Pagewalker (32 page)

Once the Beggar returned he told the story
teller how he had asked to buy the book of secrets from the elves
to read and learn many tales. The Prince elf said no money could
ever buy the words from this book.

The Story-teller had researched and told many
tales of the Dark elves before and was aware for Dark Elf customs.
They were a race of pride. Games and competition was vital in their
culture. No Dark Elf could refuse offers to these events. So the
Beggar and Storyteller challenged them.

“I wager that I can play a better song, on an
instrument of your choice, better than anyone here in Xill who
dares to challenge me? Declared the storyteller

“What is the wager?” said one of the
elves.

“I will trade you the knowledge of the
dwarves if I lose, if I win you must give me a book of tales from
the history of Dark elves,.” He replied.

“And one other small token” Interjected the
beggerman. Without looking to the storyteller.

The Elves agreed than informed the travellers
that the defender would be the chief musician in the court of Xill
and has played for Dertrid many times in the throne room of
Sáann.

The Beggar did not seem worried. “In that
case let us raise the wager.” The story teller was caught of guard
by his companions claim. His concern was raised, as he only knew a
few Elven songs. I challenge you to another wager. If you can carve
your name in this wall, using only your fingers, faster that I can
you will gain all the money I carry with me, which is vast.”

The Master of songs agreed to both wagers. On
the count they both proceeded to carve names in the wall using only
the hands. In a very short space of time the Elf has carved a
beautiful name in stone and the beggar had only managed a few
letters.

“I win” claimed the elf now give your money
and be gone with you!

Here you may have my money but we still have
a matter of songs to see to you agreed on your word that we would
engage after this wager. The Master of music agreed again and
accepted the bag of money from The Beggar. He winked at his
companion to start the second wager.

As the beggar only wrote a single letter his
hands were fine and clean however the elf had dirty damaged and
sore fingers. He had carved such a beautiful rendition of his long
elven name into the stone that he had damaged his nails and his
hands ached in pain. The Elven master played a soft melody
beautiful and calming. Slow and sensual although his fingers were
so sore from the previous wager that he missed many notes and
stopped before the end as the pain was too much. When he finished a
tear rolled of his chin and fell silently to the floor. The
Storyteller was impressed and bowed to the Elf. He was not going to
play a soft song. He knew one song that would blow the elves away
with amazement. In Aondor, every month they have a town Ceili. A
gathering where they play reels and jigs and the town dances. It
was told that there was magic in the tunes that could force any man
to dance. This was the case in Xill too. When the Storyteller had
finished the reel the entire court of Xill was dancing and cheered
with communal excitement once it had ended. The story teller surly
won this second wager.

After the dust had settled, the elves
reluctantly handed over the book and the traveller handed over the
money.

“Who said I could not buy the tales from this
book. Do not worry you are not a fool, I am only smarter.”
Exclaimed the beggar. The story teller noticed in that moment that
after this game of out-smarting Elves, the years seemed to fall
from the Beggar. He had a skip in his step, he moved faster and his
voice seemed younger. His eyes glistened the same as a child’s eyes
widened when they received a gift.

At that they left and returned to Aondor.
When they arrived back at the Story tellers house the Beggar
stopped at the end of the path.

“please hold onto these two items until I
return” was all the beggerman said. Then he simply whistled for his
dog, left the sac of items they had collected and began to walk
back into the bustling town. The storyteller had not noticed at
first as he was overcome with excitement as he embraced his wife
but he turned in time to call to the Beggar before he blended into
the crowd.

“Please, I do not even know your name, what
can I call you? How will I know it is you when you return?” he
shouted.

The beggerman did not turn but tilted his
head back slightly, “You will know me when I return with two very
important prophets, as for my name just call me friend. Then he was
gone. Much to the dismay of the Storyteller.

“It was you, wasn’t it!” Sarah shouted
forward, not moving from my lap. Her head not even tilting. She had
a talent for guessing the killer in the first few moments of a CSI,
Colombo or any detective show. The Danish and Swedish crime novels
she read were wearing thin on her as she was always guessing ahead.
Nothing was lost on this girl.

Oisin didn’t not answer. His back was turned
to us but I could see him smiling from the side of his face as he
looked to his left. I just knew then. It had to be him! Escaping
from a prison? Returning with two prophets? It just had to be.

“We are approaching Aondor now, I shall leave the
kart on the outskirts. I will need both of you to meet me in the
square by the first bells of the evening. I will send word to
Dertrid's Court in Sáann, calling for the storyteller to return. I
have to signal the keep then stay out of sight. I hope you
understand but I am still a very wanted man.” Oisin had wrapped
himself in many layers of robes, shawls and hooded capes as he
spoke. He looked like a hermit ready for the coldest winter.

“Aye, we get it.” I replied, “town centre,
evening bells, got it” Sarah, Tessa and I descended from the kart
and readied our things. On our trip Oisin had supplied us with
garments and clothes suitable for a wanderer of Northland. Nothing
fancy, nothing flash, just practical and passable for every day
clothes to aid us in blending in with the people of Small towns and
big cities alike. We gathered everything we needed. Some coins
Oisin had given us, some water in the canteen and a few bits and
bobs for trading and bartering. We made our way into the Town of
Aondor. It was once more like returning home, although, it was more
spectacular and much more welcoming that I ever imagined when
putting it on page many years ago.

The town of Aondor had grown considerably since I
first described it. It is understandable however. I created a town
rich in trade. A town growing and prospering, well situated and
protected by Sáann. To expect it to stay the same was ridiculous.
Of course it would grow! Any town with such potential would
flourish and expand as more and more people came to live there, to
set up home and business. In fact, to describe it as a town still
would be a bit of a stretch. It had suburbs, trade districts,
entertainment districts even a whole quarter described as a monk we
met as the Corner of Gods. There were no slums, no poverty or
beggars, no trouble. The people were all friendly, kind, helpful
and fair.

While making our way on the kart with Oisin
we had watched the surroundings change. Rural tiny pig farms with
low stone walls, fields of corn growing high behind log fences, the
sweet smell of spring onions growing a thick dense green. in miles
of farmland turned to smaller closer nit groupings of cottages with
communal gardens and community crops. The houses grew closer
together and the farmland faded away in favour of workshops and
stores until the kart stopped and we parted ways with Oisin.

We walked as a very leisurely pace From the
outskirts of the town. Hand in hand and with a leather leash around
Tessa to keep her close, we browsed stalls and wares sellers had on
tables and blankets on the ground.

One particular seller had the most exquisite
glass jewellery handing from branches beside a small stool and tree
stump on which he was creating more. Sarah fell in love with one
particular necklace that hung from a branch coated in silver.

“This is beautiful” She said as she lifted it
down from the branch and held it up to the light. There was purple
glass inset amongst an intricate design of curves and circles. It
looked like the intertwining of twigs but it felt heavy as though
made from iron.

“That's the Siegel of the forgotten jungle,
just past the dwarven hills, North east of here. It was smelted
from a young tree in the iron woods.” The shopkeeper said, as he
lifted it From Sarah's hand and slung it over her head around her
neck. It hung perfectly on her chest, framed by her bottom lip
bitingly good cleavage. “Looks well there my dear” He continued,
“Dont have many like that myself, hard to come by, Ironwood. Cant
be cut and needs a flame so hot it melts the bark from the tree. A
heat not made without magic.” Something in his voice sounded
rehearsed. I will say one thing for the people of Northland, they
are very like the people of Belfast, great storytellers and even
better sales people.

We haggled over price for a while. Sarah
turned an off colour of red, she always gets embarrassed when I
barter or haggle. I love it, she doesn’t.

In the end we got a fair price. An hour or so
passed as we browsed further and walked towards the old town.
Crossing over old stone bridges onto cobbled streets, through wide
open arches, through the trade districts and docks, looking at the
many different types and styles of fishing boats, and fish. Past a
cattle market bustling with eh sound of callers and bids. Up the
long main road past many inns and pubs serving food to men and
women smoking pile tobacco while relaxing on old hollowed out
whisky barrels with cushions sewn into the side of them.

Tessa walked beside us and watched the ducks
and birds swimming on the low river we walked parallel to. The road
seemed to climb up softly to a large square. In the square there
were even more traders and entertainers. Jugglers, comedians,
acrobats, fire breathers and musicians. We sat on the stairs of
what was once, and perhaps still is a stone theatre. Reminiscent of
a Greek amphitheatre, where scholars discussed theories of
democracy, religion and astronomy. A stall was selling pastry not
too different from baklava. Dripping in thick honey. Tessa lay at
our feet drinking from a bowel of water I poured for her. The sun
was high in the sky but not too warm. A cold breeze blew through
the streets, reminding us were on a northern coast of a much larger
continent. Taking in our surrounds we laughed at the clowns, tapped
our feet along with the musicians and gasped in amazement as
acrobats preformed stunts involving knives, ropes, heights and
fire.

I couldn’t help but notice a hustle and
bustle going on at the far side of the open theatre. I could see
from between the crowd several people holding what looked like
spears. There was a lot of shouting and yelling that seemed to get
louder and closer. People were pushing, shoving and arguing. From
amongst the sea of bodies I locked eyes with something that sent a
shock down my spine. My muscles contracted, my mouth went dry and
colour drained from my face. Two dark and deep inset eyes were
gazing and burning into mine. The eyes were not what shocked my
idyllic dream of a day into a cutting cold nightmare. It was the
pigs snout at the end of his face. I had seen this mask before. In
Renir.

“YOU” the voice bellowed. The massive man was
pushing people out of the way. I mean like, lifting people and
throwing them as he made his way towards me. Sarah jumped to her
feet and grasped my arm. She knew he was coming for me.

“Babe, who the hell is that?” She whispered
in my ear.

“Never mind, lets go, come on, quick.” She
was pulling at my arm but I didn’t move. I may have looked brave
and everything, standing up to a pig faced man twice as large as I
was but it was not bravery or pride holding me in place. It was
fear. Tessa began to growl. I gave the lead to Sarah.

“Babe, run, please listen to me, I will meet
you back here once I’ve lost him. But you need to go now!” I said
to her softly while I peeled her fingers from my arm. The look in
here eyes was that of 'we have only just found each other again,
like hell I'm leaving' But I wasn’t going to negotiate. I had
killed this man's partner, friend, brother lover? I didn’t know,
but it didn’t look like he cared. Eye for an eye, is what he
thought. And yes, pun intended, pun very much intended.

“YOU MUST PAY!” the voice bellowed again,
approaching even closer now. Reminds me a little of that massive
guy in that movie about those kids finding the pirate ship? You
know the one? Only this big giant isn’t friendly and I cant imagine
him eating candy bars instead of human flesh.