In The Shadow of Legacy
Book 1: Legacy
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1.
Uncle
My brother met with an unfortunate accident today. Or at least that’s what the principalities concluded about the incident.
Me, I have my doubts. I’ll admit my faculties are slipping, my age and the stress of the pending war are definitively taking some effect on my thinking. My memory is not what it used to be.
I catch myself thinking about our war, my family’s seizure of power from those tyrants ages ago. My brother would tell us, too young to be of any military aid at the time, about their cloak and dagger antics that took place far before any official war flag was waved. They would contrive easily dismissed moments where ill omen and bad luck metered out deaths to key people.
Even then I felt it cowardly, but he would hear none of it. What would I know of war when he was barely of an age to be directly involved himself?
This, his… accident. It all seems too perfectly timed with our neighbors leaning on our countries fences. War is coming; everyone would agree, at least those who were alive during the last. What is 60 years of peace but a lullaby for whole generations. The signs are becoming more and more apparent.
These last few decades my brother has counted on me for my insights. Our mother, who believed in the folklore and old woman’s gossip about powers of the mind and internal being, even went as far as claiming that I had been touched by some force or another in order to see and know patterns as symbols for current affairs.
It would be unkind to dismiss her beliefs outright, but until these last few years I did secretly believe her to be rather daft. But looking back over my brother’s reign perhaps there is something else at play beyond mortal reasoning.
My age betrays me, I am rambling. I only felt the need to keep a journal at hand to keep my memories in alignment with the truth of our situation.”
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Niece
Uncle Markus suggested that I keep a journal after my father’s…
It hurts to even admit that he died. We were riding as we tend to on pleasant evenings. His horse spooked near the ravine close to our home.
When he fell from his horse I heard the most awful sound I’ve ever heard. The town doctor told me later that his neck broke.
All I knew in that moment was that my father lay dying in my arms. He spoke of my mother and how beautiful she was, how beautiful I am.
He kept me safe all my life, yet all I could do was hold him. His last words to me were of love and pride in who I am. I could not ask for a better father, a better man.
Uncle Markus seems to have taken worse than I did, than I am. He practically worshipped my father. Perhaps, if he could have only spoken to his brother, my father, one last time as I was blessed enough to do, then he would be at ease.
What kind of man thinks of his family, praises his daughter, moments before passing from this world. I shall never find another like him. This man of war and worldly wisdom who played both doting father and loving mother to me all of my life. I miss him greatly already. It feels like the sun rises on an empty world with him gone.
2.
Uncle
It has been a month since my brother’s… incident. My niece, born of a young mother not but two decades prior, is filled with grief and fear. Her father cherishes the ground on which she walks, he always had.
If his marriage to Elira, the first woman he ever loved, had been blessed with a child then perhaps my niece would have comfort from a brother or sister nearer to her own age.
She was too kind and gentle a person to have hurt him in her life, but her death devastated him and left him alone, childless. Bless Cassandra who met an older man and thought to spend her life with him as a candle warms a cold hearth. She too has been taken from him this time in child birth. It is a wonder that he has survived so long with a twice broken heart. May his daughter outlive us all and in better times than any one of us deserve.
I must make an effort to cease this rambling.
My niece has decided to look into a local legend. It’s risky to venture into the no man’s land between us and our enemy, but the woods have ever been difficult to navigate. They are too overgrown for an enemy encampment. I’ve convinced her to take a security detail; an effort reinforced by Renalda, her best friend, and perhaps the most dangerous woman I’ve ever encountered. Woe be to the one who stands between Renalda and her charge. I’d rather face a mother bear holding her cubs in my very arms than to cross Renalda.
Renalda is the head of our local militia's daughter. Her father is a man of war and made a point to bring her up so that she will never be a victim. There is no one better than her to keep my niece safe.
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Niece
Uncle Markus has not been well this past month or so since my father’s passing. I know in my heart that I worry over him to mask the pain in my own heart.
He’s become forgetful, telling me stories one night and then forgetting the very next day that he even saw me the night before. I am afraid for his mind.
My father used to tell me similar stories. Nearly all of them involved his mother, my Gran. I think he wanted me to know our family even though she had passed many years before I was ever born. She was a mystic, a truth seer in our town before the war that my father fought. She died at the hands of the reigning family’s regime that had come to our village one night.
My father was barely in his adulthood, my uncle a child. From what I’ve been able to piece together from the anecdotes of my father; our village was home to a group of rebels who hated the reigning family.
My father joined them after some atrocity he would never fully speak of, but I would wager my life is what killed his own father; a man of words and compromise.
He left home with my Gran’s blessing to actively work against this family who controlled so many villages like ours. Before he could return my Gran died in her home protecting Uncle Markus and his younger sister. He watched them do unthinkable things to both of them before killing both. They left him alive to relay the news to my father.
Uncle Markus told me of a legend about an artifact, a seed of some kind, that is supposed to exist in the woods at the edge of our countryside. It is supposed to have some kind of supernatural powers over life and death. Foolishness to be sure, but he and my father, surely tormented by loss, ventured into these woods to search for it.
I believe that an adventure, however foolish, might be productive for Uncle Markus. I’ve looked into the legend by asking around town. There are few here my own age, fewer still who can take time to go. But our village’s militia have sons who want to become guards like their fathers and have decided to join me. Their fathers claiming that it will be like a practice convoy mission for them, and perhaps to quiet their own souls.
There have been rumors of an uprising against my family starting with a neighboring country who looks upon our fields with covetous eyes. I know nothing of war beyond the stories my family have taught me, but I admit I would feel better with company.
I shall speak to my uncle once more before finalizing any plans.
I know it is silly to dream of having my father back, that the dead belong beyond our mortal realm-and the Lord God knows he has earned his rest-but… even if there is a chance, a small hope, of this seed’s supposed power…Well at least it’s a goal to pursue. I pray it not to be some form of blasphemy.
3.
Uncle
My niece has decided to venture out before the season changes and becomes too cold. I know she holds no supernatural thought, nor, perhaps, even hope to actually find something to aid her father. She clings to the legend of these woods as a means of escape; for her to be surrounded by friends on a meaningless adventure is the best medicine I could ever prescribe for her heart. She has my blessing!
Even an old man such as myself can be surprised by the youth of today. She came to me to tell me of her adventure. I gave to her the medallion that my brother gave to me during the war. Given to my brother before he left for war as a mundane token, brought back bathed in the blood of his, our, enemy. It holds the family crest and became an artifact of protection, or so my mother declared upon her son's safe return. If there is an iota of truth in this I hope, I fervently pray, that it will protect her from misadventure.
Upon receiving it and learning of it’s, albeit, sordid history, she thanked me and invited me to go with her. Her kindness to an old man; she knows I hurt as well and must believe that I too need some restful adventure. She even made an effort to prop up my ego by suggesting that their goal would be better met if I came along.
I shall do my utmost; this old man can still carry a pack, even out pace the young ones in such a tangled woods as is our destination! We leave at dawn.
May God be with us.
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Niece
Uncle Markus has become the head of our village, though I do not believe he understands this. The head of our local militia, Jordeth, has taken over the pragmatic parts of overseeing our safety and prosperity, but even he will admit that he’s only doing so until my Uncle can process his grief enough to take over the affairs of our people, at least long enough to officially pass the burden to another.
He agrees that this outing may very well be what brings my Uncle back into the present tense. I must admit that Jordeth would make an excellent head. He has shown profound kindness to myself and my family over these many years. His reverence to my Uncle combined with his ability to take command, without insult or offense to him, speaks highly of both his character and of his will to guide and serve our community.
I have just returned from my Uncle’s house. He seems overwhelmed with my invitation to join me on this adventure. He gave me his mother’s medallion saying that it was given to my father before he departed for war. I’ve never seen it before, one would think such an heirloom would have been spoken of more often by my father who so adamantly loved his own mother.
I pay little heed to omens and superstitions but the incised lines are filled with what I fear to be old, dried blood.
Uncle sends to believe it will protect me so for his sake I shall bring it along with us. And for what do I know beyond these borders? It may very well be a protection against… well ‘something’ that I’m not privy to, even its name.
If there is a time to go it would have to be soon. Winter is coming. Judging by the trees and our crops it is bound to be wretchedly cold.
I shall finish out preparations by tonight. The militia’s sons are excited. I hope it will ease my own heart as well as my uncle’s. God knows I need solace too.
4.
Uncle
It seems we were both right in some regards. I feel more alive today than I have in many years. Some irony, I suppose, is that two ancients, myself and these woods, have become such excellent bed fellows. I have indeed out paced these youthful half dozen not due to my physical prowess but rather knowing how to move in such a liminal space such as these trees conjure upon mortal minds. Even Renalda has needed more time to rest than these old bones!
Granted the first two days I may have slowed the pace for the others, but today I have caught my first wind. The hike across our countryside allowed the youth ample opportunity to exercise any excess energy. This morning we crossed into the woods and, if I may be allowed a moment to steep in my own arrogance, I found the path open to me in a way that they did not. If there were an artifact of legend in this local jungle we would be on our way to it with haste!
I feel that taking a lighter pace would be better for my own zeal going forward. We aim to camp here for a day or more to get our bearings and explore the edge before traveling deeper.
If I were a man of my mother's inclination towards the spiritual, I would say that these woods, the very intertwining of this forest's branches, have welcomed us here. If, and I do mean IF, I were to be looking for signs or omens these woods have given ample opportunity. The trees have nearly parted on their own accord for our progress.
I must calm myself. I feel energized by this place but I am indeed still a wizened old man and should act the part. It is unlike myself to even consider such things as omens. Perhaps my niece was more right than even she knew. Fresh air and removing myself from the walls of civilization, even for a few moments, may have been the best course of action I could have taken. I need to remember myself and not cause harm or delay by exhausting myself.
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Niece
We entered the woods of the supposed ‘seed’ this afternoon.
Camping even in the countryside is definitely more than I bargained for. I did not know that I was so pampered in my own home until sleeping deprived of a mattress and enclosed walls. It seems almost silly how often I have walked or rode in these lands, yet I never fully understood how treacherous they can be at night. If it were not for Uncle Markus and these gong-ho boys I should have already given up and returned home.
I think my father would be proud that I am still here, even if it is encouraged by the feelings of shame I would have if I were to even try to call it off. I fear slowing down the group, but I am adamant that I will adjust to this terrain.
If only my own body would accept this determination instead of aching all over. I genuinely thought myself capable without effort until now.
Uncle Markus doesn’t seem to feel a bit of pain or exhaustion; I admire the man. He and my father worked seamlessly together protecting this land over the years and I am just now truly beginning to understand what that entailed. Bodily at least.
These woods are beyond what I originally thought. It is easy enough to see the forest’s edge from a distance, it is another thing altogether to see them up close. It feels as if the very branches are crossed against our entry.
Enough of my whining. I would kick myself if I weren’t utterly exhausted. The militia boys seem to feel the same way, though they hide it behind their pride as young men. But I see the same grimaces here and there that I’m sure that I show myself when their foot lands just right on this unforgiving ground.
I will promote that we stay at the edge of the woods for a few days. Play acting as the fragile female in their midst if need be; the Lord knows that I want to be comforted, but I would hate every moment of it for these young men to see me in such a state. Nor do I wish for my uncle to second guess our adventure here. He needs this as badly as I, perhaps more so.
The very air here is mysterious. It feels like this forest holds secrets. I only hope them to be helpful, not malicious.