Chapter 17: Finding the Farmhand

Berin and Glavino reach the area where Rini is located, but they encounter a master unwilling to let him go.

Finding the Farmhand

Berin walked rearmost of the three of them, trudging behind Glavino and their guide, Grasio. They were traipsing through unfamiliar landscape. Even though he had seen a wide range of worlds along their journey, the tall grasses dotting the landscape and trickling stream.

“How I wish to be back in Kraik.”

“How I wish to be home,” said Glavino.

“I agree,” said Grasio as he created a path as he walked with Berin’s sword, slicing away the grass as they climbed the mountain. They were following the stream that zigged and zagged in all directions. It was off putting, not being able to choose a landmark on the horizon and aim to reach it. The stream was their only path out of this strange land where grass was taller than the giant-like Daggers.

“I was told there is a town nearby,” said Grasio.

Berin thought of the places they had been over the previous veros, after Skarbor. The giant men of the Dag Mountains had taken them right through the Haut Passage. A kind kin were the Daggers, though uncouth around the edges.

“They spoke so rudely,” reminisced Glavino.

“And their humour, so vulgar!” said Grasio.

Berin thought otherwise. They had enormous respect for one another and for the small trio that rode with them. Instead of ferrying them as far as Rednikov requested, a small horde of Dag men journeyed with them right through the passage.

“The men from the Aig Mountains are not so nice,” said one of the Daggers.

“They are mean and cruel and vile,” said another.

“They always try to steal our food in the dark of the night,” said a third.

“And they are not very nice to anyone passing through here,” said the first.

“No, they are not very nice to anyone travelling through here,” repeated the second.

“That is what he said,” gruffed the third.

The men who took them were a jovial bunch, though they towered over the trio that made even Grasio quiet during the first part of the journey. Soon Grasio warmed to them, and they to him. They swapped stories, though Berin suspected the Daggers’ tales contained only a hint of truth. Tales of beasts living amongst the mountains with eleven heads was a touch unrealistic. Glavino argued with them one night of the tales of the beast from the Kiriathain Mountains.

“Their stories may be true,” said Glavino. Berin had to admit Glavino perhaps was correct. Perhaps the Daggers’ fables were not falsified. Nothing was out of the ordinary these days. Berin was learning to listen with open ears, as his mother used to demand of him.

Grasio, with the help of the Daggers, told the two of the Goiim civil war.

“It started when the grandson of Goiim, Bazyli, took to the seas and established trading with Akola. Seven eklars later he was lost at sea. Grieved by many, he sent the entire tribe in a spin of despair from which they struggled to recover.

“A few generations later brought Razda, who married Halina, a commoner. He then established his headquarters at Hakkas, to bring reconciliation amongst the Goiim tribe after Czcibor’s conquering nature. Do you remember Czcibor, northerners?”

They both nodded, though Berin was uncertain. Glavino would remember. Berin quietly slipped into his memory to ask Glavino of Czcibor.

Grasio sensed Berin’s uncertainty.

“He was the man who invaded Hakkas territory with his son.”

“Oh, right.”

Grasio returned to the story.

“Many of the northern Goiim commoners greatly disapproved of Razda’s actions of reconciling, so much so that in time it was trouble-free for a man named Karj to gather supporters against the leaders. He wanted to gain control of the trading industry with Akola, so he created an army to split the Burun region from Goiim. The civil war that ensued was bloody and brief; though the battle at Dordabis was the longest battle ever recorded in the area. Karj was slain and the civil war was halted for a time, only to commence again by Narj, the son of Karj. Goiim forces immediately sought out Narj and he was slain in his sleep. The Karj bloodline was destroyed, along with thousands of supporting men, women and children. This was when Dordabis was burned to the ground, as a symbol of what happened to dissidents. Since that time, the Goiim people lived in a state of fear and trepidation of their leaders.”

“No wonder the Goiim folk have a sense of distrust flowing in their interactions,” said Berin.

 

The Daggers had left the trio with fond farewells at the edge of the Haut Passage. They continued through the southern section of the Put Desert. Here the desert was not as harsh as the northern area, so they journeyed with little trouble. Upon reaching the Hundred Ingas House, a major inn originally set up for southern travellers on their way to the Ouro gold fields, they rested for one vero only.

“Why can we not stay here longer?” asked Glavino.

“I think I need not speak the reason, Glavino,” said Berin.

“Berin is eager to find his family,” iterated Grasio.

The closer they grew to the southern tip of the Ouro gold fields, the more anticipated Berin grew. His companions complied with his briskness. Though stressed outwardly, Grasio noticed a change in him inwardly.

“Since your encounter with Shirin, you are different.”

“Different how?”

“I know you are settled within yourself.”

“What does that mean?” asked Glavino.

“I know not. I am talking out of my rear.”

“Me too!” and with that, Glavino emitted a sound from his behind that sent the other two rushing away.

“That one smells poorly, Glavino.”

“Why, thank you!”

“It was not a compliment.”

Berin spurred to better himself. He knew his faults. Juolo had scolded him in the early days of their marriage for his rough edged ways. He hoped Grasio was having a great effect on him, an everlasting effect that would never change, except for the better.

 

Berin, Grasio and Glavino had embarked from south of the Ouro gold fields early in the morning, before the sun had risen. Now it was high in the blue sky, and as Berin walked he gazed around at the beauty of the landscape. It was rough, not luscious green, but a beautiful toughness. It reminded Berin of a Kraik landscape, though less wild or untamed. The smell was fresh, as though it had rained recently. The splashing of the stream amounted to this, even though the dry grass suggested otherwise. The slope was not steep until they passed a few cascading sections of the stream. In an instant it grew vertiginously, and they were using all limbs, clambering up rocks, seeking a path to Rini. Glavino found this no trouble, and hurried ahead. Berin, in spite of Glavino’s previous training, was still unfamiliar with rock climbing, and struggled to find the balance of upper and lower body strength.

“You have misplaced what I taught you on the other side of these mountains.”

“Sorry.”

“Remember, the strength is in your legs. Find the footholds and where to grab the rock. Use your eyes, silly.”

Eventually they reached the source of the stream.

It was at this point Grasio left them.

“Why must you leave?”

“Last night, I sensed from the gods I have to return to my home in the woods.”

“Do you think you need to keep it safe?”

“Safe from the Bacana? Perhaps.”

“You do not want to face them, do you?”

“No, but I would rather face them at home where I know every hiding place and every area to collect food rather than on the seas.”

They farewelled with tears in their eyes, for true friendship had spawned between the three that would outstretch time and space.

“If we do not see you again, Grasio, may your life reign supremely. We will never forget you.”

“Yes, Grasio, if not before, we will see you when our spirits enter the next life.”

“Of course! We shall meet again, I know,” Grasio chuckled.

“Watch out for the Bacana, if they come to invade your home.”

Grasio’s forced smile disappeared. “It is fine, I know what I will do. I will learn from you two and run.”

“Are you certain you will not come with us?” said Berin.

“As much as I desire to do so, I feel it is my necessity to return home. I can only bring you this far. Two men can travel deeper into unknown territory. Look where my advice took you �" the metallurgy factory! Anyway, I have run out of stories to tell you. I have to create a new one, of how I defeat the female beast!”

Glavino looked away. “Farewell, my brother.”

“My brother for life. Oh, I almost forgot, Berin, I have a gift for you.”

“A gift?”

“Yes. That sword you hide needs to be at the ready. Since we ate that bovine, I have been fashioning this belt for you from its hide late at night while on watch. It has a slit designed for the sword.”

Berin was moved beyond words. He simply accepted the gift and placed it around his waist, nodding his head approvingly to Grasio.

Grasio chuckled again. “Farewell, brothers for all eternity.”

And with that he turned and left. Berin and Glavino were unsure whether to laugh, as they had so many times with Grasio, or cry as their hearts and minds demanded. Instead, the two continued to the east. The day passed solemnly, yet with purpose, for they both sensed with a deep, intense spiritual knowing they were nearing Berin’s son. As the day weakened, they built a fire, for the coming night brought with it a chill unknown to Berin.

“We are now entering the territory of the Kiriath,” said Berin.

“So?”

“Remember the tales from Grasio? He said they are vicious folk.”

“Fine. What shall we expect?”

“A morose welcome.”

“A what?”

“Morose. A welcome without any glee.”

“Morose. I shall remember to use that word.”

In the veros that ensued, the two travellers were able to buy some basic supplies with the last of their money. They were not offered shelter for the nights. The Kiriathains glared at them with disdain, but Glavino’s simple appearance favoured them, as he appeared to be no threat.

“Why are you still acting as though there is something wrong with your mind?”

“What?”

“You are curling your wrists, you are behaving like a small child. You have been doing that ever since we met Harnikov.”

“So?”

“So? That is not you.”

“Yes it is.”

“No. You are not a simpleton.”

“I am.”

“Says who?”

“Everyone since I was first able to, or more rightly, unable to walk.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was a very slow learner. It took me many eklars to learn to walk properly. I never grasped reading. I can hardly count beyond the hundreds.”

“So?”

“So? These things were important to my family. I was unable to do what they demanded of me. They called me lazy at first. Then they called me simple. I will not repeat the other names they used.”

“You are not simple.”

“Yes I am, Berin. Always have, and always will be.”

“That is not true. You have been no simpleton at all on our journey. Especially not with Grasio. But suddenly you became this disturbing person who I know not!”

Glavino walked away, disgusted. Berin regretted raising his voice. He left Glavino to mull by himself. He would try to smooth the friendship later.

All this travelling, and Berin was perplexed on how to precisely locate his son, now they were within grasp of him. Fortunately, Glavino inquired of the locals without his act appearing suspicious.

“Thank you for your input, Glavino,” Berin whispered later.

“We have to find your son.”

“I mean, for being here with me. For being with me this whole journey.”

Without Glavino, Berin would have been still at home, perhaps even dead from his own sword or that of the Bacana. Glavino nodded in understanding.

“So I know not why you act like a simpleton. All I ask is I would prefer you acted like Glavino, the Glavino I know.”

Glavino nodded.

 “Are you certain the slave traders back in Akola said Kiriath?” joked Berin.

“No, they said Vergara.’ Smiled Glavino. ‘Of course they said Kiriath. Now, Berin, sleep. We will find Rini soon.”

 

Glavino’s inquiries led them to an area near the town of Krast, where it rarely rained or snowed, and looked more like the beginnings of a wasteland than a farming district. But a farming district it was, according to some of the Krast locals. Glavino discovered one of the well-known farmers had recently been to Akola and acquired the services of a capable farmhand.

“Capable, did you say?”

“That is what the man said.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

“Perhaps Rini has learnt how to be more practical as he comes of age. I never really liked his fascination with books and stories and all things, well…”

“Well what?”

“Feminine. I mean, I feel bad for thinking this, but I thought Erinu was more of a boy than Rini.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“If one is out in the wilderness, yes.”

“But perhaps Rini never felt the need to be manly.”

“How do you mean?”

“You are manly, no?”

“I would like to think so.”

“You are. When did you become practical?”

“When I started escaping from prison.”

“So you had to? I mean, you were almost forced to, by your situation?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe with Rini, you have created a family and a home where he does not need to be practical.”

“Are you saying it is my fault?”

“It is nobody’s fault. The gods have blessed him with other talents. Perhaps now, because he is forced to labour, he has developed his practical skills because he has to.”

Berin did not continue speaking. He was not willing to argue with Glavino. Somehow he knew the large man was correct. This large man, his vocabulary was growing. He spoke with far greater eloquence. Berin nodded his head, smiling within himself. Both men were changing for the better.

Glavino, meanwhile, sensed there was nothing more to be said about Rini.

“How is the ankle?”

“It hurts late at night and when I wake up in the chilled mornings. Other than that it is fine.”

The two travellers stole in the night in the direction of this stead, and soon discovered its location. From the reports of the townsfolk, Rini’s owner would not yield easily, at least not without a large sum of money. Berin had little to offer, though. None, in fact.

“Sorry, Berin, but we have used up all the money we acquired.”

Once Rini was found they would need to devise an elaborate scheme to wrest him back from his owner. This was the only way.

Over the following veros, Berin and Glavino scouted the farm, hiding amongst the crops neither had seen before. These crops had a slender, white tubular stem with seeds like the head of corn. The difference was the roots were not entrenched in the ground, but were interwoven amongst each other.

“Look, if they pull up one plant, the rest follow.”

“Remarkable, Glavino,” but Berin cared little.

The two surveyed the farm, searching for a sign for Rini, only there was little they could see from their position.

It was on the fourth vero of scouting when Glavino spotted Rini. He quickly arose from behind a kittelli bush, pricking himself in the process. It took Glavino a few moments before he pried himself from the bush and rushed to tell Berin.

“Can you see him? The second boy from the front?”

Berin needed no explanation. He could spot his boy from ingas away. Oh what joy leapt in the soul of Berin! Here was his son, the joy of his heart, within spotting distance for the first time since they left Vergara, no, since they left Akola. Berin kept low, following the group of farmhands to discover where Rini slept.

“Keep calm, Berin.”

“I cannot contain it! All this time, and now I have found him!”

“We have found him.”

“Yes, of course. We. Thank you.”

In what seemed to be a cottage separate from the main house, the group of farmhands entered. This was where Rini slept, Berin was certain. He developed a plan in his mind of how to return his son to his arms.

At about the third watch that night, the moon shifted behind dark clouds. Berin entered the compound with swift and silent movement. He quietly stole across the courtyard, noiselessly reaching the door of the thatched cottage. He pried it open ever so softly and made his way inside. Unsure of where his son was sleeping, Berin waited until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. At that moment the moonlight was uncovered, and it shone through the small window onto Rini’s sleeping face.

“The gods are signaling!”

Without delay, Berin uncovered the rug over Rini, picked him up and slung him over his shoulder. He swiftly ran out the door, banging his son’s back against the doorframe. This woke Rini, who initially wrestled to break free of his father’s grip.

“It is I, your father.”

“Papa!” cried Rini when he realised the familiar voice.

“Let us make for the hidden haven of the crops,” replied Berin, knowing there was little time to make pleasantries. They raced across the open courtyard to the shelter of the tall, unfamiliar crops, where Glavino greeted them.

“Rini!”

“Glavino! Is that you?”

“Yes, my child!”

“What are you doing here?”

“I have come with your Papa to rescue you.”

The three hugged, holding each other as though all their pent-up emotion escalated to this moment, this moment of reunification.

“Oh, Papa!”

“Rini, my son!”

“I have missed you!”

“As have I.”

The reunification was short-lived.

“What is that noise?”

“That is one of the farmhands, Glavino.”

“I think he has spied us.”

The noise he created woke the entire farm, animals included. The three, with Rini wedged between the two men, crept on all fours, attempting to progress away from the farm whilst remaining hidden. It was of little use. The farmhand who first spotted them was a great sprinter; he was nearly upon them in a flash. Glavino, leading the way, turned and saw the farmhand. He sprung to his feet and ran as fast as his legs could muster. Rini and Berin, seeing Glavino’s face, followed his action and rose without glancing behind. The farmhand reached out and clasped Berin by the ankle.

“Let go!”

Berin flapped his leg about until the farmhand’s grip loosened enough for Berin to pull away. Berin clambered about, fell onto the ground, before rising to his feet and continuing after the other two.

“Run!”

As shouts grew louder and fiercer from behind, the three made their way to the end of the crops. Here they discovered open land, making it easier to run, but also easier for their pursuers with their firelight to detect them. They ran as fast as their legs could conjure, Rini in his haste overtaking Glavino, taking the lead and directing their escape path. It seemed he knew where to run, so the two men followed. Soon the open land was gone and they were amongst plants of some kind; it was too dark to tell what sort they were. Here they paused, gasping for air.

“Where do we run?” wheezed Glavino between breaths.

“Any ideas, son?”

“This is as far away as I have been allowed from the farm, sorry.”

“We must continue,” said Glavino.

“But we must rest to regain the air inside of us,” said the boy.

“Can you not hear that?”

Berin pricked his ears, suddenly hearing the yapping of hungry canines.

“Run!” he screamed, this time taking the lead. The two followed in earnest as they rounded the bushes, weaving through them as though dodging falling objects from the sky.

“Are we leaving the farm?”

“I know not, Glavino. I hope so.”

They soon entered a forest of trees with low, thin branches and leaves not unlike dry paper from the island of Rallinn.

Berin’s belt suddenly shifted position, making Berin’s sword knock against his legs as he ran. The sword! Berin slowed down.

“Do not stop!” screamed Glavino, rushing past Berin.

“Can you not see why?”

Firstly, Berin knew he would have to make a stand, but secondly in front of him were a horde of canines, growling deeply, saliva glistening in the sudden cloudfree moonlight.

“I hate canines!’ cried Glavino. ‘One bit me as a baby.”

Berin slipped the sword out of his belt and raised it, its metal gleaming. The canines paused their movements but did not retreat. They were waiting for their master.

Their master, the head of the farm, arrived in no time. He also halted when he spied the sword ready to slice any that ventured closer.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded in the lingua franca.

Berin stepped forward, determination drilling from the core of his eyes.

“Rini is my son and I have come to reclaim him.”

“Son? Ha, that is the most untrue babble my ears have heard.”

“But he is!” cried Glavino, stepping forward yet still cowering behind Berin. Berin locked Rini in his single arm embrace.

“I am sure you are correct,” smirked the master, stepping ever so slightly forward.

Berin adjusted his footing.

“He is. Rini is my son.”

“Well, that may be so. But I bought him in Akola, fair and even. I have the records to prove it.”

“I know. I was there.”

“Perhaps you were. You must understand the code of Akola. All things bought on that island can never be returned or retracted.”

“But this is my son, a human being, for the sake of the gods!”

“Perhaps, but he is still my property.”

“He is my son.”

“So you keep saying.”

The canines growled in unison. Berin’s heart bounded like a feline into his throat. He knew this master was sharp-witted and would not return Rini easily.

“What have you to offer me?” asked the master.

“I have nothing, sir.”

“What about the sword you have in your hand?”

As tempting as it was, an echo inside of Berin, like a voiceless breath, suggested not to surrender the sword.

Why keep it?

The voice did not answer back.

“I cannot give that to you.”

“Of course, of course. Then I shall have to take, what is his name? Rini? I shall have to take him back. It is my right.”

“Hold on. What if…” Berin paused, thinking through his words carefully.

“What?” asked the master, Rini and Glavino in unison.

“What if I were to take his place?”

“No!” cried Rini and ran in front of his father, as though to shield him.

“Rini, hold your tongue.” Berin clasped him by the shoulders.

“No, you cannot take my father!”

“Son, it is fine.” Berin pulled Rini behind him.

“Listen to your father,” soothed the master.

At that moment, a blood-curdling scream rang through the forest. The master and his men cowered in fear; the canines broke free of their keeper’s ropes and fled in the direction of the farm.

“What is that?” gasped one of the farmhands.

“The beast!” cried another.

“The foul beast!” whispered a third, his eyes wider than a full moon.

“I know that sound,” said Glavino, no longer cowering behind Berin.

“As do I,” stated Berin. It was the same sound as the beast on the other side of the Kiriathain Mountains, the beast they had set alight and killed.

“So the stories are true,” whispered the master.

“What stories?” asked Glavino.

“Some of the other farmers in the district have told tales of a wicked beast roaming the plains. It damages crops and steals small animals, especially our goats.”

“We know the beast. We killed its mate.”