"Son, you are trembling! Are you cold? Here is my jacket and hat." He paused to remove his leather articles, "Wear them."
I embraced him. Trying to hug him tight enough that he could never leave.
"It's been so long since. I guess that makes me a terrible father," my dad began, a tear welling up in his eyes. "I hope you don't hate me for it. I hope that one day you understand."
Every word that I ever imagined he'd say. Each one I hoped to hear the next time we met was strung together in a deliberate fashion. I thought I'd be mad, but I'm just overwhelmingly happy to finally see him again, to feel his embrace, for him to be here with me.
"I hope your mother wasn't too harsh on you while I was gone. I know how she can get. You look cold, here, have my coat."
"Father, I wanted to write to you, but you never stayed still. I couldn't ever send you a letter back."
Tears welled up in my eyes as I took in his presence—his eyes, his nose, his arms—the best present, the only one I ever wanted.
"Did you keep all those things I sent you?"
"Yes, Dad, how could I not?" I began to cry, my emotions finally taking control, shutting out my logic. I broke down in front of the man who was supposed to have raised me.
Just as gravity won the war against my eyelids and my first tear began to trail down my face, carving the path for the rest to follow, I began to fall through the ground into a dark void. Cold. So cold.
The only thing I could see were thorny branches broken off and strewn on the ground beside me. My mother approached, collected the branches, and intertwined them into a long staff, poking at me from a distance causing small lacerations. The only warmth found here was the trickling of my blood down my body from the fresh wounds.
I silently accepted. Any expression of discomfort, any movement away, would worsen what was to come. I shut my eyes as the staff closed down on my head. The strike I was awaiting never came, and when I reopened my eyes, I found my uncle with an armful of new books, fresh knowledge, and a warm smile.
As I reached out for Ulysses, a horrified expression overtook his face. He dropped all that he was carrying and, with one raised finger, pointed somewhere behind me and began to run. But before I could turn around to make out what was there, I opened my eyes to the visage of my uncle, snoozing off on the wooden bench across from me.
I turned my head and found a slight stiffness in my neck as I gazed out the window at the passing meadows. The sun now beaming down directly overhead. The carriage jerked to an abrupt halt.
"That's never a good sign," my uncle commented.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"Company of some sort, hopefully friendly."
Three knocks rang out on the front wall of the carriage.
"Not friendly," Uncle griped.
"What is not friendly?" I asked.
"Either bandits or wardens."
"I thought the wardens protected the regions."
Two more knocks echoed.
"Wardens. Just sit silently and observe, Micah, nothing will happen."
I could hear deep voices speaking somewhere further down. Presumably, these were the wardens Uncle didn't like. Then the sound of the driver dismounting from the front quickly followed by the opening of our door. What awaited on the other side was the driver deeply bowing before the men and three well-equipped wardens.
"Gentlemen, good day, isn't it?" uncle asked. "I wasn't aware of any patrols along this pathway."
With a half-drunken accent, and the sting of alcohol flowing from their mouths to my nose, one guard spoke. "Well, they've reworked the patrols following recent reports of increased bandit activity. I'm afraid we're all overworked—" his hiccup interrupted his sentence, "—could you add to our defense fund? Without it, we wouldn't be able to make sure such esteemed men as yourselves can travel safely," another hiccup interrupted in the middle of a word.
"I suppose I may. Hate to have bandits overrun everywhere," my uncle replied as he tossed a small pouch that landed in one of the guard's hands with a jingle. The guard hefted the bag in the air a couple of times before a contented smile plastered onto his plastered face.
"Appreciated. Your donation to the cause," the guard hiccupped.
The guards began to saunter off back towards the warden post, a half a day's carriage ride away. The driver righted his posture and closed the door gently, then returned to his station, signaled by several footsteps ringing out on the hardwood. I turned to Uncle with a mixture of emotions present on my face.
"How much money did you give those kingdom-sanctioned bandits?" I asked, slightly angry.
"Not much, just five gold, but all in tanner. More coins that way; those drunk fools only care about how heavy the pouch feels, not about how much it actually is. This era of peace has made our guards complacent," Uncle ranted. "Just a few more hours and we'll be at the Haven inside the Verdant Valleys."
The passing flowers began to fade into a wave of white, red, lavender, and other shades of summer. The occasional bird or small rodent adorned the pathway's edge. Fresh pine assaulted my nose through the cracks in the carriage, and the bumpy ride continued to justify my use of the tonic. After almost dozing off once more to the melodic sound of hooves on compacted dirt, my uncle nudged my shoulder with his hand.
"You brought it with you, right?" Uncle asked.
I touched the side of my chest to feel in my coat, a slight crinkling sound coming from underneath my clothes.
"Right here, next to my heart," I responded.
"Good, not much longer," Uncle added.
Uncle uncurled the interior of his coat, revealing a black void into which he reached his hand and pulled out a rather large book, as well as an inkwell and quill. It was his ledger, in which he tracks all business. I was mesmerized by the dancing of his pen upon the surface of the pages. After losing track of time, I noticed that the light outside the carriage began to dull, and now the sound was of hooves on stone.
My timing was impeccable. A brief moment later, the door swung open, and Pascal stood there bowing. What awaited on the other side was a tapestry painted by stone structures, wattle and daub buildings, log houses, exiting the carriage looking down the roads flanked by the same types of construction carrying off into the distance until it gradually shifts into straw huts fields as well as a flanks affording cording off the street a dozen paces away on either side.
A man exited from the building across from us, adorned in quite luxurious dress, and extends an open arm to my uncle, who approaches it reciprocally and latches his arm onto the other's in a firm shake, as if trying to dislodge any hidden weapons in sleeves or ascertain any weakness in the other. Thousand-league-wide smiles grew on the faces of old men, the kind usually reserved for the evening hours with their lovers.
"Sebastian, it's been too long! I've brought my nephew this time. Micah, introduce yourself," my uncle implored.
"Sir Sebastian, my name is Micah Morley, an aspiring scholar, son of Brigham Morley, and nephew of Ulysses Morley, grandson to Alacaster Morley," I proclaimed with a deep bow.
After a slight chuckle from Sebastian: "Well Micah Morley, aspiring scholar, son of Brigham, and nephew of Ulysses, grandson of Alacaster. I am Lord Sebastian Beswick, Grand Warden of Lingwood County, Baron of the Valley, son to Alexander Beswick, may he rest," Sebastian replied with a slight bow.
When he bowed, his robes curled so slightly, producing the outline of a hidden sword on either side of his waist. Astonished by meeting someone so grand, yet a bubble of courage crept up my throat.
"Lord Beswick, if I may?"
"Please, Micah, call me Sebastian. I couldn't have the nephew of Ulysses bothering with pleasantries."
"Yes, Sir Sebastian, if I may, I have a question," I stated.
"No, Micah, don't," my uncle interjected into our conversation.
"Let the boy speak, Ulysses. Really, do people even have the courage to stand in front of me?" Sebastian countered.
"Lord Sebastian, I have a question about the wardens stationed in the village to the south."
"Speak, Micah."
"Along the way, three drunk wardens required a donation of tribute from Uncle in order to pass along the roads."
"Jest not, do you?" Sebastian turned down facing my uncle. "Is this true, Ulysses? Why have you never spoken of it?"
"Sebastian, sometimes men just need some pocket money, and I have no problem indulging them," Uncle replied with calculation in his voice.
"Ulysses, damn the money! The men were drunk on their patrol!" Sebastian roared.
With just a finger gesturing to one of the wardens a ways away, a man more than three times my size rushed over and kneeled in front of Sebastian.
"Yes, my Lord," he humbly greeted.
"Send an audit to the station south."
"Yes, my Lord," he humbly responded.
In one smooth motion, he turned around, rose, and stepped away, parting the wall of burly men in arms and disappearing into the crowd behind.
"This deserves reciprocity, young lad," Sebastian turned to me and spoke. "Is there anything you wish for that I might get you? In addition, I'll make sure you and your uncle have the finest stay," with another gesture, this time with three fingers, three more men split from the wall of beef.
"Would you please follow Ulysses and Micah and make sure they're safe at all times?" Sebastian ordered.
With a kneel, the three men accepted their orders. "Yes, my lord."
"Well, Micah, what say you?" Sebastian asked.
"I couldn't possibly trouble anything from Uncle's good friend," I insisted.
"I insist it's not trouble at all," Sebastian replied.
"Would it be too much to ask for a book, maybe two?" I asked.
"Be more ambitious. I can't have men spreading rumors that I don't repay favors generously," Sebastian demanded.
"I do have one dream more ambitious than a few books," I stated.
"What is it, dear boy?" Sebastian asked and kneeled in front of me to match my height.
Now I, too, was eye to eye with one of the most powerful men in this region of the world. I found myself gulping down my hesitation as I mulled over whether or not to ask to get into the academy.
"If it's too much, I understand, but Lord Sebastian, could you get me into the academy?"
"Don't bother with the Academy. I could train you myself," he added.
"But, my Lord, he's pudgy," one of our new guards interjected.
With a quick jerk of his head and a stare exuding authority, Sebastian countered, "Silence. A man's current status is no indication of his future," and then turned to me once more.
"What say you, young apprentice?" Sebastian asked.
My courage completely used up in initiating this conversation, my emotions left me with no choice but to decline. Seconds slipped away as my gaze lingered on Sebastian's jaw before trailing off to my uncle's face, where I found a surprised expression.
Remembering Uncle's advice that athletics must come before arcana, I found myself teetering on the edge of accepting. A mental war between my inhibitions and my ambition ensued. However, I found not the strength to decline an offer from someone of such status.
"It would be my honor, my master," I kneeled.
Sebastian drew his sword and, in three swift motions, it was brandished from over my shoulder, above my head, and to my left. Astonished gasps escaped from the mouths of the well-trained guards.
"Rise, Micah Morley, aspiring scholar, Squire to the Grand Warden of Lingwood County, son of Brigham Morley, and nephew of Ulysses, grandson of Alacaster," Sebastian declared in one breath.
Mentally, I thanked Sebastian for allowing me to keep "aspiring scholar" as my first title. Then, from underneath his coat, Sebastian tossed a signet ring and a medallion with matching symbols. The symbol of the Grand Warden: twin falcons, one facing left and the other right, perched on the crossguard of a sword hilt.
"Wear them," he ordered simply—a simple order to follow from my new master.