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." |
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. |
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