[ ביית אותי ]   [ עדיפה ]   [ עזרה ]  [ FAQ ]  [ אודות ]   [ הטבלה ]   [ דואל ]
  [ חדשות ]   [ אישיים ]
[
קול-נוע
]
 [
סאונד
]
 [
ויז'ואל
]
 [
מלל
]
 
New Stage
חיפוש בבמה

שם משתמש או מספר
סיסמתך
[ אני רוצה משתמש! ]
[ איבדתי סיסמה ): ]


מדורי במה







גיא ניר
/ 1. These Endless Fields

Tom hated the fall season. He hated the unconquerable amount
of work it took to reap the harvest, almost as much as he
hated sowing those endless fields in the chill of winter.
Most of all he detested the winter. He could not understand
his brother's contentment at the slowly growing crops. Every
day the fields grew, and then turned brown and gold, and his
brothers would be thrilled by it. For him it meant only that
soon autumn would be here again... and then winter.
Throughout the warmer seasons he would try and make as many
chores in town as possible, avoiding the crops and the farm
animals, and when these chores were done he would simply
wander through the fields, looking.
"Do you ever think about getting out of here?" He asked
Sally McMason, who was the only sister of the neighboring
farm he could stand to talk to. She had hair the color of
hay, and she was the only girl in her family capable of
prolonged silences. Sitting on a mound in the corner between
their fields, leaning back on a tree and staring at the
endless golden plains, he could even admit to himself that
he liked her. She did not answer his question.
"I mean, there are cities out there, where things happen all
the time... there are oceans, and mountains, and people all
over this earth I will never see - if I stay here."
She didn't even look at him. The breeze blew like a spirit
through oceans of brown, inevitably reaching them, rustling
the leaves, flirting her hair and sending shivers down her
back. He tried to beat her silence and failed once more.
"I'm going to buy a lute."
She looked back at him, a quizzical, sidelong look.
"The old man near the town as tavern said he will sell me
his old lute. I have the money... I have been running
errands for people in town when I go for my father."
"And this is what you are going to buy with that money?"
"Well..." he was glad he finally moved her enough to reply.
"...at first I wanted to buy a sword."

When Tom was sixteen, his oldest brother came home after two
years as soldier in the Magistrate King's army.
Dylan did not tell his family of those first months he spent
in training... crawling through the mud, shoveling dirt,
training in arms until he bled. Only now, a year after he
has finished his training, and yet another year gone by in
fortresses and endless marches, he had had his glorious
victory in the field of battle. A victory from which a dozen
of his close friends never returned . As a survivor, and so
also a victor, he had been given leave to return home. He
brought back two sacks of silver, and later explained to his
brothers that it was only part of the war bounty, that much
of the gold he took from the Kalai had been spent in buying
better armor, and a horse, and that much was spent in the
city.
"You cannot imagine what wealth, my brothers, lies in the
cities. Such splendor! Knights of the King in steel and
silver, shrines to the gods the size of a dozen houses put
together. The gardens of the kings - wide as pastures, the
roof tops of the city, stretching out in every direction
like the field.
"And the women! The ladies of society who dress in silk
garments of blue and red and green - and they smell of roses
and jasmine. I tell you brothers, in every corner of the
city excitement, danger or a beautiful girl awaits...  if
only you are man enough to keep your head, and your money!"
Dylan would tell them this when their father was not in the
house, or late at night when he slept, for he was proud of
his son4s success but hoped he needed not give up more of
the working hands that were only now growing strong enough
to be of use in the farm.
Dylan had a short sword, whose leaf shaped blade he would
sharpen constantly, and a long heavy iron shield that he
could swing around in parry or in attack. He was proficient
with a spear and a mace, and took pride in the fact that the
King's armed legion was the only army that kept professional
soldiers, as himself, and not conscripts taken from farms
and villages to serve when the times required.
He was given leave because of the glorious victory his
battalion gained in conquering a village of primitive Kalai,
that stood and fought only when chased by the kings
professional army and backed up against the river Nubolus.
Dylan's battalion suffered many losses, but the gold taken
by the surviving infantrymen was enough for the captains and
warlords in charge. Dylan was promoted to sergeant for his
courage, and for surviving more than many sergeants on the
field of battle that day, and he was sent home for a month
while more soldiers were trained and sent to replace the
fallen.

For six months Tomas would secretly train with wooden
swords, waiting impatiently to be old enough to join the
army. He told this to the old man that sat in front of the
tavern.
"A soldier, yes...?" the old man coughed and played the same
sad tune he always played. "A man of arms always walks the
thin edge of a sword. That is his life. You know..." he
began a different tune, which meant he was about to begin
telling a story, and Tom leaned back on the stairs of the
tavern, after having brought the innkeeper his buckets of
water, and he stared at the road going out of town into the
dusty plains.
"I was sitting right here and minding my own business when I
saw two proud looking fellas, probably land owners, or sons
of for they were rather young, just on that road over
there." and he gestured with his wrinkled chin at the dusty,
winding road. "One of them, with a feather in his hat and a
nice looking cloak, was coming in with his great war horse
into town. The second man, I believe he was a gambling man,
if I do recall the truth, that would come into town every
few days to lose his father4s money playing cards. He was
leading his horse out of town, on that very road you and I
are staring at right now." and he played some more notes,
until Tom could almost see the man with the feather in his
hat coming riding through the dust devils of the afternoon
breeze, and dismount at the gates of town.
"Now the men were going in opposite directions, but only one
can pass at a time. The gambling man was tired and only
wanted to go home with the day's winnings. He said something
to the man with the feather in his hat, and it seemed to me
he was mighty displeased. He gestured once to the side of
the road, indicating perhaps that the gambling man should
clear the way for him to pass. The gambling man stood his
grounds and smiled. I do not remember exactly, I believe he
uttered some insult. The man with the feather in his hat
tossed aside his exquisite blue cloak to reveal his sword.
The gambling man did not waste a moment and before I could
know what is occurring the two had drawn steel and were
actually fighting in the entrance to this town."
"Why didn't one of them give way?" asked Tom, when the old
man finished playing a rhythmic tune, at the pace of sword
play.
"Because men of honor, and they run this world I'm afraid,
will fight about anything, so long as there is someone to
have a fight against. You see, these men live and die by the
sword. Sure enough, the gambling man was dead a after a
short exchange of blows, and the man with the feather and
the blue cloak removed his rival's money belt, and, still
breathing hard from the fray came in to tie his horse.
"That man was a brute, said I when he approached the tavern,
to attack you this way, without provocation. I'm glad you
got rid of him for all our sakes!
"So the man with the feather in his hat smiled, pleased to
have a friendly witness to resolve the situation so easily,
even tossed me a few coins from the dead gambler's wallet,
saying that it was a good thing I saw how it all happened in
case anyone asks any questions.
"But no one asked any questions, you see. People like that
die by the sword every day, and no one cares about that, not
one bit. No matter how good you are, a swordsman better than
you will find you someday, and that is as far as your blade
will take you."
Tomas sat there and listened to him play for a while. When
he was convinced the boy was truly considering his words he
stopped playing and almost whispered.
"And there you are thinking about it. You could not make
someone change his mind using a sword, not even if you beat
him on the head with the flat side of the blade. No, a sword
would do poorly for that. Your real power is here" he tapped
him once on the forehead when he turned to see where the man
was pointing. "This will take you far."







loading...
חוות דעת על היצירה באופן פומבי ויתכן שגם ישירות ליוצר

לשלוח את היצירה למישהו להדפיס את היצירה
היצירה לעיל הנה בדיונית וכל קשר בינה ובין
המציאות הנו מקרי בהחלט. אין צוות האתר ו/או
הנהלת האתר אחראים לנזק, אבדן, אי נוחות, עגמת
נפש וכיו''ב תוצאות, ישירות או עקיפות, שייגרמו
לך או לכל צד שלישי בשל מסרים שיפורסמו
ביצירות, שהנם באחריות היוצר בלבד.
"פאקאס" היא
אמרה לי.
היא התכוונה
לפוקוס, אני
הבנתי את זה לא
נכון ונוצר שם
בילבול.


איש מבולבל
מבלבל עצמו עם
גיבור סרטים.


תרומה לבמה




בבמה מאז 7/6/08 20:05
האתר מכיל תכנים שיתכנו כבלתי הולמים או בלתי חינוכיים לאנשים מסויימים.
אין הנהלת האתר אחראית לכל נזק העלול להגרם כתוצאה מחשיפה לתכנים אלו.
אחריות זו מוטלת על יוצרי התכנים. הגיל המומלץ לגלישה באתר הינו מעל ל-18.
© כל הזכויות לתוכן עמוד זה שמורות ל
גיא ניר

© 1998-2020 זכויות שמורות לבמה חדשה