Esra (3 page)

Although she was entirely unobservant of her surroundings, it did not give her the air of being foolish.  She simply preferred the unlimited imaginings of her own mind to the boring restrictions of reality.  She liked to think that this gave her great creativity and tolerance to change, which had helped her adapt to a life in Sorley without her parents.

            Her grandparents had sent her to study with Cane as soon as she could walk.  While the other children in town worked the fields beside their families, Esra was learning about mathematics and geography of the Old Kingdom.  The townspeople, however, remained oblivious to the true purpose of her visits with Cane and believed, upon the adamant insistence of her grandparents, that she went there each day to cook and clean for the old man.  When Esra was younger she questioned the motives behind such secrecy, but her Grandmother told her “to appear humble in this town, ye must ne’er force others to face intellectual ignorance by strutting about yer accomplishments”.

            Although unsure of what this meant or why it was so important, she trusted her grandmother to understand the workings of the village where she had been all her long life.  Most people had a notion that Esra being hired to cook anything, especially when that task involved Fire, was absurd for such a clumsy girl.  But if they did entertain such thoughts, no one would dare say these things aloud.  Her grandparents were well respected people, known for their generosity and kindness.  They had managed to help many townsfolk while simultaneously earning the trust of those they helped by keeping such business between themselves.

            And even though their household portrayed the epitome of order, they were also a very jovial bunch.  There were nights when they would all sit around the Fire and in a special streak of silliness, her grandfather would stand before them and pretend to be a Bard.  He would devise songs like “I’m richer when I’m drunk because everything seems to double”.  Esra and her grandmother would be bent over in their chair in a fit of laughter as he tried to maintain a stance of mock seriousness, which eventually would twitch determinedly at the corners of his mouth until he joined them.

            They were also some of the wealthiest villagers, but not so much that it separated them unduly from the rest of the town.  Esra often wondered where they had gotten such money, and when she asked her grandmother, she spoke of names and places unheard of, and an inheritance that came from distant relatives.  It allowed them to live in comfort, and keep a yard full of fat Animals, although they still preferred to grow many of their own Vegetables and Herbs.

            When children asked their mothers why Esra, already a strange creature to be twenty and unwed, could do things such as wander about in the forest while they spent every waking moment bent over a plow, they were quickly hushed and told firmly that good people were entitled to the privacy of their own way.

            There was a gentle knock at the door and Esra wiped her hands on her smock to let her grandfather in.  His hands were teeming with baskets of heavily scented leaves and crisp, paper wrapped parcels.  His sparse white hair was sticking up on its ends as it always did, giving him a look of playfulness and mischief that Esra treasured.  He stood only as high as her nose and had grown plump with age, with cheeks that seemed to be permanently rosy.

            “He is worse to send a’shoppin than a woman,” her grandmother chuckled. 

            Esra laughed under her breath as she helped unload the overflowing pile of goods in his arms.  It was true that her grandfather never went into town without returning with something completely unnecessary for his two favorite women.  For Esra it was usually a sweet treat to savor, and for his wife something more practical but relatively unneeded.  This was the small thorn in their realm of predictableness; her grandfather’s ridiculous shopping habits.  He handed his granddaughter a small wrapped package which she knew from the smoky rich smell contained sweetened Corra Nuts. 

            “And this is fer ye, my lady,” Esra’s grandfather bowed to his wife as he swept open his coat dramatically, pulling out a wooden contraption.  It was short and fat with four protruding, rounded stumps.  His eyes shone with pride as his wife took the item into her hands.

            “Wonderful!” She exclaimed. There was a pause as she turned the item over. “What is it?”

            Grandfather loved these moments for telling what the thing was probably more than the act of giving it.  “Why, it’s a bread beater, of course!”

            Her grandmother turned to Esra with wide eyes, who shrugged to show that she was also quite mystified.

            “See,” he slid the wooden debacle out of her hands and waved it around in front of his chest.  “Ye use it to knead bread!”

            “Oh!” Grandmother clapped her hands cheerfully as she watched him flail about.  It did not matter that she would probably never use the thing correctly, or if she did, would decide that her own hands were more efficient.  He had never failed at being able to surprise them with a preposterous gift.  The village was not a particularly large one, but Mr. Sturik, the owner of the general store, had learned to order these strange items for one particular customer alone. No one else seemed to have the desire, nor the extra coin, for such bric-a-brac.

The general store was located at the town center along with the five bedroom inn, alehouse, apothecary, grain mill, and other various small shops.  The village of Sorley was shaped like a large “L”, with the town center resting comfortably in the crook of the two main intersecting roads. It housed around four hundred families, and Esra had always appreciated that there were enough people to know practically everyone but not so little as to know everyone’s business.  Her grandparents’ farm was located at the eastern edge of one of the main roads, about a twenty minute stroll from the central intersection.  It was a small town, but everyone seemed willing to look out for each other and it was generally a happy place.  The townsfolk especially prided themselves on creating witty allusions to their village name.  “I Sorley need a drink” and “a Sorley boring place” were such common phrases that the people who wandered through the town en route were bound to give a startled look when first approached with such a turn of tongue.  In fact, the alehouse held a contest at every spring Trader’s Day to see who could come up with the most amusing new idiom.  Cane and Esra spent the weeks before the challenge coming up with all sorts of ludicrous sentences.

            Like all other towns and cities, Sorley was part of the Kingdom of LeVara, and King Keridon had been the ruler for almost a decade.  Although his father before him was fairly popular as a strong and intimidating sovereign, his son Keridon was somewhat weaker willed.  Even though the current King was of middle age, he seemed to be more interested in frivolous gaieties such as hunting parties and his Queen’s sitting ladies than making progress with the common people.  But his taxes weren’t abhorrently high, and although he appeared somewhat disinterested and dimwitted, he was not an unkind ruler.  His distaste for all things gloomy and resentful assured that he never treated his people too harshly. 

The King and Queen had two children, the eldest a son named Bronnen who was about Esra’s age, and a younger boy named Samuin.  The assurance of an heir with an extra male was reassuring, and luckily Bronnen seemed to take after his grandfather, not his father.  The only concern the people of Keridon’s Kingdom had was that if anyone were to invade, the army would never be trained or ready in time to even think of defending the realm.  But then again, that had not happened for hundreds of years, and there was no reason why it would now. 

            The Kingdom where Humans resided was split in half by the impressive Naduri River, a massive torrent of Water that ran from beyond the northern border of LeVara until splitting into a fork just before the southern edge.  Nestled in between the fork of the river was The King’s Hold, where the royal family and other nobles lived.  The only place to cross The Naduri River’s massive berth was by Grey Thorn Pass, located in the relative center of LeVara.  Bordering the entire northern expanse were the Eshomee Ledges, the vast mountain range which housed the Elves.  Their capital, The Veiled City, was on Idona, the largest and most imposing mountain in the range.  The Elves seemed to be secretive people, as Esra had never met one nor knew anyone who had met one besides Cane.  And he never said much about it.

Running down the western border of the Kingdom were The Frost Grounds, a barren, cold place that stretched downwards until it collided with The Stone Sea.  No one knew how far The Stone Sea continued, for any who had tried to find the end of the horizon had never returned from their voyage.  To the southeast was the dense Fira Nadim Forest, which the Unni inhabited.  The Jade Gardens bordered the eastern end of LeVara, creeping north from the forest until Fire Lake, the residence of the Shendari.  Esra knew very little of the Unni or Shendari people, but was hoping that the topic would be addressed at some point in her learning. 

            Although Humans were curious creatures at heart, most people knew little of the communities of non-Humans and had never been more than a town or city away.  There was not much need for travel, as the town provided for the most basic needs, and Trader’s Days allowed for more variety in goods and peoples.  Nearly all the inhabitants of Sorley were farmers, and the fields required a most constant attentiveness that did not bode well for unneeded travels.  Aside from the traders who visited twice a year, Cane seemed to be the only one in town with extensive knowledge of the world outside and its many different races.

            The fact that Cane was an educated man, when most barely knew how to read or write, helped allay the fears of his scandalous pursuit of knowledge into something like avid curiosity.  While some people took pity on the lonely status of Cane, others had a faint aversion to him, and superstitious fear ensured that they kept such thoughts to themselves.  While most agreed that he was quite eccentric, surely the possession of such knowledge would eventually cause such a thing to occur.  His eccentricities were harmless, they decided, and if nothing else he was a quirky, slightly removed old man.

            Of course there were always a few in town that would rather be entertained by spinning his situation into a more dramatic story.  Last summer, Esra overheard a couple of girls her age discussing their thoughts on the matter.  She had to cover her mouth to prevent a forceful burst of laughter from escaping when one girl quite seriously claimed that “Cane and Esra are secret lovers, to be married soon, I’m sure.” 
If Cane were to marry anything, it would be a book,
Esra thought.  He constantly fell asleep clutching a large volume to his chest, like a long time wife he had grown accustomed to shaping himself around at night. 

It was times like these that Esra was grateful she cared little for what others thought of her.  It was also one of the reasons why many of the other young girls in town were not close friends.  They seemed to always be searching for some way to impress someone else.  Esra had always lived in a state of proud individuality and independence.  If you liked her, that was wonderful.  If you didn’t, that was your choice.  She tried to be kind and helpful, but she was who she was and she was not going to waste her time pretending otherwise.  She felt it was a strength of character, but one that resulted in a lonelier existence.  Esra often thought it would be easier to gossip and prattle and talk for an hour about lace as if it mattered to her, but she could not bring herself to act as such.  The truth was, there were not many things in life she could possibly care less about than lace or if Narvin Glasby meant to wink at Bruna the other day or if it was just the sharp glare of the Sun or if perhaps he meant to wink at Tempa, who was standing beside her.  How exhausting. 

            “Esra, yer going to be late,” Grandmother turned about suddenly, sweeping the bread beater in a wide arc. “And I need ye to stop by Baelin’s house to see if he can come reshoe the Horses.”

            A short moan escaped Esra’s lips as she dashed for her cloak and hurried out the door.  She felt like this day was shaping up to be nothing but running from one place to another.  But at least there was no mysterious, hooded man where she was headed. 

II

       Esra felt her wavy blonde hair falling in a disheveled mess around her head but she dared not stop to fix it.  As if such a thing could be fixed, anyway.  As usual, Cane would expect her to be late for her instruction and come stumbling up the steps murmuring apologies.  Arriving at the blacksmith’s, she went immediately around the house to the back, as Baelin was rarely found anywhere but his workshop.  A large stone Fire pit stood in the middle of an open area bordered only by four sturdy poles and a tall, heavily thatched roof.  A square wooden table stood to one side with various tools strewn across it.  Baelin was standing over the blue tipped flames, pounding a long glowing piece of metal on a block of stone with such force that she was amazed to see it was still whole. 

       Baelin was by far the most reserved man in town, aside from Cane.  He said little, went into town even less, and was known far and wide for his superior craftsmanship.  Esra sometimes thought that if he didn’t need to interact for the sake of his shop he would probably never speak a word.  No one knew where he came from, or who his family was.  He just seemed to appear two years ago, adapting to his new space with such fluidity that only a few Moons after his arrival, not one person could recall who had lived at the house before him. 

       Men would come from three towns away, sent by richer men to request an expensive sword or a glittering helm, all of which would become cherished family heirlooms.  They would stroll up to Baelin, eyes wide as they took in the enormity of the man and the gentle nature with which he silently nodded to their appeals.  To say that he was large would be quite the understatement.  He towered more than a full head higher than the average man and his arms better resembled Tree trunks than Human limbs.  Darkened skin and hair added to the threatening illusion, although his mild temperament usually dispelled any fear.  Mischievous, gold flecked eyes were a childish contradiction to the age he really was, which Esra guessed to be in the late twenties.