A journey begins

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished.

The Clan was a day away from the winter lands on the coast and the men had already seen how the Serp Run now coursed her waters from the north side of the alps. Their murmurings grew louder with talk that Chief Cerdic’s Queen had also vanished.

Basilios was twelve in numbers and studied people. He watched from a distance as Chief Cerdic draped a heavy arm over his fathers’ shoulder as they walked and talked. His father's size was not diminished as he walked beside the Great Family Leader. Both men commanded attention and received it. When they laughed, they chuckled loud with joyous mirth that warmed the souls of those around them. They both were tall, large muscles and broad shoulders defined and sculpted by the labor beholden to the Mountain Clan men.

He studied his father further, noticing the greying of brown curly locks and the wrinkles lining his forehead. Basilios marveled at his blue eyes, unaware that both his and his older brothers were but a shade lighter. As the wind cut the air and roared to life about them, Basilios saw the other Chieftain approach the men. He noticed how their moods changed and wondered what news this Chieftain had given them.

Chieftain Dacian led the Bowmen Tribe and was a man who, although lacking in physical size, was celebrated for his readiness for war. His light brown hair was straight and kept short and he bore the blue eyes common to the Mountain Clan. Basilios had watched him before, fascinated by the power he had, and the respect shown to him. His square shape jaw was covered with a short, light brown beard and a noticeable scar adorned the right side of his forehead to his temple. His voice was deep and always calm, and he was unsmiling and sober, as though an unseen force darkened his mood and tormented his thoughts.

Basilios noticed both Chieftains looked to Chief Cerdic in expectation. Like his father, Chieftain Dacian was head of three clans and their warrior lords and together as the Mountain Clan, they lived and travelled back and forth from their summer grounds to their winter grounds every year, herding goats and sheep along the rugged and broken landscape of Three Peaks.

“How many passages have you taken with us young Basilios?” Lord Modig asked, addressing the boy.

Modig was tall and muscular, bending to enter most houses of his kinsmen. He labored with his people, shepherded with the tribesmen and trained young boys to hunt with the bow and arrow and fight with the spear from when they were five in numbers.

“Nine times…” Basilios answered. “Father took me as soon as I stopped sucking off my mothers’ breast.”

“Then what say you about the news of our Queen and the Serp?” Lord Farmon asked, leaning forward to get his attention.

Farmon was near in age to Modig but shorter and smaller in stature. He trained the boys Modig taught once they reached nine in numbers and occasionally advised their fathers of suitable girls for betrothal. His dark brown eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the boy, waiting for his response.

“Leave him be,” Lord Ryce smiled. “He is a boy who knows nothing Farmon.”

Ryce sat comfortably between Modig and Farmon, somewhat dwarfed by their sizes. His voice was loud and deep, guaranteeing it would not get lost in the roar of the wind. He taught the boys when they were thirteen in numbers, training them as the lords before and preparing them for the next stage of their lives – becoming men in their eighteenth year of life. He knew little of Basilios, only that he was the Chieftains’ son and younger brother to Kendryek who was now in this final stage of his training.

“Basilios is almost a man,” Lord Farmon spoke, giving him one of his famous toothy smiles.

“Is it true Chief Cerdic’s Queen is clear of hearing?” Kendryek asked the lords as he sat amongst them.

“What does that mean?” Basilios asked quietly, all the while watching his father.

“It means our Queen is able to hear messages directly from the spirit world that others cannot hear young Basilios,” Lord Ryce answered.

Basilios thought then said, “If our Queen heard messages from the spirit world when the Serp Run was right, maybe her disappearance caused the river to run backwards. Maybe the spirit world needs our Queen and when she returns, the river will run right again.”

“Interesting,” Lord Farmon responded as he glanced at the other two lords. “What say you then about the news of the ocean warrior landing on our shores near the winter lands?”

“Are they invading?” Basilios asked, wide-eyed. He imagined giants with war axes chopping down the women and girls that stayed at the camp all year – burnt homes and bodies frozen under mounds of snow. He thought of his mother and younger sisters.

“That we do not know, but I think it not by chance that the Queen has vanished, the river now runs backwards, and an ocean warrior is on our homelands,” Lord Farmon spoke then quietened as their Chieftain approached.

“You need not concern yourself Basilios with such thoughts. Our goddess Vita will protect us. We put our fate in her hands and trust she will direct her legion to defend us should we need it,” his father said as he eyed each of his lords into silence.

Chieftain Fraomor sat among them and Chief Cerdic followed. Basilios sensed the weightiness of their thoughts and when the Bowmen Chieftain entered their circle with his three clan lords, he knew strife was stirring in the winter lands. He tried to shrink so his father would not notice him but once the Bowmen sat, Fraomor looked fixedly at Basilios until he silently left the threat of his penetrating stare.

It was early, and the winter sun was barely in the sky when Basilios felt home before he could see it. Warm air and heavy rain welcomed the Clan to the high cliffs and as Basilios stood next to his father during their business of spiritual cleansing on Atquemortis, he could hear the voices of the village women carried to them on the strong ocean winds.

He was enchanted by his homelands, the statuesque cliffs and dazzling dark waters encouraging him to run down the goat trail to the village and the inlet below. As he did, he felt a push from behind and fell heavily on his side while Kendryek laughed and ran past. Basilios stood, breathing heavy as he wiped tears from his eyes. He ran fast, and as he neared his brother, Basilios leapt and landed on him. Kendryek fell hard and they began to fight.

The Spearmen Chieftain appeared quickly and pulled Basilios' ear, glared at his sons, then lead them down the rest of the trail to the privacy of their home. Bypassing his waiting wife and daughters, the disciplined warrior tossed his only sons inside and closed the doors behind the women and girls that fled upon his dark look.

“Sit!” he bellowed, pointing to the furs laid on the raised platform where he and his wife sat to hear petitions and requests. “What possessed you two?!”

Kendryek glanced at Basilios who sat upright meeting his fathers’ eyes as his anger began to simmer.

“Kendryek pushed me, and I fell so I wanted to get him back,” Basilios explained.

“It was just a little push. I didn’t think anything of it. It was done in good jest,” Kendryek added.

“Boys, we Delmont men live by these words...words spoken by my father and his before him,” Fraomor began as his face softened. “You cannot hold a man down without staying down with him.”

Basilios and Kendryek glanced at each other, not sure of what their father meant.

Fraomor laughed lightly, “Well, a man who only wants to keep a man down must stay down with him or else that man will stand again in time.”

“I suppose you cannot embrace your brother if your arms are always looking to hurt him,” Kendryek added quickly, the dawn of understanding soothing the burn of anger that bit at him. “I am truly sorry brother. I will think before I jest with you like that again.”

Fraomor smiled as he ruffled Kendryek’s hair. He stood and Kendryek returned the gesture with a gentle shoulder shove of his own. “Go kiss your mother and sisters. Basilios, stay with me.”

Kendryek stepped outside, closing the door on his father and brother.

“You are angry?” Fraomor asked gently as he sat beside his son. “Do you hurt?”

“My side.”

Fraomor lifted his sons’ shirt to see blood slowly oozing from a large gash. “You need to see the Healer.”

“She is found on Bowmen land. I will not go there!”

“Do not be as blind as to disobey my instructions, Basilios. I was not asking you. You will go to the Healer freely or with me clouting you all the way there!”

Basilios tensed his jaw as he met his fathers’ gaze then walked quietly out of the house, leaving the doors open for his family and their servants to enter.

The path from the Spearmen to the Bowmen tribal lands snaked through Chief Cerdics’ camp but it did not take long for Basilios to find the Healer. With a shirt partially soaked in blood, he stood before a small wooden house that leant to one side. Hesitating, he stopped and thought about swimming in the inlet rather than going inside.

“Come in,” a small girl spoke from behind him.

Basilios followed the girl inside where she laid a basket of herbs and flowers on a crude wooden bench already covered with more of the same. It was dark inside, and the musty smell of soil hung heavy in the air. He studied the girl as she laid the contents of the basket carefully out on the table. She was slim, and her movements were gentle, her skin a golden-brown and her hair a shocking mass of light brown curls. She looked at him through almond eyes, almost as green as the herbs on the bench beside them.

“Grandmother,” she spoke quietly, and an old woman appeared from behind a heavy curtain.

The woman walked without lifting her feet, shuffling them along the floor as though she would float away should she lift them any higher. Her face was covered with a thin black veil, and as he looked into her dark brown eyes, he frowned as she did not see him.

“Lie there,” the woman pointed to a bench and Basilios obeyed. She lifted his shirt and examined his wound. Every time she clucked; she rubbed his head in a futile attempt to ease his concern. Then she turned to the girl and gave her instructions he did not understand.

“What will you do Healer?” Basilios asked as he looked for the girl. “Where is she going?”

“That girl is my granddaughter and her name is Olivia. I am Aedre,” she spoke as she mixed a liquid infusion that gave off a strong fragrance.

“Apologies.”

“Drink this,” Aedre instructed as she held out the small cup to him.

Basilios hesitated then drank the contents quickly, the heat of the herbs burning his nose and mouth before shooting down his throat to his chest and stomach. He inhaled sharply, coughing as he gasped for air, and then he felt calm, his body heavy with sleepiness.

When he woke, he bolted to an upright position and felt his wound. It was bandaged with a course linen wrap around his mid-section and as he fiddled with it, Olivia appeared.

“Please do not,” she said as she held his hands still. “I will call on you each day ‘til it is healed but do not touch it.”

“What did she do?” he asked, looking around for Aedre.

“She cleaned the wound then stitched it. I have ointment to clean it when I call upon you and I can remove the stitches five morns from now. Are you ready? I will walk you home.”

Basilios looked at her. “How many numbers are you?”

“Eleven.”

“I am twelve...almost thirteen.”

“It is not for you but for me I do this…so I know where you live.”

He nodded then stood and dressed slowly. “This is for the Healer,” he said as he showed Olivia the two coins his father gave him.

“Leave them behind,” Aedre shouted from the veiled room when she heard them clink together in his hand.

Basilios left them on the bench then followed Olivia as she led for a short distance before stopping.

“Have you heard the talk about the giant?” she asked.

“A little. Is it true?”

Olivia smiled then whispered, “I will show you.”

She took his hand and led him to a fenced area deeper in Bowmen territory. The area was grass-less and recent heavy rain mixed with thick soil to make dark mud. Basilios squinted when he saw him – a giant of a man, bloodied and in chains kneeling in the very centre of the enclosure.

“Who is that?” he asked.

Olivia shrugged. “He came alone on a vessel over the water.”

Basilios frowned as he looked at her then back at him. “What does he want?”

She held his hand. “I do not know but I fear the Bowmen will kill him soon. They keep hurting him.”

Basilios looked at her then at the giant who still knelt in the mud, the recent rain making him shiver. Not knowing what to do, he turned to leave when, without warning the giant roared. It was deep and loud, coming from a place of sorrow, threatening to devour those nearby.

The pair slowly looked at the enclosure and saw the standing giant. He was staring at Basilios when he inhaled deeply then collapsed in the mud as he exploded with two words.

“Lancearios! Reginae!”

Bowmen warriors ran to the fence where Basilios and Olivia stood.

“What?” one of them said aloud. “He will die even faster if he does not make sense soon.”

Basilios gave them a hard look. “You are mistaken, Bowmen,” he said then looked at the ocean warrior. “He speaks in the heavenly tongue. He speaks of my father… and our Queen.”

Thank you for taking time out of your day to read Chapter 1 of Burdened. This chapter follows the creation story, Expression. If you enjoyed A journey begins, please send encouragements by clicking the heart below. I appreciate your support.