The Tinker Trilogy
Book Two
The Tinker’s Apprentice
Shelley Ballard
As his head jerked up, he heard a voice, or was it more like having the memory of hearing a voice?
The Master bids you come.
The words echoed clearly in his head, so clearly in fact that he looked around the room half expecting to see someone there with him. He was alone.
He got up and walked through the house to the kitchen. He put water on the stove to boil for tea and looked for something to eat. Mother and Father had gone to visit a neighbor they hadn’t seen for some time. Paison remembered a time when neighbors dropped by almost daily, but people just didn’t do that kind of thing anymore. He wondered why. Too busy. Maybe. Or maybe there was another reason, a fear of something.
The Master bids you come, Thirteen.
That was not his imagination! He spun around to see who had spoken, but again found himself alone. Should he speak back? No. It might mean he was going crazy. “And hearing voices isn’t crazy?” He had to laugh. “Now I’m talking to myself.”
Bring The Gift with you and make haste. The Master needs you.
Published by UCS PRESS
UCS PRESS is an imprint of MarJim Books
P.O. Box 13025
Tucson, Arizona 85732-3025
Copyright 2012 by Shelley Ballard
Cover design by Marty Dobkins
ISBN: 978-0-943247-46-5
Smashwords Edition
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to an actual person or persons is unintentional.
***
About the author
The creativity of this Flagstaff, Arizona denizen is ever evident, even in the name she chose for her day job—actually, a paperhanging business known as My Hang Up.
The Tinker’s Apprentice is the sequel to The Tinker of Petros, which marked Shelley Ballard’s debut as an author. Book three in The Tinker Trilogy is The Tinkers’ War.
For Ballard this allegorical trilogy is a labor of love, presenting the ageless theme of good vs. evil in a way that readers will never forget.
Novels in progress include The Eden Virus and Nazi Gold.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to Stephanie, my daughter. Thanks for your unwavering faith in me and for being my mirror. And to Jurden, my son the dreamer. God gives us the dream, but it’s up to us to give the dream feet. Thanks to my family and friends who encouraged me and helped me believe that I can be more than I am.
Table of Contents
Seven: A new tinker for the Village
Nine: A visit from an old friend
Eleven: The theft of Clovis’ tools
Twelve: Carl’s dismal discovery
Thirteen: Maddie & Witty at the Café Louis
Fourteen: Derek’s troublesome sister
Fifteen: Journey to the Cliffs of Vari El
Sixteen: Secrets of the Ancient Temple
Eighteen: Tomas enters the black cave
Nineteen: Unexpected tracks at the cave
Twenty-three: Escape from the pit
One: A gala celebration
The old tinker’s wagon rattled and shook as it made its way over the rutted road. Its driver tried diligently to rein the horse around the deepest of the furrows, but with little success. It carried its passengers, a rugged but kindly looking, white-haired man and a somewhat taller, slimmer and much younger man, up and down the gentle rises and falls in the road, passing through aspen sheltered groves, their tender leaves fluttering in the spring breeze, finally bringing them within sight of Paison’s home where a gala celebration awaited their arrival. Paison grimaced at each jolt of the wagon and clutched the item in his hands a little tighter. In his lap he held a brown leather satchel containing something very precious and likely irreplaceable.
Earlier that day Paison had ridden his own horse, Jake, over this same road, but in the opposite direction. Carl, his friend and mentor, had requested that Paison come to his home about mid-morning so they might share a private brunch before the commotion of relatives, friends and well-wishers demanded their attention.
When they had finished their meal they rose and moved to the more comfortable surroundings of the living room. A lively fire burned invitingly in the stone fireplace that straddled the far corner of the simply furnished room. Carl sank into the cushion of one of the two overstuffed leather chairs that took up the greater portion of the small living room. Paison fell comfortably into the other. Between the chairs stood a large round table; more a massive cross section of an upended tree trunk than a table and on this table was a three-wicked candle that had been made by casting wax into sand. Next to it laid Carl’s pipe which he leaned forward to retrieve, drawing it to his mouth and grasping the long stem in his teeth.
The pair sat in silence for a few moments enjoying the warmth of the fire and the easy companionship they shared. Carl rose and walked over to the fire where he picked up a long stick and lit his pipe, but instead of returning to his chair, he walked over to a large wooden chest overlaid with silver and embossed with intricate scenes and strange markings. Over the past three years of his apprenticeship to Petros’ loved and respected tinker, Paison had become more than a little familiar with that chest and watched as he had on numerous other occasions as Carl took two keys from around his neck, inserted them into the heart-shaped locks on either end of the lid and turned them simultaneously. As with each time in the past, Paison could not see what lay inside this mysterious chest, but also as with each time before he waited with anticipation to see what Carl would bring out. Today it was a leather pouch containing something that appeared slightly heavy.
Carl carried the bag over to where Paison sat and laid it on the round table next to the candle. The flames on the three wicks burned steadily, their soft light reflecting in Paison’s eyes. He could not remember a time he had been in Carl’s house that the candle had not been burning.
“Paison, my son, you have shown yourself to be a dedicated and gifted apprentice and I’m very proud of you. But the day is coming much sooner than you realize when your apprenticeship to me will be complete. Then you will travel to a small town not far from here and become the tinker of that town. I have a special gift for you to commemorate this important occasion.”
Carl pushed the satchel across the table in front of Paison who began to undo the folds of leather revealing a complete set of fine new tinker’s tools. Paison had never seen such beautiful tools, obviously hand crafted by a master tool maker. One by one Paison lifted each piece, turning it over in his hands and admiring it before placing it on the table in front of him. The handles were acacia wood engraved with intricate scrollwork and carefully rubbed with oil stain to preserve and enhance their beauty. Near the hilt of each and inlaid in finest brass were the initials PC.
“Paison Clark,” he whispered. “Oh, Master, these are the finest tools I have ever seen. Any tinker would be proud to own such a set as this. Thank you.”
“A tinker’s tools are his most valuable possession, and you have earned these. Use them and care for them well, as I know you will. You have been a good apprentice and a quick study these past few years and I am glad to have had the opportunity to train you and set you on this path.”
Paison continued to admire his new set of tools as Carl cleared the table of the remnants of their meal and made ready to leave. Following his master’s lead, Paison laid the tools back on the leather and began to wrap them up again. He paused as he began to wrap one of the tools and studied it more closely. It was very peculiar, though it had the same type of handle as the others, but where the metal implement should be, there was merely a shaft of steel, flat and rounded at one end. At the base of the handle, the number ‘13’ had been scorched into the wood.
“Master, I have never seen a tool such as this. What is its purpose? He held out the tool in Carl’s direction. “And what is the significance of this number?”
Carl drew a deep breath as if to delay his answer by that long.
“Paison, I have been apprenticing tinkers for, well, for many years.” He paused as he heard a breath of surprise catch in Paison’ throat. “No, you are not the first. Each young man I’ve trained, I’ve chosen from before they were even born, and each was very dear to me.”
It seemed all the strength had been drained from Paison. He could only sit in dumb surprise, his mouth gaping. It should not have been such a shock that his master had trained others before him, but why had he not mentioned it before this? And his statement about choosing these men before they had been born was nothing less than incredible. Paison wondered how this could be possible, but then so little was known about Carl. No one really knew where he had lived before he came to Petros and became their tinker. No one knew his age, but then to his knowledge no one had ever asked him.
“How many apprentices have you had?” he managed, “and how is it possible that you chose each one before he was even born?” he added a bit louder.
Carl puffed slowly on his pipe. The smoke circled about him clouding his features in a veil of mystery.
“Now that you are so close to finishing your formal education, we will be able to focus more directly on the final phase of your apprenticeship. Over the next few years, you will come to a deeper understanding of me, and in the process you will learn many things about yourself. But now it is time for you to know how it was that I came to choose you as one of my apprentices.
“I have traveled The Land for countless ages, Paison, and have trained hundreds of apprentices. And for those who completed their apprenticeship in a worthy manner, I would give a set of tools much like the one I just gave to you. Each would then be given an assignment. I would give them charge over a town or village or hamlet somewhere in The Land where they would soon become a vital part of that community, working hard to meet the needs of the people under their care. Some would become very well known, greatly loved and respected by the townsfolk where they lived. But in every instance after a period of time, either long or short, the people would betray their tinker and begin to fix their own things. Some would even try to fashion their own crude tools. From that point on, the demise of the village or town was imminent. The tinker I had left in charge could do little but sit and wait.
“So I devised a plan. I would select twelve of the most brilliant young men I could find with strong, skilled hands and hearts that were tender towards others. These men I would carefully apprentice and, after their training was complete, I would give to each a special gift, a set of hand-crafted tools and a unique tool, like the one you have there. When first received, The Gift, as I call it, appears formless; without purpose, but gradually, it takes on a unique quality and shape in the hands of the tinker who owns it and uses it thereby giving that tinker an ability no other person can possess. That skill insures his usefulness to the people of his town and their continued reliance on him.
“My plan was to train twelve such uniquely gifted tinkers, placing them in charge of twelve different towns across The Land, and twelve I trained.” Carl’s voice began to quake with emotion and took on a painful edge reflecting a hurt that lay deep within his heart. “But then one, a particularly skilled tinker, was lost,” he whispered.
Suddenly Paison understood. “I’ve always had the sense that you were training me for a particular purpose.” He looked again at the blank tool still in his hand. “I am to replace the one who was lost.”
“Yes, my dear boy, you are.” Carl laid his pipe down and rose to get his hat and gloves. “But we will have to discuss your future at another time. Right now we need to leave. Your family will be waiting to celebrate your accomplishment and we don’t want to be late for that event.”
Carl smiled as he opened the door and ushered Paison outside where the wagon was waiting. Paison tied Jake onto the back of the wagon and they set off down the long hill that led away from Carl’s home.
“Master,” Paison began after a few moments, “there’s something I’ve wanted to ask you for some time now.”
Carl smiled. He knew what Paison was going to say.
“You want to know why, after pulling my cart around town for countless eons and never riding in a wagon I would suddenly change that practice.”
“Yes, that’s exactly right. The change surprised many of the townsfolk, particularly the older ones who have known you longer. They wonder if you had a particular reason for the change.”
“Oh, yes. In fact, there are two reasons for the change that I will share with you. I very much enjoy pulling my old tinker’s cart around town to make my deliveries and would prefer to still do it that way. But a few weeks ago, I noticed Baron acted very strange every time I left with my old cart to make my deliveries. It was as if he was trying to tell me that he wanted to come along. So, I rigged this old wagon for him to pull. Sure enough, the first time I led him up to the tongue and hitched him to it, he took to it like a duck to water. Loved it!”
“Maybe he just likes to feel useful,” Paison noted.
“That’s very astute thinking on your part, Paison. Yes, all things were created for a purpose, horses included. I don’t know of a creature alive that doesn’t like to think he is doing what he was meant to do.”
“And the second reason?”
Carl smiled mysteriously to himself.
“It never does to be too predictable.”
“Master, I have seen you fix many items that seemed broken beyond repair, things most would certainly throw into the trash bin.”
Carl waited to see where Paison’s thoughts would take him.
“Can you not do something about this road?” Paison remarked as the wagon took a particularly hard jolt.
Carl laughed out loud. He loved the unguarded honesty of this young man seated beside him. It was one reason he had chosen him those many years ago to become one of his apprentices.
“Yes, I could do something to smooth the road. It could be done quite easily, really. But I choose not to.”
“But why not? Would not a smooth road be easier to travel than a rutted one, especially one that seems so intent upon bruising our back sides?”
“There are many more important things in life than a smooth road,” Carl replied, smiling slightly as the wagon jostled and tilted again throwing Paison sharply to the left. “Often a rough road has more to teach us than a smooth one. Like how to keep our balance. Ha! Ha!”
Paison realized with amazement that this remarkable man, who called himself a tinker but in truth was much more, had once again managed to slip in another lesson on life. He laughed aloud.
“I defer to your wisdom, Master, and to the lesson of the rutted road.”
The wagon rounded a curve and started up the last rise before Paison’s house. They could hear light-hearted conversation and happy laughter that signaled the party was well underway. A light breeze tantalized their nostrils with the evidence that some of their favorite dishes were being prepared.
Paison’s older sister bore a tot cousin on each hip. Spotting the pair bouncing over the ridge and up the road, she set the children down quickly and waved an excited greeting in their direction. Carl slapped the reins lightly on Baron’s rump to quicken his pace. Soon they arrived at the house where they were immediately surrounded by friends and family offering congratulations and punctuating their well wishes with a slap on the back or a handshake.
Paison jumped to the ground as his sister Winifred ran to throw her arms around his neck. Her blue eyes appeared especially bright framed by her raven black hair and ivory skin.
“Oh, little brother, just look at you. So tall and handsome, and quickly becoming a respectable Tinker!” She cocked her head to one side in exaggerated admiration. “We’re all so proud of you.”
“It’s wonderful to see you, Witty.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek. “When did you arrive?” As a child, Paison had been unable to pronounce ‘Winifred.’ His parents had suggested ‘Winnie’, but his young tongue could only manage ‘Witty’, and the name had stuck over all the years.
Their reunion was suddenly interrupted by sounds of awe and they turned around to see Paison’s mother smiling as she came out of the house carrying a very large cake elaborately decorated with tinker’s tools fashioned expertly from marzipan and gelatin. Abigail Clark paused long enough to kiss her son on the cheek then continued towards one of the long tables that had been set up around the side of the house to hold the food.
“This cake is one of your masterpieces, isn’t it dear sister? You are surely the most talented cake decorator in all The Land.”
Two years prior after her own graduation, Witty had taken a room in town over the Café Louis and had gone to work for Mr. Levine, the baker who owned the café. Mr. Levine was teaching her how to bake delicious pastries and his wife was instructing her in the art of decorating cakes.
She smiled happily and cleared a large spot on the table for her mother to set the cake down. Though certainly the most elaborate, the cake was only one of many baked goods and desserts that loaded the table down almost to capacity. Pies and tarts, breads of all sorts and fresh fruit were arranged on one table and on the other green beans, sugared yams, mashed potatoes, turnips cooked with the greens in a briny broth, chicken and barbeque beef so tender it was falling off the bone. In the yard beyond the tables, a whole young pig was roasting on a spit over an open fire. Paison’s father was basting the roasting meat and turning the spit slowly letting the juices flow down flavoring the pork to perfection.
Crowds of people stood around the grounds, sitting wherever they could find a place or leaning or standing and talking with each other. Ales flowed freely for the adults and sweet punch or herb tea for the younger members.
Paison could tell that Carl was somewhat taken aback by the magnitude of the celebration. The Clarks were an old and well established family in their hometown of Chanteclair, which lay many miles from Petros. Some had traveled days to attend the event and offer their support and congratulations to Paison. There were many faces Carl had never seen in Petros before.
“We Clarks have never needed much of a reason to celebrate,” interjected Paison’s father Geron Clark who had stopped basting the piglet long enough to come over and greet the two new arrivals. “And now with Paison doing so well as your apprentice and completing his schooling, we have two legitimate reasons.” He winked at them. “How could we resist, eh?” He squeezed Paison’s shoulder then turned and walked back to attend to his roasting pig.
It was less than an hour from the time Carl and Paison arrived when Abigail Clark once again appeared at the door clanging the dinner bell and requesting everyone line up on either side of the tables with plates in hand and appetites ready for the feast. Paison felt his stomach begin to rumble as if on command. The sight and smells of the rich cuisine were impossible to resist.
As was the custom in that town, the children were served and seated first. But soon enough everyone had marched past the tables filling his or her plate and had settled here and there to enjoy the good food and friendly conversation.
After the remnants of the feast were cleared away, people began piling the tables again, but this time with cards, flowers and gifts for the graduate.
“I don’t know how to thank you all for your thoughtfulness and generosity.” Paison stood on the porch so he could look out at all the people who had gathered to help him celebrate his achievements. Darkness and chill air had begun to creep down the mountain slopes and cover the vale and the torches had been lit around the porch in an effort to hold them back. “The last few years have been filled with hard work and were very grueling at times. I want you all to know that each of you played an important part in helping me to complete my primary education. Some of you were more helpful than others in keeping me on track with my studies.” He caught Witty’s eye as he said this and grinned. Even in the dusk he was sure he saw a blush rise in her cheeks. “I will treasure this time we share today for as long as I live.”
After his short speech the party began to break up. Farewells were said and soon horses, wagons and travelers began their journey down the hill towards their own homes. Paison looked around for Carl but didn’t see him.
“He must have left early,” he commented more to himself than to his mother who stood next to him.
“Who, dear?”
“Carl. I didn’t see him leave.”
“No, neither did I. In fact I haven’t seen him since we finished eating,” she said. “What a wonderful party it was. Even your uncle Estes came all the way from Ravenscliff, fifty miles away. That’s not an easy journey for a man his age, you know.”
“Yes, we talked for some time about what I was going to do now that I have all this education ‘under my belt’ as he put it,” Paison laughed.
“And what did you tell him?” She turned to face him squarely. “What are you going to do now, Paison?” She wiped her eyes quickly with the corner of her apron. Petros was much too small to have need of two tinkers. Obviously one of them would have to leave, and it was not likely to be Carl. His conversation with Carl earlier that day replayed itself quickly in his mind. He thought of the fine set of tools Carl had given him and the strange tool with some as yet undetermined purpose that had the number thirteen burned into its wooden handle. He could divulge none of these things to his mother yet, but he wanted very much to ease her mind.
“I still have over a year of my apprenticeship to complete. Carl hasn’t told me his plans for my future after that.” He turned away and gazed at the stars beginning to reveal themselves in the deepening blue of the sky. “But I know he has something in mind. Of that I’m sure.”
He folded her gently in his long arms. “But we shouldn’t worry about that now, Mother. Let’s just sit for a while and enjoy the evening.”
Two: Changes in Petros
“Would you like some tea, dear?” Paison’s mother asked. “Witty said she’d bring some scones from the bakery when she comes today for lunch,” she added as she set the tray holding the tea, sugar and creamer beside her son on the dining room table.
Paison swept over a pile of cards to make a place for the tray. Since breakfast that morning he had been opening stacks of cards and boxes and writing down who they were from and what gift they contained. He stared helplessly at the boxes and bags piled high as the hearth in the corner of the dining room, evidence that the celebration two weeks earlier had not just been a pleasant dream. So many people had come, many from Petros, but more from other villages, Ginger Tree, Canterbury, Acanthi and even their home town of Chanteclair. Good friends and lots of family.
“I never knew graduating was so much work. The school was easy compared to having to write cards for each one of these gifts. It will take another full day just to unwrap them,” Paison whimpered a little as if it would get him out of the obligation, according to his mother, of writing notes of thanks to each gift-giver. His mother shot him a sidelong glance that instantly put a stop to any further thoughts along those lines. He should have known better. He remembered his sister sitting at this same table two years prior, pad and pen in hand sorting through mounds of cards and gifts. He sipped his tea.
“Have you heard from Carl?”
“No, I thought later today, uh, that is, when I take a break, I would ride over to his house. Just to see how he’s doing. And ask why he left the party so abruptly and without saying goodbye.”
“That may have to wait for a few days I’m afraid. Your father will be going into town in the morning and will want to take the thank you notes with him to leave them with Mr. Simpson for delivery, so you need to get them finished.”
Paison fidgeted in his chair and made quite a process of refilling his cup, adding milk and sugar, and stirring the mixture, and stirring and stirring till finally his mother said “Stirring the bottom out of that teacup will not get your task done, Paison. And that’s your grandmother’s bone china.”
He gazed blankly at her. “Tea cups are very much in need of their bottoms,” she teasingly tapped him on the head.
He laughed and set the spoon down, picking up his pen just as the door to the house opened wide. Witty fluttered in with a basket of bakery goods covered over with a brightly colored tea towel.
“Here we are everyone, just in time for lunch.” She kissed her mother and set the basket on the kitchen counter, peeling back the towel to reveal its contents. “These we’ll have with afternoon tea.” Then to Paison, “A reward for when you’re finished writing all those mountains of thank you notes. The price we must pay for having such a large and generous circle of family and friends.”
Paison got up and walked over to peer in the basket. “I couldn’t understand why on earth you were so grouchy after receiving all those wonderful gifts the week of your graduation…until now that is,” and he broke off a corner of a buttery croissant and popped it into his mouth before Witty could stop him.
She frowned her disapproval of the thievery. “My dear brother, I haven’t had a grouchy day in my life.”
Witty sat at the table adjacent to her brother and propped her elbows on top of a stack of cards. She leaned forward slightly and her eyes became narrow slits. “But I’ll tell you who is grouchy. My boss.”
“Mr. Levine, the baker?”
“Yes. When I first went to work at the bakery two years ago, he was the nicest man and the best boss I could hope for. Then I began to notice changes, little things at first, then over a period of several months he became more and more, shall I say… difficult. Now most of the time he’s as cross as an old bear. I can’t seem to say or do anything to please him.”
“That sounds very strange. I’ll admit, between school and my apprenticeship I haven’t had much time to spend at his shop lately, but I used to love going into the Café Louis. It was the social hub of Petros, and Mr. Levine always had a smile for everyone.”
“And a sample of one of his impossible to resist pastries.” Mother added, bringing two more teacups to the table for herself and Witty. “Perhaps he’s had some bad news.”
“He’s told me nothing about bad news. Or good news. Or any news at all. In fact he says very little to anybody anymore. He spends most of the day in the back room baking or cleaning or just brooding. He rarely comes out even to speak to his closest friends.”
Paison added, “Well something must have happened to cause such a change. You say all this started soon after you went to work for him, about two years ago?”
“Yes. You know, I do remember something strange happening a few weeks after I started working there. Mr. Levine had sent me after some tart apples for his turnovers and when I was on my way back, just as I came around the corner to his shop a man in a very big hurry nearly knocked the sack of apples out of my hand. He was dressed strangely in a long cloak and big black hat. Everything he was wearing was dark and dirty, and I remember a strange smell, too.”
“What kind of smell?” Mother asked.
“Well, I’m not sure, but I think it was, that is I’m pretty sure it was...”
“Sulfur!” Paison said.
“Yes. That’s it, but how did you know?”
“I’ve smelled it too.”
“But you weren’t there.”
“No, not that day, but for a long time now I’ve noticed the smell of sulfur around town and around many people’s homes as Carl and I have made our rounds. Please go on with your story.”
“Well, after this man had nearly knocked me down, I turned around to see if I recognized him, but he was gone. He’d simply vanished like a wisp of smoke. But not that smell. It lingered long afterwards. Mr. Levine was standing in the doorway of the Café Louis holding a sandwich in his hand when I got there. He described the man and asked me if I’d seen him. Apparently he had been in the Café Louis but had left without his order.” Witty took a sip of her tea. “It was all very strange.”
“Did you ever see the man again?”
“No. He didn’t come back for his sandwich and we never saw him again, but later that day I noticed Mr. Levine was very preoccupied with a scrap of parchment. It looked like something had been drawn on it, a map or something. Mr. Levine just kept pulling it out of his pocket, looking at it then shoving it back in his pocket.”
“And that was after that Mr. Levine’s behavior changed?” Mother asked.
“Yes.”
“Did he ever speak of the man to you?”
“No, and something told me I dare not ask what was on the parchment. Oh, I wish I had gotten a better look at it.”
“Yes, it’s too bad you didn’t. It could have explained why he started acting so strangely,” Paison said. “I’ll talk to Carl about it the next time I see him. He may have heard something.”
“You won’t find him,” Witty said bluntly.
“Won’t find who, Carl? And what makes you think that?”
“No one’s seen him for almost a week, since a few days after your celebration in fact. The talk around the Café Louis is that he’s left Petros, though I can’t imagine that. At any rate, it would seem he’s gone.”
The news of Carl’s leaving gnawed at Paison’s insides making it impossible for him to concentrate on his upcoming graduation ceremony or anything else. He couldn’t eat and didn’t sleep for more than a few hours without being awakened by hounding questions of where Carl had gone and when, if ever, he would return. In contrast to the bright spring day of his celebration less than three weeks before, the sky had turned to dismal gray. A harsh wind swept down the mountainside and through the streets of Petros pushing a mass of cold air in front of it.
“This weather has put everyone in a foul mood,” Paison complained.
“It’s not the weather alone.” Mother countered. “I’ve been thinking about what Witty said, about poor Mr. Levine turning into such a ‘cross old bear’ as she put it. I suppose I’ve been so busy with the plans for your graduation party that I didn’t notice it, but in thinking back, I realize that there has been a change in many people in Petros. I was in town this morning shopping and hardly saw a person smile. Mr. Hackett the butcher nearly bit my head off when I asked him to cut a roast in half and repackage it for me.”
“Mr. Hackett? Why, you’ve been one of his favorite customers for years, Mother.”
“Well, he was rather busy, lots of people buying meat and getting ready for tomorrow’s graduation ceremony, you know. Maybe it was my imagination.”
“Maybe…I’m going to Carl’s whether he’s there or not. Perhaps he’s back from wherever he went.”
“All right. But will you at least wait until your father can go with you?”
“It will be nearly dark by the time he gets home. I should go while I still have some daylight.”
“I don’t like the idea of you going alone, not with all the strange happenings in Petros lately.”
Paison had to admit, though he’d been to Carl’s house countless times before, the thought of someone accompanying him now was comforting. There was no way of telling what he would find once he got there, perhaps some unpleasant truth would come to light and it would be good to have a friend along to help him face it.
“All right, I’ll stop and see if Derek Tanner will come along with me.”
Derek hurried out of the house and tossed a bundle up to Paison waiting in the wagon. “Here’s something for the road, some cold meat, biscuits and cheese. We might get hungry before this is over.” Paison put the bundle behind the seat of the wagon then slapped the reins smartly on the horse’s rump. “Now, what’s this all about?” Derek asked. The boys had been friends since childhood. Paison knew he could always count on Derek to be up for any kind of an adventure.
Though the trip to Carl’s house was not long, the road was slow in places and it took them almost an hour to cover the distance. Paison filled Derek in on the reason for his sudden trip as they rode along, though he tried to keep any hint of overt concern out of his voice. He wasn’t sure he succeeded. Over the years, the two had become closer than brothers and it was hard to hide his fears from his friend. Additionally, Derek seemed to have an extraordinary ability to discern what was going on in a person’s mind. At times it could be very unnerving and Paison often wondered how he had become so gifted in this area.
Carl’s house, like all houses in Petros, was a natural stone grotto set in the slope of the Carda Mountains, the mountains that sheltered the small town. But it sat off by itself and very high up the slope, overlooking the town below. The stones of both the road and the foot path were polished to a shine from years of townsfolk making their way to his door.
Paison pulled the wagon to the front of Carl’s house and dropped the reins. Not likely that the gentle shire Joe would go anywhere without prompting from his master. An unnatural stillness hung in the air and veiled the house in heavy silence. Faint light could be seen through the bubbled glass of one of the three triangular shaped leadlight windows spaced across the front of the house. It was magnified by the crown glass circle in its center. Paison walked up to the heavy wooden door. It was made from rough-hewn planks rounded at the top to conform exactly to the arch of the opening and held tightly together with horizontal bands of hammered copper. The hinges were disproportionately large for the size of the door as was the doorknob. More of a sliding bolt than a knob, really, an undoubtedly ancient mechanism. One had to turn a small lever and lift up, then slide the entire assembly back in order to release the latch. He knocked hesitantly. Only silence answered.
“Doesn’t look like anyone is at home, Pai,” Derek said. His eyes searched the edge of the trees nervously. He was sure he’d heard the snap of a twig, but the thick underbrush prevented him seeing into the forest more than a few feet. According to his vivid imagination, it could easily accommodate a person with a desire to hide from view.
Paison slid the bolt back and pushed the door open slightly. He heard Derek’s breath catch and he started to protest. “Paison, you can’t just…”
“Derek, Carl is missing and I have to find out what’s happened to him. You don’t have to come in. You can wait in the wagon if you like.”
“Forget that. I’m not staying out here alone.” Derek nearly pushed Paison down as he darted through the door after him.
The setting sun was beginning to cast long shadows through the windows and the glow from the flames of the tri-wicked candle spun three interlocking halos on the ceiling. Unfortunately, it gave no clue as to how long Carl had been gone as the candle was always lit and never seemed to burn down. Paison walked over to the fireplace and put his hand on the chimney. It was cold. Obviously there had not been a fire there for over a day. He walked to the kitchen to see if there were any signs of how recently Carl had been there. Derek was moving around the den slowly looking at the books on Carl’s shelves. His foot suddenly hit something solid on the floor. He had not seen the chest in the dim light.
“Ow!” He felt the curved lid of the chest, the two heart-shaped locks on each end and the relief images stamped into the metal.
“What’s this?”
Derek walked back to where the candle burned, picked it up and carried it back into the den so he could have a better look at the chest. In the flickering light he could make out the scenes embossed in the metal of the chest. In one, a wise-looking bearded man was holding out a large open book to another man who was kneeling to receive it. Several images depicted fierce battles. One showed a hideous beast being slain by someone whose head radiated light or power or something. There were strange symbols all around the edge of the lid, some form of writing no doubt, but Derek had never seen anything like it before. Then Derek saw that the lid was slightly open. He raised it.
“I’m going to go out to the barn and see if Carl’s horse is …What are you doing? That trunk has never been unlocked unless Carl is here.” Curiosity took hold of Paison and he stepped closer. “I’ve never seen what’s inside. I didn’t think Carl wanted me to.”
Derek lifted something from the trunk and Paison’s eyes grew wide with surprise. “That’s Carl’s tool belt. Why would he leave without it? Something very strange is…”
Just then the door opened wide bringing a gust of wind that blew out the candle. Paison and Derek spun around to see the form of a young woman in a riding cloak silhouetteted in the doorway. Derek dropped the tool belt back into the chest in surprise and the lid slammed down hard.
“Derek! Are you in here?” came a panicked voice. “There’s something out there!”
“Maddie, what are you doing here?” Derek pushed himself up on the lid of the chest. As he did, they heard the click of the locks. There would be no more snooping to see what other mysteries the chest might hold.
“I saw you and Paison leaving the house and so we followed you. That old wagon made so much noise bumping over the road you didn’t even hear us.”
“Us?” asked Paison.
“Paladin and I,” Maddie replied.
“Paladin is her horse,” Derek explained. “Or maybe I should say ‘accomplice’. He’s just as sneaky as she is.”
“We stayed in the trees so you wouldn’t see us. It was really quite easy.” Derek’s younger sister grinned with self-satisfaction. She prided herself on sneaking around and spying on her brother and his friends.
“Not quite, Sis. I heard you in the trees outside just before we came in.”
“Oh, but that’s what I mean. That wasn’t me!” The fear they had heard in her voice they could now see in her face. “I planned to surprise you when you came out, so I waited by the wagon. Then I saw shadows of something moving deep in the woods, and I thought I could see strange lights like eyes watching me, and sounds like voices drifting on the wind.”
“Oh, Madeline, don’t be so dramatic. You probably just frightened some poor animal out of its sleep; a fox or a badger.”
“It was no fox or badger, of that I’m sure. Why are you and Paison prowling around Carl’s house in the middle of the night and him not at home?”
“In the first place, it’s not the middle of the night. It’s barely dusk, and we’re not prowling,” Derek rolled his eyes. “Paison hadn’t seen Carl for a few days and we came over here to see if he was home. That’s all.”
Maddie lifted a dubious eyebrow.
It was growing darker and Paison found a flint near the fireplace to relight the candle. He carried it back into the other room and placed it on the table where it always sat. He struck the flint several times but he could not get the wicks to light. Chills pricked his skin like electrical charges. There was something not right about this. Carl’s disappearance and the fact that his tools had been left behind was more than a little disconcerting. And now the ever-burning flames of the tri-wicked candle had gone out and could not be re-lit.
“We should go before it gets any later,” Paison said. “I’ll get the lantern from the wagon and light it before we leave. Maddie, I think you should ride in the wagon with us. You can tie Paladin to the back.”
He got no argument from the maiden spy. It seemed some of her fire had gone out just like the candle sitting dark and lifeless on the wooden table.
As he turned the wagon down the road and away from Carl’s house, Paison imagined he caught the faint odor of sulfur.
Three: Carl’s return
It was the early hours of the morning when Carl passed between the stone portals that marked the entrance into Petros. Several early risers noted his return with no show of emotion, but their eyes followed his progression as his wagon clattered noisily over the cobblestones, through the center of town and on out the other end taking the road that lead to his house.
The sun was warming the air as he pulled the wagon up the last rise to his home. A welcome sight it was. He dragged the wagon around the side of the house and let the tongue drop to the ground. Immediately he went into the barn to check on Baron. The horse stomped his foot and nuzzled his hand in friendly greeting of his return. His shaggy feet, slick black coat and long mane and tail betrayed his Friesian bloodlines. But there were other characteristics not so easy to discern, like his thick neck and wide white blaze that ran the full length of his arched nose.
“Miss me, old boy?” A low whinny rumbled deep in the horse’s chest in reply. “I missed you too, but it was best that you stay here. It was not a pleasant journey. I’ll bet you’re hungry.”
Carl dropped a flake of hay and a measure of oats into the feed bin then went out to the well to fetch some fresh water for the trough.
“It’s good to be back. We’ll have a lot of work to do later, Baron, but right now I have to rest.”
Carl went back out to the wagon and picked up a heavy bag of tinker’s tools and carried it toward the house. As soon as his foot passed over the threshold, the flames of the tri-wicked candle jumped to life and began to burn brightly. Carl took the keys from around his neck and unlocked the chest, opened it and took out his own tools He put in the bag containing the other tools and closed the lid allowing it to lock securely.
He sank into his chair, bone weary but elated that he had succeeded in his task. Clovis was defeated, and without his tools he would be powerless to enslave anyone else. Unless they got too close to the chasm into which Carl had cast the evil tinker. His fingers rested lightly on his chest just over his heart touching the wound that Clovis’ blade had inflicted. Yes, he still had much work to do, but for now he would rest. He drifted off to sleep surrounded by the halo of light from the candle.
The trees in the surrounding woods began to sway and groan, shaking their branches violently and rustling their leaves.
‘Heed what we say O People of The Land. The battle is won, but the war begins. The battle is won, but the war begins. The battle is won, BUT THE WAR BEGINS’ they moaned over and over to any who would listen, but there was no one who could hear.
The following day, Paison and Derek rode their horses side by side in silence. They traveled the familiar road that lead to the Ellendel River. Most of the townsfolk of Petros had turned out for the graduation ceremony. The School-master had given a speech praising the accomplishments of this remarkable class of young men and women. Paison had continuously searched for Carl’s face in the crowd and had truthfully paid little attention to what the man was saying. He did recall the Schoolmaster saying something about passing through a portal into the future. A future “filled with hope and possibilities.”
Now with this strange turn of events, he knew that the future he had envisioned would never come to be. Hope had all but abandoned him and thoughts of the various possibilities served only to bring more questions than answers. The jumble of thoughts confusing his mind nauseated him. He didn’t want to go straight home after the ceremony, so Derek agreed to ride with him to the edge of the river where they’d spent many summer days fishing and where Paison always went to sort out his thoughts.
“He wasn’t there, Derek. He wasn’t at our graduation ceremony. I know he would have been there if he could have. I can only think…” Paison’s face twisted in anguish. “What could have happened to him? The last time we were together, he told me how glad he was to have me as his apprentice and how well I had been doing. We even talked of how soon it would be that my apprenticeship would be finished and I would take over as tinker of some small town. Then he gave me a set of marvelously crafted tools, the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.”
“Pai, don’t worry. Even if Carl doesn’t come back, you could stay here in Petros as our tinker. We would certainly need one in that event.”
Derek was immediately sorry. The look on Paison’s face reflected the pain his words had caused. The horses plodded on slowly, sensing that their riders were in no hurry. Indeed, this journey to the river was not about the destination, but about two longtime friends spending a few moments together.
“I’m sorry, Paison. That was a stupid thing to say.”
“It’s alright. I know you were only trying to help.”
Dust from the hooves of a galloping horse rose in the distance from the direction of Petros. Someone was fast approaching and it was impossible to tell who it was for the rider was robed from head to foot in a dark gray cloak.
The rider reached them and threw back the hood of the cloak releasing a tumble of thick black curls that fell across her shoulders.
“He’s back!” Witty managed excitedly, breathless from her ride. “Carl is back. He was seen early this morning dragging his cart back into Petros.”
“What? I must go to him at once,” Paison gasped, but Witty grabbed the reins of his horse to prevent his leaving.
“No, Paison. Those who saw him said he looked tired, as though he’d been through some horrible ordeal. Let him rest. He will send for you when he is ready.”
Paison gazed steadily towards Petros. Witty’s words seemed to penetrate slowly into his mind.
“Yes, you’re right.” The other two could see Paison’s body relax by degrees. “I’m glad to know he’s all right.” But there was an unmistakable thread of anger woven through his voice. Derek and Witty exchanged glances.
“Very glad.”
Sunlight streamed through the rippled glass of the windows, splitting into prisms as it passed through the thick crown glass in the center of each. A rainbow of color danced on the face of the sleeping Tinker, measuring his rhythmic breathing. When it touched his eyelids, he slowly opened his eyes. He’d slept longer than he had intended. There was still much to be done and no time to lose. He must send immediately for the Thirteenth Tinker. He would need his help for the next step of his plan.
The book slowly slid out of Paison’s hand and fell to the floor with a muffled thud. He hadn’t realized how tired he was, but the events of the last several days had drained him and reading had lulled his mind into a fantasy where peace existed.
As his head jerked up, he heard a voice, or was it more like having the memory of hearing a voice?
The Master bids you come.
The words echoed clearly in his head, so clearly in fact that he looked around the room half expecting to see someone there with him. He was alone.
He got up and walked through the house to the kitchen. He put water on the stove to boil for tea and looked for something to eat. Mother and Father had gone to visit a neighbor they hadn’t seen for some time. Paison remembered a time when neighbors dropped by almost daily, but people just didn’t do that kind of thing anymore. He wondered why. Too busy. Maybe. Or maybe there was another reason, a fear of something.
The Master bids you come, Thirteen.
That was not his imagination! He spun around to see who had spoken, but again found himself alone. Should he speak back? No. It might mean he was going crazy. “And hearing voices isn’t crazy?” He had to laugh. “Now I’m talking to myself.”
Bring The Gift with you and make haste. The Master needs you.
Paison swung into the saddle and spurred his horse in the direction of Carl’s house. The blank tool he’d wrapped and stuffed into one of the saddle bags. Shadows seemed to follow him just off the road, sometimes darting across the path of the galloping horse. He had a sense that he was being flanked by unseen riders. As he pulled up his horse in front of Carl’s house and tied him to the rail, his shadowy escorts suddenly left him, rushing off into the woods.
He stared after them for a moment, wondering, then strode to the front door of the Tinker’s house. Before he could even reach for the knob, the door opened and Carl grasped him by the hand practically dragging him into the house and into a bone-crushing embrace.
“Paison, my boy, it’s so good to see you. Come in, come in.”
Since hearing about Carl’s unexpected leaving and now his sudden return, Paison had been nursing his anger and hurt feelings. He’d rehearsed what he was going to say. How could he have left without a word to anyone, especially him? Didn’t he know they would all be worrying, wondering why he’d left and if he was ever coming back? But instead, hot tears began spilling out of Paison’s eyes replacing the pent up anger with love and relief.
“Master, I was so afraid…afraid you weren’t coming back. Afraid I’d done something to disappoint you, or…” Paison’s words were lost in their tearful reunion.
“I had to go, Paison. You must try to understand. There was no other way. I had something very important to do and I had to do it alone. You could not have come with me or helped me in any way.” Paison felt his knees going weak and allowed Carl to lead him over to one of the chairs in the den where he collapsed.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. In fact, I went away because I love you and all the people of Petros more than you can imagine.”
It was then that Paison noticed a small bloodstain on Carl’s shirt just over his heart. There were also painful looking wounds on his wrists as if they had been bound tightly enough to tear the flesh.
“Master, what has happened to you? Please tell me where you have been, and who has done this to you.”
“Yes, I will tell you, even though it causes me much pain to remember and more to tell it. What I’ve done must be told and retold to everyone in Petros for now and for every age to come. Everyone in all The Land must know what I have done.” Carl looked into Paison’s eyes. “… and you are going to help me.”
Four: The woodsman’s song
My day begins ‘fore sunrise fair
I sharpen bow and axe