Posted by Jubal on July 6, 2000 at 04:02:30:
They stood at the edge of the dale, father and son, as the wind softly rustled the leaves on the slender birch trees. He sat at by the brook, listening to the babbling of the water and quietly carving a hook from the tough ironwood branch he held. It was eight years now that his father had disappeared in the wilds, leaving Jubal to fend for himself. He paused and peered down at his left hand, softly touching the fading scar on his thumb he still carried from the first time he tried to whittle a hook as his father had taught him. He allowed himself a soft chuckle. It seemed so long ago now. He was truly alone. The throbbing in his leg was nearly unbearable. He'd broken the spear’s shaft off, but the head was still embedded in his left thigh. "They're still out there somewhere," he thought to himself, cursing his own carelessness in crossing downwind of the orcish warparty's path. And, as quickly as the battle had erupted, it was over, the slaughtered orcs looking much less formidable next to the three hardened men Jubal now faced. … And so it shall be.
"Do you hear it?" whispered the father softly. "Can you?"
"I don't hear anything but the wind, Da," said the young lad, peering up at the mountain of his father. "Not anything."
"Ah, but you will, youngin', you will," the buckskin clad man said softly, looking down into his son's large eyes. "Just give Her time. When She wants you to know her, She'll let you."
"Who, Da? Mama? Does she live here? Is she hiding?" asked the child with hope and tears filling his eyes. "Is Mama here?"
"No, not your mother," he said quietly and not with a little emotion. "Not her, but just as wonderful." And with that, the large woodsman said no more that day, simply patting his son lightly on the head and pulling him deeper into the forest.
… And, so it began.
The hair on the nape of his neck rose as the wind rustled the leaves on the giant sycamore tree he sat beneath. His ears straining for the sound of that which had alerted him, he cautiously sniffed the air searching for the scent of that which he could not see. Unable to determine what had alerted him, Jubal felt tension for the first time in these woods he called home. Something was different and he could not place his finger on what exactly it was. There was "something" though.
His pale, jade eyes widened in wonder and amazement as he felt or heard a presence saying to him, "Jubal, you are not alone. You are home and you have been accepted for many sun cycles. You have been chosen, and in time, you will know your place within these wilds."
The wind calmed and the birds began chirping again. He knew better than to search for the force that had spoken to him. He had finally heard what his father had often talked about. He heard Her! He softly smiled and understood, feeling the peace and tranquillity of Her embrace.
… And, so it continued.
Quietly, he peeled the outer bark off the slender aspen tree he leaned on, and began chewing the inner pith, silently praying the medicinal qualities of the inner bark would soon take effect. He began limping for the deeper woods, using his powerful upper body to aid his wounded leg, hoping he could lose the smelly humanoids in the entangled deeper growth of the woods.
"Him's blood o'er here," grunted the orcish warrior in hardened leather armor. "Him go this way. Get 'im." Jubal tensed as he heard the guttural sound of the orc leader. He'd hoped they were farther behind to give him more time to find refuge. He braced himself against a large elm and slowly pulled his small hand axe, regretting the loss of his bow in the initial skirmish. "At least I'll take one of 'em with me when I fall," he thought grimly and slowly waited for the orcs to arrive.
He could see the hideous piggish snout and tusks of the orcish leader who was hacking and slashing the vegetation, and gripped the small weapon in anticipation. The brush practically exploded around the war party, with the trees around them jumping upon the surprised humanoids. He quickly realized that the trees were men with skin of bark and dressed in woodland colors. The woodsman quickly dispatched the humanoid party with the ring and sparks of swords clashing and the heavy thuds of their glowing staves striking the bewildered orcs.
"Ye did good, boy. Real good!" quipped the man closest to Jubal, as he dried the blackish-red gore off his blade. "Couldn't ha' done better me ownself."
"Aye, young Jubal certainly has learned how to act as the 'possum," smirked the second companion, as he winked at the young woodsman still gripping his hand axe.
"Who are you and how do you know me?" Jubal asked cautiously, not taking his eyes off the three men.
"We," said the third companion, who slowly turned to look at Jubal, "are the Watchers of the Wilds. We watch all within this forest including yourself, Jubal Whitewater. You have grown strong as She said you would. Your father would have been proud. It is time for you to take your place among the Rangers."
Jubal slowly looked at the three men in earnest, the last one with almond-shaped eyes and pointed ears, and nodded somehow knowing they spoke the truth and were to guide him. He followed silently as they led him deeper into the woods, the plants and foliage seemingly moving for them as they made their way.