Adventuresome

Chapter 2

"High in the western mountains lives the Queen of all lakes, her waters wide and fresh. Even the eagle soaring high above could not see from end to end."

-Adolus Fisher

Geographical Compendium of the Empire

The gentle lap of waves rhythmically washed over the hard rocky beach, as the grey light heralded the dawn's coming arrival. In the icy waters Whetam swam, each breath drew a stinging cold into his chest. His broad shoulders cut a wide wake, as his long powerful arms numbly pressed on. He craved this moment, when he could feel the power of the lake and his smallness against it. His mind quieted, all the tumbling thoughts that had plagued him were subdued by the intensity of the cold. Everything was sharp and the thoughts that were clutter fell aside. Today the council of Elders would vote.

All night long Whetam had laid awake, eyes closed but mind racing. He could not reconcile that his mind cautioned prudence and yet his heart yearned for war; the injustices of the Empire flooded his veins with anger. The potbellied guards at the outpost, only granting trading permits to those that gave the most lavish bribes, the taxes raised again and again to pay for the Empires constant struggle with Barbarians a thousand leagues to the East. But most of all, there was young April, the gentlest of souls, her mind afflicted with a malady of simplicity. She was chasing lightning bugs through the street, glass jar in hand, when two guards stumbled out drunk from the inn. As they mounted their horses she darted in front after a flashing bug, tripped and fell, her glass tumbled out of her hand and shattered. The old horse the first guard road spooked and reared up, throwing him easily in his drunken state. They beat her. They beat her until her face was so swollen she could hardly breathe, he ribs shattered and body covered with purple bruises.

By the next morning a crowd had gathered in front of the Perfects house, he was the highest representative of the Empire in the area. He ordered the Army Commander of the outpost to punish the men responsible. A runner was sent to the outpost and the crowd followed behind. The commander did punish the men, in his fairest judgment he confined the men to their barracks for one week, and barred them from alcohol for the same period. He was careful to announce his verdict from the top of the outpost wall.

The crowd was outraged. Their shouts soon were joined by rocks thrown at the gates. The commander answered when the full company of guards in battle gear rushed out and formed a powerful line of spears, and archers stood beside him.

"Disperse this Instant" He roared from the wall top.

Rocks clattered off shields as the crowd grew wilder.

The guards responded with a war shout of their own, stamping their feet, clanging their spears and shields.

"Archers to the ready" the commanders' voice carried across the morning.

The crowd was in a frenzy, some started to flee, others darted forward to hurl their stones. Shouts of anger mixed with shrieks of terror.

"Fire"

Whetam felt a shiver run through his body. The sharp lake air burned his lungs. In his mind he could see nothing except for the red mist that had blurred his vision that morning, but the lake slowly pulled the heat out of anger knotted in his stomach. He was the chieftain; his voice must speak for all of the Emerald Mountain Village.

Finished with his swim he headed up the beach towards the village. Walking deliberately now, his mind at peace with the decision he had made. Out on the jetty was his cousin, readying his uncles fishing boat. Looking up from a splayed rope he was mending called out "Whetam"

The moment of conviction Whetam had from the searing clarity of the water vanished.

Whetam gave a curt wave and a nod, but did not stop.

He is eager to fight thought Whetam

But my duty is to all he reminded himself

He turned up the sloping path into the village proper, sun now peaking above the black hills to the East. The earthy char of wood smoke had begun to fill the morning air, as the village started to stir.

Hopefully this is the last of the nights that frost

It was nearly summer, and this year the cold spring nights in the mountains seemed to have lingered longer than they were welcome.

He returned to his simple cottage to prepare for the journey to the council. As he entered his mother greeted him with a warm smile, and the kitchen was bursting with the smells of a full breakfast. The soft sizzle of bacon cooking slowing under a bubbling pool of fat, deep earthy herbs of rosemary and thyme on the potatoes, and fresh quail eggs still runny on the inside. The kitchen was immaculate, even in the midst of cooking.

"You are going to need a good breakfast for today"

"Are you packed?"

"Did you remember the linen your grandmother wanted to borrow? She's making the dress for your cousin Rosie's wedding"

She peppered him with questions.

She was nervous

"Yes, I'm all packed. Breakfast looks delicious."

As they ate his mother talked without pause for even a breath, of the upcoming wedding, of the problems with the lichens on the roof (they were much worse this year), and of anything and everything except for the council meeting that afternoon. Whetam nodded his head in interest, gave the proper "mmhmm's" and even the occasional "oh that's surprising" even though he had heard all of the village updates before. He was still organizing his thoughts for his speech.

Whetem's mind was running again, his body was going through the motions but he was hardly present in them.

Washed the dishes.

People must be allowed to live a decent life

Climbed the ladder to the loft.

Was the burden of the taxes as bad as it could be? Yes, they had raised the fish tax, taking a larger percentage of the catch, but if war came then all the resources of the people would be needed.

Thin cotton shirt, long sleeve deer hide shirt.

They were bad enough that I moved my mother in, so the collectors would not bother her.

Thick leather Jerkin. It had a crab shell woven into each shoulder, the leather was bleached pale from the sun, and the shells a gleaming polished blue.

That was also because Dad had just died, I couldn't leave her all alone in that cabin further up the mountain.

He laced up his boots, well worn the supple leather formed a comforting glove around his feet.

A man can endure anything so long as his feet don't hurt

Finally, his tools for war. The helmet with heavy scale plating that radiated. When the steel had been melted down emeralds from the mountain had been ground up and added giving it a shimmering green that equaled the lake on its finest days. Even from a distance the shape was unmistakable, a great hawk. The nose guard curved down and gilded gold as the fearsome beak, the armor scales shaped like hundreds of feathers, the wings wrapped in an embrace of the face, and tail feathers sweeping down to protect the back of the neck. Then flamboyantly from the top, three enormous feathers, golden and green. Then was his trident, much less ornate, it had a long and sturdy hickory shaft. The center blade extended in line with the shaft and reached further than the other two which were set at an angle. Looked at from the points it formed a flattened triangle. It had one small emerald at the base of the blades, just above the hickory.

He put the helmet on. Trident in hand he kissed his mother goodbye and stepped out the door.

If it is war, they will know only fear when they see me.