The Voyage of Bran, part 1 (430 hits)
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Submitted by stardamage (View user info) at 2009-01-28 22:47:12 EST
The young apprentice Bran lifted his ax and split a few more pieces of wood. The sun was going down behind the forge and he could hear the hissing of a piece of hot iron shoved into water. "Almost done out there, lad?" he heard the master smith, Tor, shout. Bran cast a glance over his shoulder at the heavy door and turned back to the small pile of wood he'd just finished splitting. Sighing, he began to pick up a few pieces of wood and stack them in the cradle of his left arm. Bran raised his head and peered again at the barely-visible peak of Windgard, the tallest in the chain of mountains that sheltered the forest and valley from the harsh winds of the Grey Sea. He'd never been up into the mountains; few had, since the sea-invaders from the South had swept onto shore shortly before he was born. The only ones who braved the rocky slopes were hunters and foragers - and many didn't return.
Bran picked up the last few pieces of wood and reached for the rope handle of the door. The blast of heat as he entered the forge was enormous, but he barely noticed it after months of working with Tor. Adding the wood to the huge furnace, Bran picked up the huge striking hammer at a signal from Tor, who was pulling a cherry-red bar of iron from the forge.
"Daydreaming again, eh lad?" Tor asked as Bran began striking at a steady rhythm, following the guiding taps of Tor's smaller hammer. "Don't forget, we've got to have Stig's hinges finished tomorrow."
Bran replied over the clang of hammer strokes: "Takes longer to split with a dull axe."
Tor laughed. "Not for a moment do I believe that. I've seen you lost in the mountains many a time without ever leaving the valley. What is it draws you so?"
Bran put down the hammer at a nod from Tor and wiped his forehead with a cloth. He shrugged and picked up a pair of bellows as Tor thrust the iron bar back into the fire. He pumped the bellows mechanically as the master smith turned the bar in the heat with a pair of heavy tongs. Tor glanced at Bran as he drew the hot metal from the forge to examine it and thrust it back in again. "Keep on those bellows, lad," he said a trifle sharply. Bran mumbled an apology and obeyed - then, as if he couldn't stop himself, he asked, "What made you come here to the valley in the first place?"
"I didn't have a mind to fish for the rest of my days. Too cold and smelly a business for me," replied Tor.
Bran hefted the great hammer in his hands, waiting for Tor to pull the iron from the forge again. He turned it over and over, staring at the fire, until Tor barked impatiently at him. "Bran! Good gods, lad, where are you today? I've a mind to throw you in the fire for fuel; at least then, you'll be of some use!" Tor had already tapped the cherry-red metal twice, waiting for Bran to follow his lead and pound it with the striking hammer, but Bran had been distracted again.
Bran started striking without comment, biting his lip. Tor turned the iron over and over under the strokes of the hammer, but his eyes didn't leave Bran's face. He frowned as the apprentice set down the hammer guiltily and went to sip some water from the bucket by the door.
Tor picked up the small shaping hammer and brought the red-hot iron to the anvil, where he expertly rounded and guided the metal into a curve. Bran wasn't made to be a blacksmith, he knew. He was a willing enough worker, and when his mind was on his work he even showed signs of a smith's instinctive feel for the iron he shaped. But Bran's mind was less and less on his work lately, and his eyes were drawn more and more to the west.
"Bran," he said aloud as the young man stepped back into the workshop. "Go on and get the animals in for nightfall. I'll finish up the day's work here. After supper we'll work on sharpening that ax for you."
It might have been a trick of the red light from the forge, but Tor thought he saw Bran blush as he slid the heavy leather apron over his head. Well, at least he had some sense of shame at being caught woolgathering when he should be working.
* * *
Bran shut the door of the forge behind him and retrieved a pair of snowshoes from their hook on the wall near the door and strapped them on. He stuck two fingers into his mouth and whistled, and after a moment Bran saw the familiar shape of the huge dog Bor come bouncing towards him from the woods. Bor shook his fur clean of snow and wagged his tail. "Go on. Hunt 'em up," Bran instructed, and waded after Bor through the snow. He blew hot air into his cupped hands. The leather gauntlets he wore guarded his hands from the roughness of the tools, the heat of the forge and any splinters from wood-splitting, but they weren't warm.
It took only a few minutes for Bran to locate the reindeer, with Bor's help. They were used to the routine by now and trotted back to the edge of the woods and into the fenced-in paddock without much urging, though Bor always took delight in growling a little playfully and snapping at their heels.
Inside, Tor's wife Fer was taking a pan of bread off the fire. "Ah, Bran."
"Evening, Fer," replied Bran, unlacing his smith's gauntlets and hanging up his green cloak. Fer opened the little door to the lean-to and opened a stout barrel with a small iron crowbar. She removed a few pieces of salted meat and tapped the lid back into place and closed the door, adding them to a large pot that was steaming over the fire. Bran stuck a few more pieces of wood into the fire and reached for a leather skin to fill with snow. He poked at the snow with a stick and watched it melt. A small leather bag of dried berries was on the shelf, and he began to tease a few into slices with his fingernails.
"Again with that drink of yours. You know it stinks up the kitchen," Fer said, watching him.
"Stinks up?" Bran said. "You should try it sometime, Fer, really. It's good. Feels nice on your throat." He watched for the water to boil and sprinkled the pieces of dried berry into the skin.
Fer snorted. "I'll stick with plain mead, thanks, lad."
Tor opened the door and stamped his feet clear of snow before entering the kitchen.
"That drink again, eh?" asked Tor, sniffing the air.
Bran rolled his eyes. His drink was a regular source of amusement and exasperation for the master smith and his wife, but he knew that they didn't really mind his making it. It was more a routine for them to tease him about it than anything.
"Any trouble with the deer, Bran?"
"No, they came nice and easy as usual. I was looking at Sar's harness, though, and I think it could use some mending."
"I'll ask Stig tomorrow," said Tor, and unlaced his own gauntlets, setting them on the warming shelf by the fireplace.
Supper was simple as usual but Bran ate ravenously, almost without noticing how fast he was eating. He looked down at his empty plate, a little surprised, and took one last gulp of hot brew.
"Finished so quickly, lad?" asked Fer, smiling. "More bread, maybe?"
"No, thanks," said Bran. "I'll go feed the animals."
"I'll be out in a while, Bran, and we can work on that ax," Tor reminded him, his eyes twinkling.
"Right. I'll meet you in the shop," Bran said, tying on his gauntlets and throwing his cloak around his shoulders. He shut the door carefully behind him and Fer shot a look at Tor. "What was that about the ax? Didn't you sharpen it a few weeks ago?"
"Ah. I caught him daydreaming again and he said it was the dull ax made him slow at splitting wood," Tor explained, smiling in spite of himself. "So we're going to work it again tonight. I already took a look at it and it's sharp as you could want, but he could use the practice."
"Neglecting his work again?" Fer asked. "Seems like he dreams more than he works."
"Don't I know it. Every five minutes I have to drag him out of the mountains and back to his task." Tor sighed and watched the fire. "He isn't made for this work, Fer. He's got too much of the wanderer in him."
"So what are you going to do? Find another apprentice?"
"That would hardly be the thing to do, would it? Bran's been a good worker to me. He can't help that his heart is elsewhere."
"But if it's just making him unhappy..."
"No, I know." Tor tapped his fingers on the rough tabletop and then rose to pull his leather gauntlets on again.
Fer cleared the table and reached for her distaff and balls of wool. Spinning, she said, "I just don't see what good it is to keep him here when he's clearly not cut for it. Maybe he's better off finding his way in the mountains."
"Don't say that," Tor said, whirling to face Fer. She met his glare evenly.
"Calm yourself. I know you're concerned about the boy. But truth said, Tor, maybe he's better off going back where he came from."
"Where he came from...Fer, listen to yourself. We found him in a burned-out house, nearly dead, his mother cold already-"
"I know well as you do, Tor. I'm not saying send him back to his poor dead mother's breast. I'm saying he thirsts for the hills, it's written all over his face whenever I see him gazing after the setting sun. He'll waste away here if you try to keep him, and we may well wake one morning to find his bed empty. Best that we send him with our blessing and what help we can. You can send him to your friend Beow to learn the fisher's way."
Tor's glare grew harder. "I'm not letting the boy go wandering off into the mountains. He's no sense of them, Fer. He'd be as likely to fall into a crevasse or be robbed or murdered by Raiders or just freeze to death, as much as he's likely to make it to the other side. More likely to die, even. Enough, now. I'll not hear more of this. And you're not to bring it up to him, do you hear? He's got enough daydreams in his head without you adding more." Tor slammed the door behind him and stomped out to the field to sit with the reindeer and sheep, as he usually did when he needed to cool his temper.
* * *
When Tor finally entered the forge, Bran had already set to work sharpening the ax on the grinding wheel. He set the wheel to spinning with practiced, smooth turns of the crank, and then bent to grind the edge of the ax before the wheel slowed. Tor waited until Bran had set the ax down to speed the wheel up again before touching his shoulder.
"Now, lad, I think we both know that that edge is keen enough," Tor said, smiling. "I was going to have you re-sharpen it anyway just to teach you something, but I guess it's not worth wasting your time. It's only a wood-splitter, after all."
Bran leaned back from the wheel as it slowed. He wiped his forehead. "I'm sorry I was distracted today."
Tor waved off the apology. "Spare your breath, Bran. You're a good apprentice when you've the mind to be, anyhow. I just see your eyes wandering off to the horizon every time you step outside and I can't help but wonder if this is the right place for you."
"I can't help it," Bran admitted, his head sinking. "I just feel like I need to see them, Tor. Just once. The peaks, I mean. To stand on the top of them and look down on the valley and feel the wind."
Tor sighed heavily and picked up the ax. He turned it over and over in his hands.
"Well, Bran, I'll tell you, not for solid gold would I cross those mountains again. It's a long week's travel. Doesn't sound like long, but even the minutes stretch when you're always looking over your shoulder for thieves and who knows what else. And the wind has a way of getting to you up there...it blows in from the sea until it would drive you mad. The trees are different up there, too. Not tall like down in the valley, but twisted and short and...well, just eerie, is all. And you never know when the slope is steady or no. You'll have to be careful and step sharp to avoid falling off the face of it entirely."
Tor watched Bran as he jerked his head up to stare.
"What did you...?"
"Fer thinks you'd be better off by the sea, and I suppose I have to agree with her," Tor said. "I've a friend at the shore named Beow. He'll teach you to catch fish with him, if you think that would suit you better than smithing. He has a wife, Istri, and his daughter Selda is a little older than you. I'm sure he'd welcome another man to help him with the work."
Bran swallowed hard.
"Well, lad?" Tor asked gently. "I know this valley is too low for you. You've been a good and willing worker but I see your eyes are always to the west. I don't know why, but the mountains call to you, and I'd rather you go trekking and have some measure of peace than forever be sighing at the back gate. And think of the work I'll save once I get a boy here who can keep his mind on his task!" He chuckled, then sobered. "And I know, Bran, that once you get a glimpse of the peaks and the sea beyond, you won't be coming back. Not to stay, anyway, though you'll always be welcome. It's the path you're meant to take, boy, though I'd rather you stay here."
Bran said nothing. He had dropped his head again to stare at the ax in Tor's hands. He looked up at Tor; his expression was troubled but his grey eyes gleamed.
"That's settled, then," said Tor. "You'll be off in two days. Stig's hinges can wait. He'll be glad of the business we'll give him anyway, to fit you with some trekking gear. And you'll take Bor with you; I won't hear of you going otherwise."
Tor got up without another word and walked back to the house. Once there, he stripped off his cloak and boots and got into bed. Fer was by the fire, spinning again; when Tor entered she put one last piece of wood in the fireplace and got into bed beside him. She hugged him and asked quietly, "Did you tell him?"
"How'd you know I would?"
"I know you."
Tor nodded and Fer clutched him a little tighter. Tor lay awake for much of the night while Fer slept beside him.
* * *
"Give this to Beow, so he knows you," said Tor two days later, handing a copper pendant to Bran, who fastened it around his neck. Bran picked it up from his chest to study it upside down, but Fer interrupted. "Is that everything, then?"
Bran went through a mental catalogue of the items strapped to him: food, arrows, bow, leather waterskin, knife... "I think so." He bent to strap on his snowshoes.
"Well, then!" Fer said, and gave him a long hug. "Oh. When you meet Beow, give him this," Fer said, and handed Bran a small leather bag. "Nails," she said in response to his questioning look. Bran tucked the bag into his pocket.
Bran stood to face Tor. "I know you'll make it just fine to the other side," said Tor, smiling. "I hope we'll see you back here again sometime. As I said, you're always welcome." He stuck out his hand and Bran shook it warmly.
"Thanks for everything, Tor," said Bran thickly. "I'll be sure to return as soon and as often as I can."
"Don't worry about that yet, boy," said Tor. "You haven't even got there yet. It's too soon to think of coming back!" He whistled for Bor and the great black dog splashed through the snow, wagging his tail. "Go on, now. Get as far as you can before nightfall."
Bran turned and followed the dog out of the yard and into the woods. He could scarce believe it; he was really going. He felt sick with excitement and worry and joy, and in fact as soon as he was out of eyesight of the forest's edge he stooped to vomit against a tree. Feeling better, he wiped his mouth and used his knife to cut a long pole from a nearby tree. He drove the pole into the snow as he floundered along, using it to keep balance. The sunlight filtered down through the trees and Bor bounded on ahead, and Bran drew in a deep breath as he pushed further from home.
* * *
Bor, though a faithful companion, was not very talkative; Bran marched along in silence for a while but soon started singing an old song he knew to keep himself company:
Hwaet we Gar-Deana in gear-dagam
Þeod-cyninga Þrym gefrunon,
Hu tha aeÞehingas ellen fremedon...
Soon Bran was singing almost at the top of his lungs as he trekked up and up the slope that grew steeper and steeper. Finally, he had to stop to take off his snowshoes, as the hill became too rocky for them to be of use.
He knelt in the snow and fastened them to their strap, still singing:
Waes Þu, Hrothgar, hael! Ic eom Higelaces
Maeg ond mago-thegu; haebbe ic maertha fela
Ongunnen on geogoÞe...
Getting carried away by the song, he struck a bit of a silly pose as he took up his pole again; he stopped singing when he heard Bor growling and he turned to see a huge gray stag regarding him somberly. The stag stood on two legs and Bran reached for the sharp blade at his side, and the stag reached a hand up to push its head back and a human head appeared, wrapped in blood red cloth so that only a shock of blond hair and a twinkling of green eyes were visible. The creature glanced at the bristling Bor and the big dog went quiet, though he still crouched warily.
Bran had unsheathed his sword and he gripped it firmly, betraying none of the startle or mortification he felt. He was about to speak, when the stranger spoke first:
"Waes Þu, Bran, hael!"
Bran blinked, taken completely aback. Out of all the things the stranger could have said, an archaic greeting out of myth wasn't one that he had expected.
The stranger stepped closer and reached to untie the red cloth from around his face, and Bran saw that he was smiling. His hair was matted with dirt and pine needles but his face was clean.
"No closer," Bran finally said, as the man moved to take another step towards him.
"As you will." The man held the huge stag's head by the antlers in one hand.
"Who are you?"
"No one anyone you know would know," the stranger answered, and threw back his head to laugh. "But you can call me Lir."
Bran still held his sword. "How do you know me...?"
"I don't."
"You knew my name."
"Word travels far. I know many names from the villages around here. Beow, for example. That's his mark there, isn't it, on that pendant you've got around your neck? And his daughter Selda, and wife Istri. Oh yes."
"Do you know Tor?" Bran asked.
"I've seen him. A good man, built like a bear! I can hear his forge sing hammer-strokes to the high peaks. But I haven't heard word-song in a long while. Tell me, young Bran, where did you learn that song you were singing?"
"I..." Bran lowered his sword finally, shaking his head slowly. "I don't know where, where I first heard it...But I hear the bards sing it sometimes when they come through the village. I guess it was from them."
"Ah! And where did they learn it?" Lir asked and laughed again. "Forget it. I don't really expect you to know. Come! You shouldn't linger here, Bran. You've a ways to go before nightfall, haven't you? If you're hurrying to the shore. That is your dream, isn't it? To stand on the edge of the endless water? To step on the sand of the whale-road?"
Lir fastened the stag's head back over his own and began walking. Bor trotted after him and Bran stared for a moment, then caught up at a job, floundering through a deep drift.
"How do you know that?" he demanded, short of breath.
"I hear you do a fair bit of dream-wandering at the edge of the wood, though never towards the stars, unless they lie above the sea's flood," Lir answered. "I'm willing to bet you hear the crash of waves in your dreams."
"Who told you that?" Bran struggled to keep up with the taller man.
"No one. I just heard it, that's all. You'd be surprised what you can hear when you learn to listen."
"What's it like?" Bran blurted out.
"The Grey Sea? Like nothing you've ever seen. To paddle a boat out until you can see neither hill nor shore but only a black smudge where you used to be, and to feel the sea's swell push you up and down as a heartbeat..." The stag's head sunk for a moment in reflection.
"You've done it, then?" Bran asked eagerly.
"Not I." Lir leapt up and up the rocky slope, barely skimming each stone before landing on the next, while Bran boosted himself along with his legs and scrambled with his hands.
"Then how do you..." Bran called.
"You really don't know how to listen, do you?" asked Lir wonderingly, and darted on towards the summit.
Bran's legs burned when they reached the top of their climb, but he pushed on to stand beside Lir, who was leaning on his front leg and staring out at the other mountains that had become visible. Bran tried not to let his fatigue show, especially when he saw that Lir didn't even seem to be breathing hard. Lir's grey eyes darted to Bran and he said, "No harm in a short rest before we continue."
"I'm not used to climbing slopes," Bran admitted. "My muscles are used to working in the forge, not long days of traveling!"
Lir's hand flashed out and caught Bran's at the wrist. He pulled Bran's arm until it was fully extended. With his other hand he prodded gently at Bran's forearm, his bicep, his shoulder. Bran watched him do this, mystified.
"Ah, but I think you'll find you have strength enough for rowing," Lir said, and began to pick his way down the other side of the mountain. Bran stared after him, catching his breath, and then started down after him.
User Reviews
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2009-02-01 15:01:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Actual writing...
Shhh, people... we don't want to scare it away.
Submitted by hellish (user info) at 2009-02-01 08:24:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by Banjo (user info) at 2009-01-31 17:11:05 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by stardamage (user info) at 2009-01-30 00:00:11 GMT (#)
Ranking: 0
The Black Cauldron? Don't think I've heard of it...was it good? Hah!
---
Aha, brilliant! It's actually The Chronicles of Prydain series. Based on old Welsh mythology. Read them when I was wee.
Submitted by stardamage (user info) at 2009-01-30 17:12:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by dangerdude (user info) at 2009-01-29 23:37:06 EST (#)
Ranking: -1
I thought that the voyage of bran would have been a clever euphamism for food moving through your colon. I was wrong.
woulda been more interesting. you shoulda seen the poo I took earlier today.
* *
Thanks for the advice, but I guess I'm just not that clever.
Submitted by dangerdude (user info) at 2009-01-29 23:37:06 EST (#)
Ranking: -1
I thought that the voyage of bran would have been a clever euphamism for food moving through your colon. I was wrong.
woulda been more interesting. you shoulda seen the poo I took earlier today.
Submitted by Amontillado (user info) at 2009-01-29 22:54:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Bran? Really?
:)
Submitted by Val (user info) at 2009-01-29 20:56:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I really thought this was going to be about poop.
Submitted by stardamage (user info) at 2009-01-29 19:00:11 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
The Black Cauldron? Don't think I've heard of it...was it good? Hah!
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2009-01-29 12:42:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by skrapmetal (user info) at 2009-01-29 07:34:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Indeed. Looking forward to P2. Well done.
Submitted by Banjo (user info) at 2009-01-29 05:40:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
For some reason I read this and it made me think of The Black Cauldron. Don't wait too long to post part 2...
Submitted by YourNameHere (user info) at 2009-01-29 01:17:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment