1
It was a Sunday afternoon, in the middle of autumn dark and dreary, the church bells rang once, twice, thrice. I was inside my house at the time, pa had just gotten home, ma was getting ready for dinner, my brother, and my sister were playing in the back, while I was in my room reading books. Fantasy, mystery, hell, even romance when nothing else interested me. However, on my birthday the year before my father had given me a book, entitled “Song of the Boatmen,” it detailed the adventure of an individual and his compatriots, through thick and thin. I read it within the week, and kept on reading it, however one thing that bothered me was the end. How come a band of such heroic men could fall to those deep depths? I would ask my father if the story was true, he would always reply with, “Let's hope not.” Unfortunately, we didn’t hope enough.
When I wasn’t engrossed in books, I was out playing hide-and-seek with the neighbor kids and my brother. My brother was the best in town. Even the adults, when they would join, wouldn’t be able to find him. There were hundreds of little coves out in our small fishing town. I knew he was out in one of them, but I was never able to before our parents called us in for dinner.
My sister was fascinated with magic, not to make illusions appear or make and shoot fireballs kind, but the sleight of hand kind. She would whenever she had the chance take one of my precious books, then whenever I would tell my mother she would somehow turn it back on me.
When the boatmen came, I was rattled. I read the story, I heard the tales of the tragedies that they would inflict, yet I never thought it would happen to me.
A knock on the door that's all it took, my brother on behalf of my mother told me his hiding place, I would have never guessed it be in our own backyard, in the tree. I held myself up there for hours, sometimes wondering if my family was okay, and sometimes wondering if this had been how my brother had felt, sitting in a tree for hours on end, waiting for our parents to call.
When I had finally gotten too hungry, I hopped down off the tree, stumbling into the kitchen where I saw the, no, no, I can’t describe that, it brings back too many memories. When I had eaten my fill I had walked into my parents' room looking for my father's bag, I knew it would hold some change, I had to get out and fast, I practically ransacked the house, I knew what the boatmen did to any survivors, I did not want that to happen to me. Once I got everything I thought I needed I thought of one last thing, I went into my sister's room and grabbed her little “wand”, it was beautifully carved by our grandpa, depicting a proud eagle, attacking the powerful bear, it was the last thing he had done before he passed away years earlier. In the backyard again, I propped the “wand” up and let it fall. It pointed east, away from the water, I set out and never looked back.
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And so I travelled, five long treacherous years, before I came across a city of any kind. Thirty kilometres westward from the village I had been staying in, was the biggest thing I had ever seen. About five km out atop a hill I saw it, I was blown away, the beautiful ornate walls, the shining palace, the immaculate road, which was to the left by a bit, but one thing that I noticed about the road, other than its cleanliness, was the long, long line of carriages.
Walking down the hill taking in the view, I came across a man, dressed in a very strange at the time outfit, who had some smart looking glasses on, I took note of that at first, because, last time I had seen glasses, it was on the mayors face, and as my father would keep on pointing out, almost bankrupted the man, who I asked, why are there so many carriages, and if I have to wait until all of them are through.
“Oh, yes, well. The king decided it would be a great idea, introduce a new tax, in wartime of all times, on, and get this, entry into the city, and now you have to pay a full quarter of your monthly income, so that’s why there is a big line up,” the man then put his hand to his forehead before continuing, “and, for Jason’s sake, i’d personally only have a sovereign left, that's a day is the cheapest inn here.” He paused for a second to answer the rest of my question,
“Oh sorry bud, I got too carried away, uhhh, you shouldn’t have to wait, and if you do, you can always go to the south gate, we’re at the east gate right now,” I said thank you, and went to walk away before he stopped me.
“You look foreign, so all I am saying is, if you want to enter you’d have to tell them your hometown and first and last name,” Once he was done talking he had told me his name, it was, Henry Duncou, strange name to say the least, and I didn’t tell him mine.