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The Lost Stars ChronicleChapter 5: Thanksgiving
Fraun downed another goblet of fine Forestmen Draft and asked the wine giver for more. He thanked the man and set out to find Radjar. He soon found him laughing with Rosa, Reno, Shainya, and…was that Frayla? It couldn’t be...or was it? Yes. It was Frayla.
He tried to turn around not wanting to re-visit those sad times when Radjar caught notice of him and called him over.
“Ho! Fraun! Come over here! I haven’t spoken to you since we set out.”
“Yes, well I’ve been somewhat busy.” came the reply. Fraun wasn’t happy about being this close to Frayla.
“Do you know Frayla?” Radjar asked, “If you don’t here she is. Frayla, this is my good friend Fraun, Fraun this is Frayla. We found her sitting in a corner all lonely so we thought we would invite her to talk to her. You know. Ask her about her family, what she thinks of the recent war.…”
“Yes, yes. I know her.” Fraun said, somewhat unnerved.
“Well okay there sourpuss. Don’t have to get uptight about it, now do we? What’s got’n into you? And how do you know Frayla?” Radjar said, surprised by Fraun’s rashness.
“Nothing has got’n into me. And Frayla and I just knew each other a while back, we grew up together…sorta.“
Fraun didn’t like this at all.
“Oooh.” everyone but Frayla and Fraun jested.
“So you were boyfriend and girlfriend, how sweet…” Shainya said.
“Yes! Can’t you get that through your thick skulls?!”
With that Fraun stormed off leaving five people behind, only one knowing the reason for his behavior.
Bjarn did not attend the celebration, for he was still too weak. His shoulder was throbbing, as was his legs. But what hurt the most was his hand. It did not throb with pain, it pulsed. With every heartbeat, pain lanced through his hand and up his arm...slicing a hot blade through his flesh. Bjarn gritted his teeth. He had come this far, back home to where he belonged. The pain would fade eventually. The disfigurement would not. Bjarn swigged a bottle of beer. He grimaced at the taste, and guiltily corked the bottle. He knew he should not get into a habit of drink.
I might end up like Fox Bjarn thought sadly.
However the alcohol was the only thing that dulled the pain. Nothing Reno, Shainya, nor Jack could come up with would help.
“Hello Bjarn.”
Bjarn jumped and turned to face the tall figure of Sir Dractor.
“Hello Sir Dractor. Not joining in the festivities?” asked Bjarn.
Sir Dractor shook his head.
“No, I feel out of place. This the Forestdwellers’ celebration, not mine.”
“Without you, there would be no Forestdwellers more likely than not.” countered Bjarn.
“Perhaps.”
“You are worried.” observed Bjarn.
“Not worried...contemplative.” corrected Sir Dractor.
“On what?”
“Many things. Regarding Elwen, and the Old Man, and the Sorcerer-King...and on Bourne.” added the knight.
“Ah yes...Bourne.” said Bjarn, “I have thought much on him. He will forever remembered for his final great deed.”
“Final?” queried Sir Dractor.
Bjarn shrugged. “He could not be found by the entire Forestdweller population. The earth must have reclaimed him.”
Sir Dractor shook his head. “Or he could have just left. There is more to the world than Dametreos. There is where I came from, to the north leagues over endless sea. And there is Ikros, to the east, past the Leo Ocean. Bourne was not native to Dametreos, perhaps he has just moved on.”
Bjarn nodded. “You may be correct, Sir Dractor. Either way, Chodan bless him for his gift to us.”
The feast lasted for a day and a night. When the festivities at last died down, the army of Forestmen split up into their respective groups and returned to the remains of their homes. Anardan and Elacil, with the rest of their group of a score or so, regrouped at the ruins of their outpost, a stone-and-wood affair, all scorched to the ground except the blackened stone walls.
“Still something left, at least;” Anardan mutters as he walked through the familiar rooms and passages, now covered with several inches of ash and soot, pieces of charred wood protruding from the rubble.
“We’ll have a lot of hard work to do. But we’re still weary, and we are likely to be for a while. But work first, rest later.”
The Forestmen worked for hours, clearing out the rubble of charred wood and stone, clearing the passages and chambers, many open to the sky with the oak roof beams charred and broken. The tent canvasses were pitched against the stone walls, and the Forestman patrol rested.
Bjarn was home at last. When his cart had drawn him within sight, he joined in with the whooping and cries of joy the Forestmen expelled even though it pained him greatly to do so. The ancient Forestmen fortress had stood, surviving the mighty wildfire only by the will of the Forestmen populace. Now it stood tall and proud, but empty. The emptiness was soon changed when all of the Forestdwellers, including the Wolfpack and Dark Foresters, packed inside to clear away the damage and restart their lives. The Dark Forest and Wolfpack soldiers would stay the night at Drullen Bell, then they would continue north to their own homes.
The feasting and celebration already done the night before, this day was dedicated to clean up and repair. Charred timbers were replaced, floors were swept, and the reconstruction of the Drullen Bell Council Dome commenced. Lumberjacks were sent into the reborn forest to harvest wood so that flatboats could be constructed to contact the large amount of old persons, women and children still hiding out on Fell Isle.
In all the bustle and hustle, Bjarn was in his old chamber not resting nor sleeping, but conversing animatedly with King Radjar Kath of the Dark Forest and Lord Willem Blackcloak of the Wolfpack. The matter of food was first and foremost.
“This will be a harsh winter, no doubt of that.” grimaced Radjar, “The temperature’s already dropping and so are the leaves.”
“Fell Isle doesn’t have nearly enough food to supply the Mainland.” sighed Bjarn, “They will be struggling enough as it is.”
“What options do we have?” queried Willem.
“Only one,” said Bjarn firmly, “Trade with the Crusaders, it is our only chance of survival.”
“The Forestdwellers and Crusaders have been at odds for years!” scoffed Radjar.
“BloodVaine has changed that,” replied Bjarn, “The Crusaders suffered the most civilian loss at the hands of BloodVaine. The city of Port Ardonogue was obliterated and it’s population slaughtered, and several other cities met lesser, but no more gruesome, fates. Plus the entire Crusader fleet was destroyed. The Crusaders have and excess of food, and we have the wood needed for them to rebuild their towns and ships. I am certain a deal can be arranged.”
Both Radjar and Willem nodded.
“Excellent.” agreed Willem, “In exchange for patrolling the Black Falcon borders, Bjarn, would you provide the Wolfpack with adequate carpenters and lumberjacks to repair Wolfpack structures? The Wolfpack have never been particularly gifted into craftsmanship.”
Bjarn nodded, “Of course, Willem, my friend. Do you have requests, Radjar?”
Radjar nodded, “If you could lend two or three flatboats, I would be much obliged. I wish to send some of my men up and down the Hemlock River and Grurrulugurul Creek to check on ports and to see if river has changes features, such as sprouting a new tributary or creating another cataract. The sooner the Hemlock is cleared for passage, the sooner goods and people can traverse it again and life can return to normal.”
“Very good.” agreed Bjarn. He paused, then he eyed Radjar, his eyes gleaming, “Do you know of Rosa’s plans?”
Radjar just might have blushed, neither Bjarn nor Willem were sure.
“She...says she’ll be coming with me...” Radjar said.
Bjarn grinned, then winced as the pain got to him. “Very good, that will be one less person I’ll have to worry about here at Drullen Bell. In fact, I’m thinking of sending young Reno along with Shainya and Aros as bringers of peace and possible trade to the Crusaders.”
Willem almost, but not quite, snickered. “Bjarn, you old matchmaker!”
Bjarn smiled, “I had nothing to do with their pairing, they found it themselves.”
“True, very true…” smiled Willem.
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