Iannar / Fantasy Novel in Progress

Kingdom Ball was not a hard game to master. You have two teams on opposite sides of a field. The game ball consisted of nothing more than a pig gut filled with sand. It was surrounded by any type of hide that was than pieced together crudely by twine. The ball would be placed in the middle of the field between the two teams.  The two team captains rush towards the ball in an effort to recover it. Once recovered, the object was to get the ball to predetermined score markers. It did not matter how the ball ended up at the score markers, as long as one of your team mates possessed it.          
The odd shaped ball came fumbling towards Ian.  As Ian picked it up, he couldn't help but wonder at the strange texture of the wet hide beneath his fingers.
         Knowing that grasping the ball too tightly would only cause it to slip from his hold, Ian tucked the ball carefully under his right bicep and plodded forwarded through the muddy terrain.
         Being smaller than the other boys was actually advantageous in the game of Kingdom Ball. Ian's smallish stature made him a hard target and his quick feet made him almost impossible to follow.
         Ian felt a hand grab his old grey tunic at the shoulder. Making a quick cut to his right, he managed to twist the hand free with his momentum. Ian felt a surge of hope following a much sharper stab of regret as his momentum failed him by plunging him head first into another player's gut. The impact shot the ball from his grasp into a puddle not far from the one he and the other boy fell into where their bodies tangled awkwardly.
         Ian watched helplessly from his stomach as his friend Chase snagged the ball up with one hand, not missing a step, towards the opposite end of the court yard. His eye's followed the spray of water that seemed to shred off his older friend's back all the way to the rose bushes that they had marked off early as the scoring mark.
         The other team crowded around Chase, slapping him on the shoulder and praising his game ending score. Watching the display unfold before him, Ian considered feigning an injury of some sort. Quickly he tossed this idea and felt content, for the moment, to lie on his stomach, in the puddle, with the other player still on top of him.
         Before attempting to stand, Ian awaited the bigger boy to remove himself from his back. With the smothering weight removed, Ian stood and tried vainly to brush the mud from his tunic and trousers. Giving up hope of trying to look somewhat presentable, Ian looked over to the side of the courtyard. He looked for a calm place to quietly brood over his misfortune, but of course found none.
         Shoulder's dropped, head buried as far into his chest as possible, Ian took the only other dignified route and walked towards the other team. Despite his previous thought of not pretending to be injured, a mild limp formed as he walked. He watched the water drip from his sandy blonde hair. Each drop jerked with the motion of his creative limp. The drops began to fall slower and slower as he replayed what had just happened over and over in his mind. He visualized every step; he could almost feel the strange texture of the ball in his hands. If only I would have turned right instead. Would things have come out differently? Would I be the one receiving the praise and the respect of my teammates? How did the ball come out? I know I held it right. I should have put both hands on it. With each passing thought, Ian felt tears starting to crest the corner of his eyes. Using the inside of his left arm, which happened to be the cleanest of all body parts, he pretended to wipe the water and mud from his face.
         Looking for the easiest way out of situation, with the least amount of confrontation involved, seemed to take up most of Ian's days. Growing up in a society where becoming a soldier in Duke Long's Army was the highest honor one could receive; was rough on Ian. He had no boyish fantasies of becoming a captain in the Duke's Army. At the age of 17, he had long known that he was not meant to be a soldier. Only those with imposing frames would stand a chance to be considered for enlistment. Of course Ian had dreamed as a child of how great it would be to be a soldier of the kingdom. Fighting with honor and making his mother proud would have been ideal. But as the years passed and all of the other boys throughout the village continued to grow, he slowly began to realize that it just wasn't in the cards for him. Being a "smallish child", as the other villagers liked to put it, left Ian without the inspiring dreams of greatness he should have been having at this age. His mother would tell him, "You will not be the biggest by any means, but that is why you should focus on your mind. Feats of strength pale in comparison to feats of the mind." Ian took little solace in this. He considered himself intelligent, but to accomplish feats of the mind you must be brilliant. This he was not.
         A jolting shot to his arm awoke Ian from his moment of self pity. Knowing exactly who had punched him in the shoulder, Ian threw a lazy counter to his friend's ribs.
         Chase took the mock blow with an exaggerated gasp of air. Still panting for air, he said between gasps, "That must have been how you felt when Fat Francis fell on you just now."
         Ian looked into his friend's face. Chase was a handsome boy. His hair was blonde and traveled just below his ear line. He had a strong jaw line that became even more pronounced with his honest smile. And of course, he had that imposing frame that would certainly make him a prime candidate for enlistment. Ian envied Chase a bit. Chase was good at everything. He was exceptional at sports, confident, funny, and a notorious lady killer. Chase was everything that Ian wasn't. Of course Ian didn't hold any of this against his good friend. Sometimes it would drive him crazy, but most of the time Chase would try and include Ian in his good fortunes.
         "Yah, well, everything was going just fine until you had to come along and ruin it. I had Francis right were I wanted him. Besides, it didn't hurt that much."
         With a sly grin Chase nodded toward his friend's leg and said, "Is that why you seem to have developed a walk that better suites a soldier who has served 40 years for his kingdom?"
         Ian looked down at his leg. "My leg? What do you mean my ..... oh, you mean this old injury. It has a tendency to act up every now and then. Besides, I think the young ladies at the feast tonight might need someone to mother a bit."
         Looking at Ian with the same sly smile, Chase added, "I got something else they might need to mother."
         

.................................................
         

         Ian could feel the cold air coming off the White Horse Mountains of the East across the Plains of Rigbar and in through his bedroom window.  The chill it brought caressed his face and continued as a shiver all the way down his back.  Ian wrapped himself tighter in his blanket and moved away from the window.  The Festival of Choice always followed that brisk wind.  It signified the coming of winter and the coming of age for most of the boys in his village.  Every male from the age of fifteen to eighteen would be at The Festival of Choice this evening.  They would be there to declare their intended profession.  Every artisan from every possible guild within a week's ride would be at the festival.  Some boys would be drafted into the Duke's Army, some would become blacksmiths, some would continue farming the land, and some would follow other paths.  The festival would start with the presentation of the Duke and his family.  Once they had been seated, the page would than read off the names of the boys who would be announcing their choice of profession. One by one the boys would stand on the stage and yell with pride to the world what their wanted to be.  Once the profession was proclaimed, a guild member would step forward hold up one of two paddles. The first paddle would be one with the guild's crest etched upon it; the other paddle would be one that had no etchings.  If you received a paddle with a crest you were accepted as apprentice. If you received a paddle with no etchings, than you would be sent to the back of the line and made to announce your second selection later. 
         Thinking about the up coming ceremony made Ian a bit sick.  Everyone he talked to knew exactly what they wanted to be.  He could see the excitement in their eyes as they would talk about what was to be their profession.  Some of the boys had already been approached by the guilds.  Ian was actually there when the Sergeant of the Guard approached Chase to ensure he was ready to proclaim himself a soldier.  Of course, Chase had looked the Sergeant directly in the eyes, something Ian could never even imagine doing, and flatly stated he was. 
         Ian paced his bedroom nervously.  Thoughts of rejection invaded his head until he pushed them out with the fact he hadn't even chosen a profession yet. This thought brought more anxiety and more pacing.  What am I going to do when I am standing in front of the entire town and I have as of yet to choose a profession? No one in the history of the festival has stood upon the steps of Choice and declared he didn't know what he wanted to do with his life.  Am I to become an outcast? That is surely what will happen if I do not proclaim something.  What will my mother think?  Ian pushed aside his thoughts and began to get ready for the festival.  There was nothing he could do about it now.
         All his worrying had made Ian famished.  He could smell the stew his mother was cooking for lunch and followed the savory aroma to the kitchen where he saw his mother adding some herbs to the stew.  Ian took a seat at the table and awaited his mother to finish cooking.
         Ian's mother turned and saw her son sitting at the table.  She smiled knowing how excited he must be and thought he looked absolutely adorable in his new tunic she had purchased for him for the festival.
         "You look like a noble in that tunic." Ian's mother placed a bowl of the stew in front of him.
         "Thank you, it fits perfect. At least I won't be laughed off the stage for my style of dress," Ian put his face in hands and continued," No, I won't be laughed at for that."
         Ian's mother stood behind am and placed a hand on his shoulder. With a firm voice of pride she said, "Choosing a profession is no small matter.  The fact that you have not chosen one has shown me how wise you are. The other boys are going to chose things they have fancied to be as children. Most will be truly unhappy with their choice. They will lead their lives in the service of something in which they will come to despise and ultimately their lives will count for nothing.  If you step on that stage and declare that you have not chosen a profession I will cheer with all my heart.  If you stand on the stage and chose something just because they think you should, than I will back your decision.  It is your choice and your choice alone. Do not let society dictate what your move will be. Do not let the norm seize you by your throat and strangle the life out of you.  Be who you are and nothing else. Be Ian."
         Ian looked up at his mother.  She was very beautiful.  Long golden hair and blue eyes that sparkled with a hidden knowledge. She carried her self with a self assurance rarely seen amongst the women of his town. Of course Ian carried non of her remarkable traits. She was not his real mother. Her late husband had rescued Ian as baby from a village that his patrol had passed through during the War of Eyes. The village had been ransacked by a small army of militia a day prior. Ian's step father, Eric, had found Ian hidden amongst crops.





THE MAIN PURPOSE FOR ME POSTING THIS IS TO FIND OUT IF I SHOULD CONTINUE WRITING THIS OR NOT. ANY AND ALL COMMENTS ARE MORE THEN WELCOME.