Chapter 1
Three Years Ago:
Dusk rained down a glow upon a small settlement. Hand carts and kiosks lined the main road in the center of what appears to be a marketplace where vendors would hope to peddle their harvest. Wooden hand-carts and small canvas tent-like kiosks stood out in contrast to the dull grey of the stone-paved street.
Welkin tirelessly carried seemingly endless crates of greens from a larger pile over to his wooden hand-cart of assorted fruits and vegetables. He was in his late 60’s from the looks of him, but could lift the heavy load with the vigor and strength of a man in his prime. He had about him the look of a farmer, thick, sweat-soaked clothing, rolled sleeves, and a firm grip no doubt brought about by years of tilling soil. Small scars were visible on his knuckles and exposed areas, quite noticeable in contrast to his weathered and sun-dried skin. A working man’s hands, one would assume. The on setting dusk had cast an orange light on the area, causing Welkin’s coarse features to soften.
Welkin set the cumbersome load down. His back was turned to his cart as he shuffled away for the next load. Just then, a stranger’s outstretched arm cast a long shadow on an assemblage of fruit on display. The silent stranger hovered beside the display waiting for his moment. When he saw the opportunity, he palmed several large pomegranates. He then froze, looking toward the old man, as if to determine if he still remained undetected. Hesitantly he reached out again, this time for small wooden box that sat upon the ledge of the kiosk. With a mild desperation the stranger made for the box.
Welkin stood a distance away, turned away from his kiosk, stacking two more crates from his stockpile. “Pomegranates are my favorite, too.†The old man said calmly, not bothering to turn around. “Not many people enjoy them. They seem to be too much trouble for such little reward.â€Â
The man froze with one hand outstretched, fumbling for the wooden box, the other cradling some pomegranates. He was unsure if the old coot was talking deleriously to himself, or if he himself was found wanting.
Welkin picked up the heavy load, now turning back toward his cart and the would-be thief.
“I could use a hand, if you have one to spare.†Welkin said with a calm slyness.
The man lay in wait. Arm still outstretched toward the box, he contemplated his options.
Now walking toward his cart, encumbered by the heavy load, Welkin continued, “I’m an old man. My knees are not what they used to be.â€Â
The man, still unsure of how to respond, quickly grasped the wooden box, fumbling as he clutched it, defensively drawing it into his chest. He froze again. The color seemed to drain from his face.
With the sun quickly setting in the distance, Welkin bent down to set the crates at the feet of his would-be thief. As he raised his head back up, his deep brown eyes met those of the thief. Welkin’s face wrinkled as he tightened his gaze upon the stranger and spoke lightly, “I don’t have all evening. Make yourself useful or be gone.â€Â
The stranger tightened his grasp on his loot, and in a desperate moment, turned to run.
In an instant, without hesitation, Welkin kicked the crate that lay at the thief’s feet. The crate hit the would be thief with enough force to effectively destroy it, sending wooden slats off in all directions. The thief was sent flying backward, loot still in hand, toward the wooden kiosk. All that he could recall was the sound of breaking wood, and the old man speaking these words, “Never steal from a humble man, Roelon.â€Â
Roelon awoke, expecting to find himself jailed by the town guard. He let out an audible sigh, but not one of relief. He found himself lying in a bed. At the foot of his bed, arms folded, stood the old man, Welkin.
Welkin spoke with a warm calm, “You carry with you the burden of your past. Your tragic tale has preceded you.â€Â
A puzzled, terrified look came over Roelon’s face. The old man knew him by name! Looking out the window, he now saw that the sun had set, a full moon visible in the distance. Only now did Roelon speak.
With a soft, despondent tone Roelon answered. “Another moon... It's been some time now..."
Three Years Ago:
Dusk rained down a glow upon a small settlement. Hand carts and kiosks lined the main road in the center of what appears to be a marketplace where vendors would hope to peddle their harvest. Wooden hand-carts and small canvas tent-like kiosks stood out in contrast to the dull grey of the stone-paved street.
Welkin tirelessly carried seemingly endless crates of greens from a larger pile over to his wooden hand-cart of assorted fruits and vegetables. He was in his late 60’s from the looks of him, but could lift the heavy load with the vigor and strength of a man in his prime. He had about him the look of a farmer, thick, sweat-soaked clothing, rolled sleeves, and a firm grip no doubt brought about by years of tilling soil. Small scars were visible on his knuckles and exposed areas, quite noticeable in contrast to his weathered and sun-dried skin. A working man’s hands, one would assume. The on setting dusk had cast an orange light on the area, causing Welkin’s coarse features to soften.
Welkin set the cumbersome load down. His back was turned to his cart as he shuffled away for the next load. Just then, a stranger’s outstretched arm cast a long shadow on an assemblage of fruit on display. The silent stranger hovered beside the display waiting for his moment. When he saw the opportunity, he palmed several large pomegranates. He then froze, looking toward the old man, as if to determine if he still remained undetected. Hesitantly he reached out again, this time for small wooden box that sat upon the ledge of the kiosk. With a mild desperation the stranger made for the box.
Welkin stood a distance away, turned away from his kiosk, stacking two more crates from his stockpile. “Pomegranates are my favorite, too.†The old man said calmly, not bothering to turn around. “Not many people enjoy them. They seem to be too much trouble for such little reward.â€Â
The man froze with one hand outstretched, fumbling for the wooden box, the other cradling some pomegranates. He was unsure if the old coot was talking deleriously to himself, or if he himself was found wanting.
Welkin picked up the heavy load, now turning back toward his cart and the would-be thief.
“I could use a hand, if you have one to spare.†Welkin said with a calm slyness.
The man lay in wait. Arm still outstretched toward the box, he contemplated his options.
Now walking toward his cart, encumbered by the heavy load, Welkin continued, “I’m an old man. My knees are not what they used to be.â€Â
The man, still unsure of how to respond, quickly grasped the wooden box, fumbling as he clutched it, defensively drawing it into his chest. He froze again. The color seemed to drain from his face.
With the sun quickly setting in the distance, Welkin bent down to set the crates at the feet of his would-be thief. As he raised his head back up, his deep brown eyes met those of the thief. Welkin’s face wrinkled as he tightened his gaze upon the stranger and spoke lightly, “I don’t have all evening. Make yourself useful or be gone.â€Â
The stranger tightened his grasp on his loot, and in a desperate moment, turned to run.
In an instant, without hesitation, Welkin kicked the crate that lay at the thief’s feet. The crate hit the would be thief with enough force to effectively destroy it, sending wooden slats off in all directions. The thief was sent flying backward, loot still in hand, toward the wooden kiosk. All that he could recall was the sound of breaking wood, and the old man speaking these words, “Never steal from a humble man, Roelon.â€Â
Roelon awoke, expecting to find himself jailed by the town guard. He let out an audible sigh, but not one of relief. He found himself lying in a bed. At the foot of his bed, arms folded, stood the old man, Welkin.
Welkin spoke with a warm calm, “You carry with you the burden of your past. Your tragic tale has preceded you.â€Â
A puzzled, terrified look came over Roelon’s face. The old man knew him by name! Looking out the window, he now saw that the sun had set, a full moon visible in the distance. Only now did Roelon speak.
With a soft, despondent tone Roelon answered. “Another moon... It's been some time now..."
