat that would have had dire consequences for him should they have been discovered, for access to the spell-bound Dark Sorcerer and his Guardian was forbidden to the civilian populace.
Mesmerized, she had stared at the two contrasting representatives of Good and Evil, but when she cast her brother a look, Kandaar had had his eyes firmly fixed on the fair Guardian with an expression on his face that had told Selini more than she ever needed to ask.
Asleep, Mithrandos had been a memorable figure, but awake he was striking. Broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, his height made even more pronounced by his straight bearing, he wove his way through the crowd, stepping around numerous families’ picnic blankets and gracefully avoiding a few collisions with dancing and running children along the way.
Most of the villagers had never seen Mithrandos, for he had barely set foot off the temple grounds since his awakening, but none the less, the handsome blond stranger drew innumerable looks from women and men alike, ranging from amazement to bold ogling, and from reverence to open wonder.
Relief swept through Selini; although she would never admit it, she too had begun to have doubts about the captain’s appearance. But now he was here, had amended his reclusiveness to honor his promise to Kandaar, and in Selini’s eyes, that was a very promising start.
While they watched him approach, Kandaar smiled in welcome, but otherwise kept his face carefully neutral in a well-practiced effort to conceal his love and adoration. However, having been privy to her brother’s secret affections since the day of their clandestine visit to the tower, Kandaar’s masked emotions were clear as day to Selini, and she couldn’t help but wonder just how much of it the blond captain may also have noticed already.
Mithrandos smiled and bowed to the lovely young woman next to Kandaar. The family resemblance was more than obvious. From under a brightly colored kerchief, long straight hair of the exact same chestnut-brown shade as her brother’s fell down her back, and although she seemed a year or two younger, she was just as tall as Kandaar.
Selini. A name Mithrandos would have rather associated with a little girl than the grown woman and mother of a young son before him. But in her case, with her fair face and charming smile, the name fit just right.
Kandaar also extended the formal introductions to their parents, who were delighted at the renowned company sharing their blanket, and the conversations flowed easily between them all right from the start, with none of the awkwardness or dreaded reverence Mithrandos had expected to encounter.
When the music stopped a little while later, all eyes were drawn to the raised dais where the provost of the village was ascending the steps. He was a man of unremarkable features but possessed a booming voice, which he promptly employed to launch into the traditional praise to the spirits of The Light for bestowing this bountiful harvest upon the village. It was followed by a lengthy speech. When he was finished, all three of the temple’s High Wizards expanded upon the headman’s words with praises and addresses of their own.
When it was finally time for the musicians to pick up their instruments again, they were met with applause of obvious relief.
Soon the spaces all around the stage were once again filled with dancing and twirling people. Kandaar, ever the good son, led his mother out for a spin, and while Selini stood chatting with Mithrandos, her husband, a stout and capable Guardian named Degan, approached. With a cheeky smile and an exaggerated bow he asked his wife for the pleasure of a dance, an invitation Selini good-naturedly accepted with an overplayed curtsy, and before he knew it, a dumbfounded Mithrandos found himself with two hands full of squirming toddler while Degan was pulling his laughing wife towards the dance floor.
The boy was a wiggly little creature. Mithrandos grinned at him while he shifted him into the crook of his arm in order to get a better grip. In the process, some of his long hair fell over his shoulder, and Sidan let out a happy squeal as the blond strands came within reach.
“Ouch!”
She was pleased to notice that, despite the late hour, Mithrandos was still sitting with Kandaar at the opposite end of the woolen spread, chatting and nibbling on grapes from a bowl that her brother must have conjured up from somewhere. The captain had obviously rescinded his intention of keeping his appearance short, and Selini was more than happy to see him lingering, for it meant that he was enjoying himself.
Inconspicuously she watched while Mithrandos and Kandaar were speaking, their heads close together to be heard over the still abundant noise all around them. They truly made an extraordinary pair, no matter how dissimilar in appearance they were, and Selini smiled.
Off to one side of the musician’s stage, several acrobats were entertaining a large group of children, and Selini was a surreptitious witness as Mithrandos touched Kandaar’s arm to direct his attention towards the performers. They watched the amazing feats of bodily strength and balance for some time, and all the while, the hand that had held the sword used to recapture the vile Dark Sorcerer remained on Kandaar’s arm with a gentleness that gave Selini reason to hope that there was a real chance her brother’s affections would eventually be returned in kind.
As she looked on, Mithrandos laughed at something Kandaar was saying, and it was the look in his eyes that finally cast out any lingering doubt in Selini’s head about the captain’s feelings towards Kandaar. But even as her heart was filling with joy for her beloved brother’s sake, she wondered just how long it would take for these two soulmates to ultimately admit their feelings to each other.
Men were so much more thick-headed in matters of the heart, after all.
THE END
