by Grady S. Hanrahan
Rain turned to drizzle, and then to nothing. The few remaining
drops fell from colored leaves as autumn winds moved through the forest.
Winter would soon bring snow, blanketing all but the tallest trees. Janik
could feel the chilly air catapulting him back to the snowy bosom of a
forgotten land. He has walked for years, driven by a question that remains
to be answered.
He approached a bit of trail
that merged into two. He stood in frozen stupor, brows creased, trying
to decide what direction to take. The junction looked familiar, as if he
had been there before. A solitary post inscribed with ancient text stood
at the base of the merging trails. Janik, of course, could not read this
scribble of yore. He was an unschooled traveler, Melorian in origin. Exhausted,
he stretched himself out, becoming one with the landscape.
"Turn right," uttered a
voice from the thick underbrush of the forest.
Janik sprang to his feet,
cognizant and terribly alarmed. A moment of silence followed and from the
other side of the trail came another voice, no louder than the squeak of
a mouse. "Go right he said."
"Come where I can see you,"
declared Janik clutching his sharpened blade. His chubby fingertips ran
excitedly down the diamond-studded handle. It was as virgin as he was,
never before experiencing the sight of blood.
The two figures darted from
the forest, arms above their heads, waiving frantically. "We come in peace,"
they uttered in unison. They stood five hands high, each carrying tools
of their trade.
"My name is Doren," said
the bearded one. "I am a map-maker in search of the perfect route."
"And I'm Calek," voiced
the other. "I build bridges across lands of separation." He was a bit heavier
with dark skin and wavy hair.
Definitely not of Melorian
blood, thought Janik. He quickly released his blade trying not to frighten
the little ones. He crouched to their level, hid his confusion and began
to speak: "My name is…"
"Janik," said Calek assuredly.
"A man in search of an answer."
"But…" Janik looked at the
two and raised his voice. "How is it that you know me?"
"We have known you since
the beginning," said Doren. "We were chosen by your father, the King, to
guide you home."
Janik stood listening to
the words of Doren, wondering, as he listened, how long the journey was
likely to continue before he returned home with an answer. He had failed
ten years earlier at the traditional Melorian roles of warrior and skilled
craftsman.
Though he feels regret,
he would be content on walking alone forever with only the voice of his
father echoing through his mind. "You have failed me miserably my son.
Now go scour this wretched earth in search of yourself."
The sound of shuffling feet
reverberated behind him. The two miniature versions of men began gathering
their belongings for the journey home.
"Are you coming?" asked
Calek apprehensively.
"Why should I return to
a land where I'm not wanted?"
"But the King has ordered…"
"The King is a fool!" shouted
Janik. "Am I supposed to plunge my hands into the depths of his every want
and desire?"
He again pulled the blade
from his hip, but this time raised it with both hands far above his head.
Lumps of palpitating fear swept through the stomachs of Doren and Calek.
Their eyes darting back and forth, concentrating on Janik's every move.
"Janik…please," cried Doren.
"You have lived too long in this land of uncertainty. There is a whole
kingdom for you when you return in which jewels sparkle and citizens await
you. You see Janik…your father is dead."
Janik felt remorse, not
by the death but his own words, and he wept with anger…I shall never speak
to you again, he told his father the day he left. Rage stirred, screaming
from the depths of his lost soul. An abrupt release of the blade followed,
narrowly missing the foot of Calek.
"Janik…I'm terribly sorry,"
replied Doren. "Look, your father died peacefully, knowing quite well we
would find you and bring you home. "We promised him…"
"Leave me at once," Janik
demanded.
"But…you know not the way.
You will be stranded, as before, alone in the wilderness."
"I must continue on my own,
searching for the answer. Now go and leave me be."
Reluctantly, they did. Loyalty
to a dead King is unheard of. Janik followed them with watching eyes as
they turned right at the junction.
*
Four months passed and again the warm air returned to the forest. Bare branches turned a pale green and spring flowers popped their weary heads through the ground. Beyond the trees the trail seemed to disappear into the hillside, there were no signs of it in the green coloration ahead. But when Janik got there he found a lake, its cool, clear water waiting for him. At last, unable to restrain his curiosity, he stepped to the rocky shore. He brushed back the tangle of fine hair that hung on his forehead and looked. The mirrored image of his father appeared before him, unexpectedly, like the voices of Doren and Calek from the forest. He released a smile as the question had finally been answered. He was now a man, a Melorian. He gathered his belongings and spoke aloud; "I'm coming father, coming home!"
The End
Copyright 1998 Grady
S. Hanrahan
