Chpt - 1 The Littlefield Chronicles

     CHAPTER 1

 

        "Please, you flatter me," I said with a slight nod.  Another man might have taken offense at such a remark, but for me this was high praise indeed.  "I could never invent a story to compete with this truth."

"A commoner... a giant with a dog no less, trusted above all others by a King," the man said, standing, waving his flagon for emphasis as he spoke.

The tavern exploded with laughter.  The twenty or so people present had given me their undivided attention.

Nothing could make me happier.  The larger the audience the better.

"I assure you," I said, rising slowly, smoothing my hand over my balding head, readying myself.  I caught Jack's eye and nodded slightly toward the man at the head of the table.  The man followed my gaze to him and smiled to himself, shaking his head. His hand waved loosely, beckoning Jack closer.

"All he can drink, Innkeeper... and the money, sir, until we can catch him in a lie," he said firmly to Jack and tossed a leather bag upon the table.

"I assure you," I started again.  "This tale is no lie.  Enon Tutelo exists and the Kingdom of Irkland and I are the better for it."

My glass newly filled, I stood on the table, nodded my appreciation to my new patron and waited for silence.  The net had been cast.

"Let me think, my friends.  Where do I start?" I took a long draw from the glass and then waved it slightly to signal I was ready for another.  Jack filled it to overflowing.  "Ahh, it's coming to me now.  The beginning, the day he came into the world.  Well, I think it best we are honest with one another.  All you have heard about his birthright is true."

A soft gasp escaped from several women closest to my table.  I took the opportunity to empty my glass once more.

"Fault him not for being born the son of a witch nor for being Jonda.  He had no more choice than you or I."

Harsh whispers floated softly among the crowd.

"There are those that say…" I looked deep into the bottom of my glass and swirled it slowly.  "Well, we would have to ask ourselves which the Goddess would look harshest upon, he or the cowards that..." I paused for effect, pulling a chair to the tabletop and sat down, surveying each face that waited silently for my next words.

 Wood smoke hung in the air like morning fog as Jack crept behind me to fill my cup once more.

"It happened this way," I said, drawing a deep breath, reaching for my glass.  "Her name was Sara. Alone, pregnant, no man of name in her life.  She was a seventh generation practitioner, raised in the Sisterhood from childhood.  Three men, beaten and robbed for a necklace thought to hold the power of her religion, attacked her.  It was but a trinket handed down from mother to child upon coming of age and held no power beyond this.  From fear of her power or cruelty for its own sake, they stabbed her several times."

"Come along now.  This is not the story we bargained for."  My patron shifted uncomfortably, and the audience grumbled their agreement.

"My apologies, dear friends.  It is not my desire to be vulgar or to shock you, but it is important we all understand what has made a man become the likes of Enon Tutelo.  My point is this. Not all witches are bad and not all men are good.  She, like you or I, had but one thought at the end... the well being of her unborn child."

An uncomfortable silence hung thick in the air.  I sipped at my glass patiently.

"Left for dead," I began again, "she was found by one of her own.  But the damage was too great and only one life could be saved - hers or the child's.  As her life drained from her, she begged her companion to save the child and for one last thing... a promise... that her child never be alone."  I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and emptied my glass.

"Goddess knows, there is nothing more powerful than a mother's love, be she witch or mortal, nothing stronger in all of creation.  Her companion complied and Enon Tutelo was brought into the world, baptized in his dead mother's blood.  As he drew his first breath, the Goddess's mark was placed upon him.  A cut on the right side of his neck, gained at the very moment the dagger was plunged, taking his mother's life.  To heal the wound, to keep the promise, her companion performed the rights.  With lightning, with fire, and a silver dagger, with words of magic known only to those who have practice of those beliefs, the child was saved.  And to the promise, it was kept all too well, cleaved with that bolt of lightning. Enon Tutelo would never be alone.  I ask only that you hold this image, only for a while, just until I make myself clear.  This man, my friends, was both blessed and cursed that night.  Had it been any one of us and we were given the choice forced upon him at birth, I wonder how many of us would accept his particular gift.  Let me leave it at this... Enon Tutelo is a good man, as good as any man here."

I rocked my chair back softly, waiting for their reaction.  I ran my finger absentmindedly over the silver chain attached to my vest.  Counting the links allowed me to adjust for the timing. Content with their silence, I knew they were mine.

"Now then," I said, snapping the legs of the chair on the table top with a loud crack.  "That said, we can move on." I allowed my voice to become buoyant and everyone gave a collective sigh of relief.  I emptied my glass, and tossed it to Jack.

"I was a guest of a particular Nobleman," I said, standing, holding out my hand to halt any that would ask for a name.  "Who shall remain nameless in deference to his sister, who found my presence, shall we say, charming."

A small sprinkling of laughter made its way around my audience.  I took that moment to survey the room; a few more tables had found occupants.

"You may make of that what you will." I smiled, winking at the women closest to me.  My glass had been returned and refreshed.  I settled myself again.  "My patron had been invited to enjoy the king’s generosity and, thanks to his sister, so was I.  A gala of grand proportions, a wonderful affair, the Queen's birthday I think." I leaned back in the chair and fondled the pipe in my pocket.  "The music was wonderful. The music," I repeated softly, removing my pipe.  I slipped the chain from my pocket.  At its end, a small leather pouch held the true nature of story telling, Jonda tobacco.

I began to fill the pipe and lit it, puffing gently.  Soft clouds of blue smoke rose from it to drift over them all, mixing with the ever present wood smoke...  Big fish and little fish.  "Better," I whispered to myself.  As my voice rose, the smoke floated higher and then began to change color.  It swirled, gaining density.  A faint blue light surged through it, coming alive with the images of which I spoke.  A sudden rush of whispers filled the room, followed closely by laughter and then all out applause as those images came to life within the body of that blue smoke.  They danced and pulsated with the rhythm of my voice.

"People of every color, every description, from every corner of the kingdom, Goddess!  What an event.  I've never had an evening like it before, or since.  Present company excluded, of course.  Marble floors shining so bright one could comb one's hair in the reflection. There were so many candles, it turned night into day.  And the food, the dancing, the music, Goddess, it was a night I'll never forget.  It was the first time I laid eyes on Enon Tutelo.

"More than a three hundred people filled the enormous room.  All cleared a path as he entered.  The music, the laughter, all sound, slowly gave way to his presence like water poured onto a fire.  A hiss of whispers filled the void of his passing.  I had never seen anything of the like before.  They moved out of his way as if he carried the plague.  And then as he was closest to them, they turned their backs and pretended he wasn't there.  An impossible pretense I assure you.

"He stood a full head taller than any man there, his shoulders were as wide as a table, his arms thick as a man's leg, rippling with muscles beyond the ordinary, cabled with thick veins, a true Jonda from head to toe.  His hair, black as coal, hung below his shoulder blades.  And, my friends, as if that were not enough, he wore it in a tail like a single woman or a widow.  But who are we to question the ways of those stranger than ourselves?  There is more, much more.  Around his neck, hung a silver chain, much like this one," I said, holding my tobacco pouch for all to see.

"Strung upon it, three claws, a larger encompassed by two smaller, each separated by a blue stone.  They were curved, white and still as sharp as a new knife.  I shudder to think of the creature from which they were taken.  I later discovered it was a token to mark his passage into manhood.  A story I would be happy to tell some other night.

"He wore a deep red tunic covered by a blue vest.  With black pants and boots he was completely underdressed for such a grand occasion.

"At first, I thought this the reason for his rude treatment.  I was wrong.  By his side, matching his stride was a dog, the likes of which I have never seen.  It was unnaturally large, with shoulders as square as Enon's, and as black as night.  Only the white star at its forehead and a white swath under its chin broke its color.

The two walked as if they were the only ones in the room, ignoring guards and noblemen alike, right up to the King himself."

"Sire," he said with bold formality.  No bow, no moment of humble gesture.  As fate would have it, he and his dog stopped directly across from me.

I was overcome with the feeling, how do I describe it?  The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up.  I tried to shake it off, but this feeling filled me with increasing discomfort.  The dog was staring at me.  As our eyes met, a surge of goose bumps washed over me.  It took two steps closer, it's blue eyes locking on mine.  My brain began to squirm inside my head, shifting ever so slightly as if making room for another person or another soul.  As its stare drove deeper into me, my mind began to unfold, layer by layer like pages of a book.  My life was being recalled one event after the other, exposing my inner most private of thoughts.

"Don't look at it." A hand pulled at my shoulder, trying to turn me away from the canine's glare. "For Goddess sake, turn away," a voice whispered harshly in my ear.

The beast's stare penetrated my very soul, stripping away any defense I may have held.  It was one with my mind, no thought, past or present could be withheld from this brute, this dog.  Enon slowly swung his head in my direction and the dog shifted his gaze to him.  He lifted his chin slightly and the dog snorted and returned to his side.

"I see your sister has been up to her usual pranks," the King groaned softly to his wife.

"Be nice dear," the Queen whispered in return.

"Sire, perhaps it would be best to discuss this in private." Chancellor Grimwell suggested, sending an unfavorable look in my direction.  He was a tall, well-built man, impressed with his own importance.  The finery of his clothing, his manner, his walk, even the way his beard was trimmed spoke of his position and what he thought of himself.

I was consumed by the little drama unfolding in front of me.  It was as if I were suddenly invisible, privy to the petty squabbles of royalty.  It had all the makings of a very interesting story.

"Sire," the Chancellor pressed, placing a hand on the king's forearm.

"You forget yourself," the King intoned flatly.

"Forgive me, Sire, I only meant..." Grimwell said, removing his hand.

The Queen pushed her way past the two men to stand in front of the giant.

"Mr. Tutelo," she said, turning a shoulder toward him as if measuring his height against her own.  "My sister says you should be my husband's chancellor instead of Mr. Grimwell.  What do you think?"

There was an uncomfortable silence.  Grimwell visibly stiffened.  Enon looked to the dog and the dog to him before answering.

"No.  Sister wrong.  Enon not want Grimwell's job," he said, his voice deeply penetrating.

His words, their rhythm, their tone stunned me.  It was like listening to a child.  Here was a man... a giant of a man, mind you, without fear of King or servant... and his speech was... broken, adolescent.  I was held in the grip of the moment, mesmerized by the scene in front of me.  I gaped openly.

"Really?  She says no one can withhold the truth from you.  You can see into their very souls and know if they are lying.  Is that true?"

I was thunderstruck.  She was describing exactly what had happened to me.  It had to be true.  I experienced it firsthand.  I waited with excitement for his answer.

He said nothing.

"Your King awaits your answer," she prompted stiffly.

"Sister wrong.  Enon not want job," he repeated.

“Sire, your guest," Chancellor Grimwell said, "perhaps..."

Someone tapped my shoulder.  It was my paramour.  Smiling, she knew my interest almost better than I. She drew my attention to the woman across the room, the Queen's sister, Ruthie, whose expression spoke volumes.  She was about to take someone to task.

"Sister, please don't torment my guest," she called from half way across the room and rushed to intervene, protocol be damned.

Enon's manner changed almost immediately.  He shifted his weight several times and his face flushed with a wide smile.  He lowered his head, giving Ruthie a slight bow as she rushed to stand in front of him.

"I see you've met my sister, Gwen," she said matching his smile.  "And the King, of course," she added abruptly, having forgotten herself and nodded her respect as quickly as possible.

"It used to mean something, being King," his Highness teased.

"Yes, Enon met, nice people.  How Izie?"  he asked, taking hold of her hand.

"Elizabeth is fine.  She's waited all day just to see you," she said, leaning closer before she led him to a nearby alcove.

"I wasn't done, Ruthie," the Queen admonished and followed them.

The King, with a deep sigh, rolled his eyes and trailed along.

Hidden behind a heavy red drapery that framed the alcove from prying eyes, stood a young girl of seven or so.  She was dressed in sleeping clothes and fingered the material anxiously.

"Truth seeker," she said excitedly, bowing playfully, holding her right fist over her left shoulder.

"Pure-heart," Enon intoned seriously and returned her salute before picking her up in his huge arms.

"Ruthie," Queen Gwen whispered, leaning forward to nudge her sister.

"Sire, this is most irregular," Chancellor Grimwell protested.  "This charlatan has no right to be here."

"He is not a charlatan," Princess Ruth barked.

"Ruthie, please," her sister prodded, "after all, he is a Jonda."

"I don't care.  He's good, he's honest and he loves..." Ruthie stopped in mid-sentence.  Panic overshadowed her face, as she looked to her sister and then to Enon.  She placed her hands on his chest and leaned into him, before taking the child.  "Show them, Enon.  Show them who you really are."

The room held its collective breath.  Enon stood motionless.

So much was happening so fast, I hadn't realized I had lost track of my companion.

A faint mumbling of voices filtered into my awareness.  As I looked about, everyone present had turned their backs to the King and his wife.  They had begun to make mindless chattering noises in some pretense the royal conversation was not happening.  I was so engrossed in this royal drama; I didn't notice the dog sitting in front of me.  Nor that those standing closest to me had silently moved away, leaving me standing alone.

"Him Tucker," Enon, still looking at the floor, spoke up. "Born moocher, liar, hand in other man's pocket," he muttered.

I was stunned. He knew my name, although he was wrong on all other counts.

"A transparent observation, even for a Jonda.  He probably heard his name earlier in the evening.  Besides, everyone here knows Mr. Littlefield's reputation," Chancellor Grimwell scoffed.

All five turned to look at me.  The dog sat sentinel in front of me.

"Perhaps, I can help," I offered, bowing.  "Mr. Tutelo's observations are, at best, the reflection of overheard conversations.  The seeds of jealousy or envy for my personal abilities perhaps.  Please feel free to look into my mind, if that is indeed what you do.  I will pick a number between one and ten."

A light titter of laughter rewarded my personal vanity.  At that moment I held visions of an extended stay within those magnificent walls and stepped closer.

Enon glanced at the dog and then at me.

"Good dog," I said and bent to pet the creature.  I was met with an immediate gasp from the crowd and a very convincing growl from the dog.  Slowly, I pulled my hand back.

"I see he doesn't like strangers," I quipped.

"Go on, Enon, read him," Ruthie prompted.

"Let me make it easier for you," I said, stepping back.  I placed my hand on my head and pretended to concentrate.

The dog stared intently at me.  I tried my best to ignore it and shifted a little so it couldn't look directly into my face.  It didn't matter.  I could feel its heated gaze, boring into me, peeling away all efforts to keep it from my most private of thoughts.  I could not.  It sorted quickly through my less than proud moments.

It saw every instance I had turned a moment of virtue to my personal advantage and filled me with no small level of shame.

It was the most ghastly, most revealing feeling one could possibly imagine, much like the end time will be, standing in front of the Goddess herself, accounting for one's life and the way one lived it before going on to the next.  I had hoped never to be filled with that feeling again, at least not while living.  The dog snorted, turned away and returned to his master's side.

"Dog hear before.  Story not funny," Enon scoffed and turned to Ruthie before I could say a word and all dreams of being the King's guest drowned in their laughter.

I stood embarrassed and bewildered, trying to think of something to say to escape this particular limelight.

The dog suddenly spun and tensed.  It exchanged a brief look with Tegon and then was off on a dead run.

"Safe here.  Not move," Enon ordered before following.

Suddenly several women screamed and the room fell into chaos.  Someone was fighting.  The King's guards appeared instantly and formed a circle around him to protect him.  The retreating crowd pushed me into the alcove along with the royal family.  There was horrible shouting and the chilling sounds of battle.

"Cayra." The Jonda word for freedom rose above all other sounds.  There were too many people in front of me to see clearly.

More guards appeared in an attempt to squelch the fighting.  Shortly, the conflict reached the alcove.  The people in front of me parted like a curtain.  Five Jonda fought at the center of the turmoil.

They were huge, a full foot taller than Enon himself.  Each wielded a long knife with a thick blade and turned it repeatedly.  They stood, shirtless, shoulder to shoulder, forming a wall of flesh that heaved in unison.  Their long black hair was tied in a ball at the back of their heads with a slip of red cloth, their faces smeared with paint.  All but a few of the King's men lay sprawled on the floor at their feet.  Enon and his dog was the only barrier between them and the King.

"Brother, we have no wish to harm you.  Stand aside," one said.

"Not harm any," Enon said, his voice low and menacing.  His dog stood to his right, braced for a sign from his master to attack.

My heart pounded wildly in my chest. The blood thumped loudly in my ears.  I was sure it could be heard by all.

"Why Jonda here?"  Enon asked, shifting his weight. His dog inched forward a step.

The one closest to him spoke in their native tongue; angry words filled with hate.

"Speak words all understand.  Jonda have no secrets here," Enon replied.  His fingers flexed involuntarily, eager for the fight.

"Our brothers, your brothers, are held as slaves.  Their souls ripped from their bodies to become the undead. We come to free them, and to make an example of their keeper." The man's words were just as angry as they had been in his native tongue.

"This man king... good king... not know words you speak.  He not keep Jonda," Enon countered.

"Lies.  He holds them just as he holds you, his lap dog."

"He is Enon Tutelo, the truth seeker," Elizabeth said, pushing her way to the front of the adults to stand right in front of the Jonda.

Enon reached out to pull the child back as his dog slid between her and the danger that stood only inches away.  The few remaining guards pressed the King and Queen against the back wall to protect them with their bodies.

Queen Gwen grasped wildly at her sister and frantically whispered her name.

Ruthie pressed hard against Tegon's back, twisting her fist in his tunic and clutching at the air, inches short of dragging Elizabeth to safety.  The young girl held no fear of the Jonda or of her mother.

At that moment I saw an opportunity beyond imagining.  If I could pull the child to safety, the King's gratitude could last a lifetime.

Slowly, I came to realize that my feet had taken on a will of their own and I was moving forward.  Ruthie clutched at my shoulder as I glided by her in a fog.

"Gentleman." I heard the word and was stunned.  It was my voice.  I picked up Elizabeth and started to turn.

"Take it back.  Take what you said about Enon back, or you'll be sorry," She struggled in my arms, shaking her fist at them.

"Citizen, would you hide behind a child?"  The Jonda voice came again openly irritated by her taunts.

"He's not afraid of you either," Elizabeth spit out, trying to escape my grip.

My feet stopped and turned me to face them.

"Is this true, Citizen?  Do you hold no fear?"

"No fear." My mouth wouldn't listen to my brain.  That wasn't what I wanted to say. I was very afraid, but high reward came from high risk.  My heart pounded so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest.

My feet began to move again, turning me.  Ruthie held her arms out to take Elizabeth from me.  As the child passed from my grip to hers, the Jonda word 'Cayra' rang in my ears and I was struck in the back, driven to the ground.

As I fought to hold onto consciousness my ears were filled with the fierce sounds of fighting and the screams of Elizabeth and her mother. I lay on the floor, showered in blood. 

I was kicked, beaten by the weight of people falling on top of me.

The harrowing sound of that dog and the unmerciful carnage it dispensed, filled the air.

Goddess forgive me, I was afraid... so afraid I lay on the floor in a puddle of my own fear and waited to be killed... or worse yet found by the dog.

 

 

 

Reviews

[Wendy Seames Garner]

I love your story, Teagan! Now I've got to sit here reading all day, when I have other things I should be doing.

I found a couple of things you might want to look at:
1. "Three men, beaten and robbed for a necklace thought to hold the power of her religion, attacked her." - Confusing, the three men were beaten or Sara?
2. "It exchanged a brief look with Tegon and then was off on a dead run." Are you in this story as well, or did you mistakenly write Tegon insteand of Enon?

Well, I'm on to the next chapter.