Gleeman's Tales Page 15

  “You must be the keeper of this fine establishment. I was just introducing your patrons to my master.” The boy continued. Next to him, standing in stony silence, the bard appeared content to let his pupil do the conversing. “No doubt you have heard the legends of Gleeman, the mysterious traveling bard who tells tales from the first age,” the boy continued. “I can assure you that the legends are true. Master Gleeman is a rarity among entertainers.”

  Harvey directed his gaze to the bard who stood a head taller than his apprentice. Though short for a man, he carried an imposing look on his clean-shaven face that dared anyone to comment on his stature.

  Though tough to tell in the dim lighting, it looked as though numerous bruises were in the process of healing across the bard’s face. His plain clothes tucked themselves under his belt and revealed a truth about the bard: he ate well, while his apprentice, who appeared nigh more than bones and skin, ate poorly. He carried in his hand a bulging pack that housed their travel supplies.

  Harvey also spied what he imagined to be a guitar case swung over the bard’s back like a sword. More surprising, though, was the short sword strapped in worn leather to his right hip.

  After pausing for a moment, the boy continued. “But he has been traveling all day on our mount to get here for dinner. If someone could fetch the mare that we tied to the post outside and see that she is properly rubbed, fed, and watered, that would be much appreciated. Additionally, if hot food and spiced wine could be brought, Master Gleeman would be willing to favor your town and inn by recounting a story after he eats.”

  Half a dozen people jumped up and left the inn, seemingly to care for the man’s mount. The innkeeper must have heard of the bard, however, because he appeared to walk as if on clouds and was quick to get the two travelers to their preferred corner seat. Within a few minutes, he brought out a steaming tray laden with cooked ham and two mugs of wine.

  Harvey kept his gaze on the entertainer and thought he spied a light wink pass between the man and his apprentice.

  As if sensing Harvey’s stare, the bard looked across the crowd, his eyes finding Harvey’s.

  “Hey, quit staring daggers at the man and let him eat,” Roy hissed.

  Turning his attention back to the table, Harvey found a stein of cider set before him, though a comforting warmth no longer accompanied its tart taste. “So, Rolly, have you heard of this Gnochi person?”

  “Aye,” Rolly said, taking a deep draft of his drink. “He’s a real legend, I can assure you. Hasn’t been to Pike in years, but we heard dribbles of what he says. Folks come a’traveling and talk of his stories.”

  Harvey glanced back at the bard who seemed only to pick at the meat steaming before him.

  “He’ll be a treat for talking in the Pike for months at least. That’s why a handful of the rabble sacrificed their seats to leave just now. They’re going to get relatives,” Rolly said, arching his back into the wooden chair’s support.

  “Unfortunately, we are leaving early tomorrow, and I’ve got an elephant I’ve been neglecting to care for who needs to be saddled up before—”

  “Naht-ah!” Roy said, interrupting Harvey who had stood and yanked him back into his seat. “We are not missing this.” He waved back the growing crowd of standing patrons who reanimated at Harvey’s words. “Sorry, folks, we are not leaving.” In a lighter voice, Roy said, “I did what you wanted to do today even though I didn’t want to. The least you can do is reciprocate and try to enjoy the story. Besides, I’ll help you saddle Tempest when we get back.”

  Deflated, Harvey corrected, “It’s Typhus.”

  ◆◆◆

  Cleo could not hide her astonishment as more droves of people flooded the inn’s small dining hall. “This is likely everyone in town,” Gnochi explained, seeing Cleo’s face. “Pike’s Cathedral might not have as big a population as Imuny, but word can spread quicker through this small town than a city.”

  “Plus, these people have been dealt a terrible loss,” Cleo said. “They need something to take their minds from the fire.” Gnochi nodded at her words, rubbing his stubble-free chin as if pondering. “You need to keep eating,” she said, pointing to the plate of ham which sat largely untouched on his plate. “Your body can’t heal without this food.”

  Gnochi gave no indication of having heard her.

  “If nothing else,” she said, “you need to keep up appearances.” She made a show of looking down to his leather-gut. When he continued staring into the crowd, oblivious to her words, she gave up, focusing on her next task by clearing a space on the table. With care, she set out the journal, running her hands over its smooth spine.

  When he finally spoke, it was as though a different Gnochi had assumed control. “You’re going to get a lesson in the Gnochi style of barding,” he finally said, nibbling on the meat before him. She looked up, shocked at the turn in his demeanor. He had spent that afternoon trying to wiggle out of making their presence known.

  It was Cleo had forced the pair into the inn and she noticed that while he had been hesitant upon first entering, after settling down, his voice held life; his face, color.

  “You’re going to learn why storytellers always used to get the best seat by the fire,” he said, exuding the natural confidence of an artist in command of their medium. “Pay attention to how I work this crowd. As we know, my reputation precedes me here, but such a distance has kept the meat of my stories from trickling into their ears. My guess is that these folks will want to hear more history than high-tale tonight.” Gnochi emptied the remnants of his wine in one long draft. She watched his eyes peer over the rim of his mug at the crowd.

  The low din had quieted. Patrons had long since finished their meals and were waiting in anticipation for their entertainment. Gnochi retrieved the guitar from its case and, resting an elbow on his knee, strummed a deep chord. He winced at the sound as if it hurt his ears, though to Cleo, the guitar was properly tuned and sounded fine. The only remaining chatter ceased.

  “A great evil has befallen this scratch of Earth,” Gnochi said, hanging his head in solidarity with the sorrowful eyes of his audience. “The very edifice through which this town takes its name has perished in flame.”

  A heckler interrupted Gnochi when he yelled, “It was torched! By those maggot Luddites. Killed a boy, the flames did. And they kidnapped old Rolly to torture him.”

  “Then let me give you the option to turn me away. My being here could very well put all of your lives in danger. My stories will only give them further cause to victimize you.”

  A lanky old man in the back of the hall rose on to unsteady legs. Cleo heard whispers of people saying ‘Rolly.’

  “The Ludders that torched my home, kidnapped and tortured me. Killed that boy, Jacob. They’re dead.” He paused clutching his side, grimacing as though he had been stabbed. A feral cheer spread through the cramped crowd. Slanders and spitting followed mention of the Luddites. The man looked back to Gnochi and smiled, saying, “Your being here doesn’t put us in any more danger than having that circus out of town,” he said, resting a hand on the shoulders of the two gentlemen he stood in-between. Taking a breath, Rolly returned to his seat.

  Cleo looked to the two young men sitting on either side of Rolly. The fair-headed in the pair smiled, seeming to relish the praise while the darker skinned youth, looked as though he hated the mention or illusion of praise. She did not think that they looked like entertainers, though suppressed that thought, since she had learned with Gnochi that not all entertainers wore heavy makeup and danced.

  “Let me alleviate some of your tension, folks. I want to talk to you about Luddites, but I’ll tell you a story first to give you a little perspective. Before I begin, I’ll reiterate: if you want to leave, I’ll fault you not.” Gnochi paused, taking a sip from a fresh mug of milk that had been served while he was distracted. Not one person stirred from their seats, let alone moved to leave.

  “Well, let’s begin, shall we,” he said. “As I noted ea
rlier, a great evil has visited your hallowed land, snuffing out the life of a young boy. Now, the shelter and beauty of the cathedral are gone and whatever ties that cathedral had with the first age, be they cosmetic, or intellectual, or spiritual, are destroyed. Traditions, lost; memories will soon fade. As a people, we are now closer to becoming totally ignorant of the past world. Of the first age.

  “Scholars and the masses of the first age had a saying. They called it a cliché.” He paused, assessing the crowd’s emotions. “Those who do not know their history are destined to repeat it. Do you folks want to hear of your ancestors’ histories? Of the times before?”

  A chorus uttered affirmative noise. Gnochi said nothing, waiting for the rabble to quiet itself down. He cleared his throat and was wetting his lips in preparation to begin when a blinding flash of lightning shone through the windows with a cannon of thunder nipping quick on its heels. The inn’s windows rattled and the bones of the structure groaned under the extreme clap. A solitary fat raindrop plopped off the slanted tin roof. Soon a steady rain was pouring, offering background noise that forced Gnochi to speak louder.

  “The weather on this particular afternoon was quite opposed to that which we are currently ailed,” Gnochi said, gesturing to the rain stricken windows. “The sun was shining. Rolling clouds decorated the pale button-blue sky and ribbons of migrating birds stretched across its virgin canvas. A slight breeze had picked up strength and tickled an endless field of wheat surrounding a quaint farm compound. A rusted metal weathervane twirled at the roof’s peak and harmonious chimes provided ambient joy to the scene.”

  Cleo looked up from her writing as he had paused. She caught his eyes lost among the swirled grain of his guitar.

  “A woman stood under the pale sky holding a basket laden with laundered clothing,” he said. “She plucked the air-dried garments from a wire spanning a gap between the farmhouse and a small shed. Halfway between the two structures, still secluded by the hanging linens, sat her small son with a toy in each of his tiny hands. The shrill wail of an infant diverted the woman’s attention, affording her oldest child, a mischievous boy, the opportunity to sneak into their house undetected and pilfer one of the freshly baked treats from its place on the counter.

  “The woman stooped to the outdoor bassinette and retrieved her upset babe. She uttered soothing noises and had lulled the cranky baby into a light sleep when the serenity of the quaint farm was shredded by an alarm equally shrill in its high-pitched whine as the infant’s. The woman, ignoring her baby’s newest eruption of tears and screams, scanned the sky, her eyes scouring the heavens for the source of the disruption. Thinking quickly and comforting the baby with one hand, she lurched towards the small shack and threw open a floorboard hatch. Once open, the woman climbed down the wrought-iron stairs, taking their steep descent two steps at a time. The stairway emptied into a vast chamber and one solitary vaulted door. She fumbled through the combination, her fingers shaking against her will. She heaved the door open and ran inside, placing her still screaming baby into a tan crib. She rushed back upstairs and outside. The piercing alarm continued to fill the calm farm air. The woman was greeted by the screeching of tires as an ocean-blue sedan, rust nearly encompassing its entire back quarter-panel, skidded to a halt next to the house. The woman’s husband exited.”

  Cleo watched as Gnochi paused to take a sip of his drink and survey the audience. The room held its collective breath.

  “‘What’s going on?’ she asked her husband.

  “‘I don’t know. We have to get down to the library,’ he replied, disregarding her accusatory tone.

  “‘I know, I’ve put Odé down there already.’

  “‘Where’s Arnie?’

  “The woman seemed to remember her mischievous son for the first time. She looked to the unfinished line of laundry but did not see the twinkling toes of a child trying to stand still, hidden down to his ankles. ‘He was out here. I—I don’t know,’ she admitted.

  “‘I’ll check inside. Go and be with Odé,’ he commanded.

  “‘But I can help look for—’

  “‘No, go to our baby. Just in case. Close the hatch. I can get in once I get a hold of Arnie,’ he said, then rushed into the house. He plowed into the kitchen and shouted: ‘Arnie? Where are you?’

  “‘In here, Daddy,’ a scared voice answered. The man approached a small wardrobe and opened it to reveal the hunched figure of his son cowering and shaking below the family’s winter-gear. Teary eyes looked up at the man. ‘It’s so loud, Daddy! Make it stop!’

  “‘Come on, Arnie. We need to get into the library.’ The man lifted the small child and made to run outside.

  “‘No, wait Daddy! I need Teddy,’ the boy pleaded.

  “‘Now’s not the time.’

  “‘I’m not going down there until I have Teddy,’ the boy said, thrashing in his father’s arms.

  “The man released his small child. ‘You run straight to Momma in the library. I’ll get Teddy.’

  “The boy nodded, bolting from the kitchen. The man knew where he would find his son’s stuffed animal. He grabbed its fur, nearly tearing the arm’s stitching in the process. As he ran into the kitchen, the earth stirred from its slumber and shook with a mighty rage. He stumbled outside but as soon as he hit the grass, a massive quake tore the back wall from the small house and it fell, pinning the man’s lower torso to the hard ground. He grunted out in pain, trying in vain to lift the wall from his body but failed. It pressed so tight to his body that he could not even slide under it.

  Arnie had disobeyed and had been waiting in the shack for his father to arrive. He saw the collapse, ran to his father’s side, attempting to lift the heavy timber. The man fished the stuffed animal from where it had fallen and pushed it to his son. ‘Take Teddy, Arnie, and go down to the library. Listen to your mother. Do you understand?’ Tears welled in his eyes as he commanded his son.

  “‘But what about you Daddy? We can lift it,’ the boy offered.

  “‘No arguments, Arnie. Go, please, to the library.’

  “‘Mommy and I are going to call the fire department once the alarm ends. Then we’ll save you, Daddy.’ He sniffled and snuffled his nose as tears trickled from his eyes.

  “‘Good,’ the man said, reaching and resting a hand on his son’s cheek. ‘I’ll be waiting. Now go!’ The boy ran for the shed, ducked under the hatch, closing it in his wake, and flew down the stairs. The ground exploded in another bout of violent shaking.”

  Cleo watched Gnochi look up from his daze. He again seemed to survey his crowd, his eyes reflecting their sorrow.

  “The sterile lights illuminating the library flickered for a moment and abruptly plunged into darkness,” he said.

  Chapter 16

  Gnochi looked up after a moment. He had been tracing his healing fingers along the smooth grain of the guitar’s winterbush neck. A quick glance to Cleo, whose own eyes were misting as they stared into the floor, told Gnochi enough. “That is—” He found the words hard to speak. They seemed to catch themselves in his dry throat, unsure as to why they were coming up. “That was hard to tell.”

  “Why? It’s fake anyway, isn’t it?” someone asked.

  “As far as I know, that actually happened, the people as real as you or I. That small child, the boy, was believed by my father, and his father, to be our last ancestor to have lived in the first age, or conversely, the first ancestor to have lived in the current age.”

  “You see,” he continued, “that boy recorded all the events of his life starting with that day. He filled journals spanning his entire life. As a teenager, he finally fled the shelter and surveyed the mass destruction. The world was obliterated, completely foreign from what we know. From what he knew.” Gnochi paused, swinging his eyes over the audience. “You all might be deeply resentful of the Luddites, but when you compare the damage that humanity did to itself and our world with the technology we had at our fingertips, Luddite harassment doesn’t seem so dire
.” Before the shouts chorused his words, he placated them by offering his hands in surrender. “I don’t condone their practices: murder, torture, arson and kidnapping. Committing such acts is not conducive to their principles.”

  “And I should know,” he said, “seeing as my barding has antagonized the Luddites for as long as I’ve been telling stories. But I don’t think they have a single person who understands their values more than I.”

  A gasp interrupted him. It sounded close. Cleo.

  “Ultimately, they want technological stagnation and the proliferation of that stagnation above all else. The principles on which they base their rhetoric—that we as humans should never revert to a point where we could pull that suicidal trigger again—is arguably the most redeeming philosophy to have spawned from the chaos that gripped our world for thousands of years. We differ, Luddites and I, in our theories on how best to ensure that we never repeat the actions that led to the destruction of our world. Luddites think that if they erase the memory entirely, we will follow a different path to a future where such chaos and power are impossible and, more importantly, unfathomable. I, believing in the cliché that I noted earlier, think that we need to know where we came from so as not to go there again.”

  Looking around, he noticed that he was on the receiving end of more than a few menacing glares. The dark-skinned adolescent sitting next to Rolly, who before, looked on him with such distaste, now seemed to be looking with a placated curiosity. What’s more, the teen’s eyes exuded empathy.

  “I’m not asking you to forgive the Luddites for their torching your building,” Gnochi continued. “Or for kidnapping and torturing you, Rolly, or for killing young Jacob, but know that no matter how terrible their actions are, their motives are innately good-natured. I can tell you that there were evils in the first age that are so horribly unrivaled and gruesome, it shames me to recall them. The atrocities committed and the pains dealt in the first age were to such an extent that the thousands of years betwixt then and now have not diluted their potency. Technology permitted those atrocities.”