Breckin's Saga part one - Nadurra pt 3

“Thank you,” said Breckin.  She helped him dress, as he still tired easily.  The clothes were made of woven cloth, and were so lightweight that they draped loosely around his body.  They felt so different than the thick leather that he was used to, so light and airy.
         Keir carried him into the main room of the stone house and set him down on a large cushion near the shaded window.  “Comfortable?”  He asked.
         Breckin nodded.  Several other large cushions lined the opposite wall, and on one of them sat a young boy with short, soft dark hair.
         “Tavish, this is your cousin Breckin,” the boy’s mother told him.  “He has come here all the way from Nadurra to visit us.”
         “Were you sick?”  Tavish asked.
         “Yes,” Breckin replied.
         “Are you better now?”
         “I think so.”
         “Tav, go and wash up now, we’re going to eat soon.”
         The boy obeyed his mother, then the four of them gathered around a low table, seated on cushions on the floor.  Breckin was given a lightly toasted piece of bread, as there was still concern that any heavier meal could make him ill.
         He felt so secure, so safe among these people who were his family, although he did not remember ever meeting them.  He also felt very grateful to them for taking such good care of him.  He slept much better that night, sleeping alone in the empty room, than he had in what seemed forever. 
         The next morning he was awakened by sunlight peering in through the window openings.  He stretched and moved his bare feet along the cool, soft bed linens.  He had never felt so at peace, not even back home in Nadurra.  If only his mother were here, then everything would be perfect.
         Tavish was delighted beyond words at having his only cousin in the house, and he wanted to show him around Caithream so that he could meet his friends and see all of the fun places to go.  But Keir had other ideas.  “It isn’t safe for Breckin to be running all over the city,” he informed his son.  “It would be best if he came to the market with me.  You can come too, if you like.”
         Tavish agreed to this compromise, but he was disappointed.  Keir bid his wife good day, and the boys accompanied him into the heart of the city.  He pulled behind him a large wagon filled with hand-carved items to sell, from tables and chairs down to kitchen tools and hair combs.  Breckin watched with interest as his uncle arranged the merchandise on and around the booth which he occupied, along the side of the main road down the middle of the city.  Many other merchants were packed tightly along both sides of the street, and soon the air was filled with the jumbled sounds of many voices. 
         This was all new and fascinating to Breckin, but Tavish was bored.  He had seen it all before, and would rather be someplace else.  He sat behind the booth on an overturned crate, his chin resting in his hands with his elbows propped on his knees.  Breckin would have liked to be shown around the city with his young cousin, but he knew that his uncle was right in having him stay close by.  Breckin believed that he’d had enough trouble during the past three days to last him a lifetime.
         He sat and watched as Keir tried to sell his goods to passersby, and was intent on taking note of all the different races that were in the city - Humans, Dwarfs, Trolls, Cliff Dwellers, Sea Dwellers, and even Giogans.  Every time he saw a Giogan, his breath caught in his throat, afraid that they were the ones who were trying to find him.  But no one took any notice of him - he was just another boy in the marketplace.  Breckin also wondered, whenever he saw someone wearing a head covering of any kind, if they could be an Elf trying to disguise themselves, as he was. 
         The day passed uneventfully, and soon Breckin found that he was just as disinterested as Tavish, and they began to amuse themselves by inventing ridiculous tales about anyone who happened to pass by.  Breckin could not remember the last time he’d had so much fun. 
         It was a good day for Keir, as he had sold several large furnishings and had made a considerable amount of money.  To celebrate, they brought home to Nayela some fresh fruit, bread and cheeses for the evening meal, as well as some tiny yellow blossoms which she placed in a glass bowl on the table.
         That night, after Tavish had gone to bed, Breckin told Keir and Nayela about all that he had encountered during his travels, good and bad.  He told them about the Giogans who he believed were trying to find him, and that he did not know why they should be.  Other than the fact that he was half Elf, which he guessed was reason enough for them to be after him.  But what would they do if they found him?  Kill him?  Were they trying to rid the world of all Elves?  Why couldn’t they leave him alone?
         Breckin’s aunt and uncle did their best to calm his fears, but he was still unsettled when he crawled into bed.  He wished that his mother were here, and that she could explain things to him.  She seemed to be the only one who knew what was going on, other than the fact that the Elves were being repressed, a situation that everyone had to be aware of.  Breckin wondered if there remained any races who still felt respect for the Elves and for the peace that they had established, which had endured for so many years.  That night he dreamed about his father.  He could see him standing tall and proud, as he always appeared in his dreams.  Pappin, he called out to him.  Why did you have to die?  I need you.  I don’t know what’s happening. He tried to go to him, but felt like he was being held back.  He reached out his arms trying to touch him, but he vanished.  No!  Pappin, come back!  Please! Breckin’s eyes flew open in the dark, and he looked around.  What had happened?  He was scared and confused.  Keir and Nayela came running into the room.
         “What’s wrong, Breckin?”  “Are you all right?”
         He sat up.  “Pappin’s gone,” he managed.  “He’s gone and he’s never coming back.”  His heart felt like it was being twisted, and a rush of tears came.  He could not stop them, and began to cry from the ache deep within himself. 
         Nayela came over to the bed and wrapped her arms around him. “It’s all right, Breckin,” she whispered into his hair.  She rocked him gently as he leaned his head on her shoulder and tried to wipe away the tears that kept coming.  “It’s all right to cry for your father.  You must miss him very much.”
         “I always dream about him,” he sobbed.  “But he never says anything to me.  He just disappears.  I think he wants to tell me goodbye.  I never got to say goodbye to him.”
         “I’m sure he knows that you want to say goodbye,” Keir said softly.  Breckin could not see him through his tears, but he could feel his hand on his back.  “Why don’t you tell him now?  I think he’ll hear you.”
         Breckin tried to remember how to say it in the Elven language.  He knew that his father had taught it to him.  “ Nimich, Pappin,” he whispered.  “I love you.  I miss you.  I’ll try to be brave, I promise.”
         Breckin felt a wave of peace flow through him.  Pappin must have heard me, he thought.  Nayela held him a while longer, until his tears had stopped.
         “How do you feel now, Breckin?”  Keir asked gently.
         “Better,” he replied.  “I think I’ll be all right now.”
         “Remember, just because you said goodbye to your father, you don’t need to forget him.  Always remember how much he loved you.”
         Breckin nodded.  “I will.”  He pulled the bedcovers up around his shoulders as his aunt and uncle once again bid him good night.  “Goodbye, Pappin,” he whispered, alone in the darkness.
         He had just gotten back to sleep when a noise woke him up.  He opened his eyes and saw that it was still dark.  What had he heard?  Was Nayela coming in to check on him again?  No, he saw no one.
         Suddenly, he felt a rough cloth bag being thrown over his head, and his arms being pulled behind him and tied firmly with thick, abrasive rope.  He started to cry out for help, but a gruff voice threatened him to keep quiet.  He was yanked up out of bed and carried out through the open window.  He felt himself being flung over the back of a horse, and his captor rode quickly away.  It was a long, jarring ride to where ever he was being taken, and by the time they stopped, Breckin’s ribs were very sore.  He was roughly pulled off of the horse and hauled in another direction.  What was happening?  Where was he being taken?  And who were they that had seized him?
         He could hear the rusty hinges of a door being opened, and he was flung down onto a hard stone floor.  “Ouch,” he moaned, but he heard a heavy door slam shut behind him.  Breckin struggled against the ropes that tightly bound his arms behind his back.  He could not see, and all he felt was the cold, smooth ground pressing against his face.  Where was he?  What was happening?  He started to feel panic, but took several deep breaths.  Keep your senses!  He told himself.  Don’t give up so easily! 
         Did his captors intend to kill him?  If so, why hadn’t they done it already?  Why had they brought him here?  Were they Giogans?  Were they the ones who had been tracking him all the way from Nadurra?  Where was his mother?  Had they found her, and forced her to tell them where he was going?  Was she all right?  Breckin concentrated on breathing steadily and remaining as still as possible on the cold, hard ground. 
         He did not know how long he had been lying there when he heard muffled voices coming toward him.  His heart began to beat faster.  The voices became clearer, and Breckin detected a soft light, barely visible through the cloth that covered his face. 
         “Here he is,” a voice sneered.  “I told you we would find him.”
         He felt large hands close around his arms and lift him off the floor.  The cloth was removed from his head and he blinked in the dimly lit cellar.  Two well-dressed Giogans stood before him, with smug expressions of satisfaction on their unshaven faces. 
         “Thought you could hide from us,” one of them said.  “You couldn’t hide forever.  We are not the only ones who have been trying to find you all these years.”
         “Why?”  Breckin somewhere found the courage to ask.
         “Why!” The Giogan exclaimed.  “Need you ask why, Elf?”
         “Perhaps he himself is unaware of his birthright,” the other suggested.
         “Well, it does not matter now.  He is the one.”
         “Yes.  There is no question of that.”
         “What do you want done with him?”
         “Nothing, for now.  He may be of some use to us.”
         The Giogan who held Breckin by the arms dragged him into one corner of the small gray room, and pushed him down in the corner.  He struggled at the ropes that were biting into his wrists.
         “Go ahead and untie him,” the other Giogan directed.  “He won’t be going anywhere.”
         The ropes were cut and Breckin could at last move his arms.  The Giogans left the room and the heavy metal door once again closed him in.  A flickering candle high on the wall was the only source of light in the room.  Breckin sat and rubbed his sore wrists.  He let out a deep sigh.  What did they mean, his birthright?  What birthright?  They were correct in assuming that he knew nothing about it. 
         He sat in the semi-darkness for a very long time without moving.  The candle on the wall was getting shorter and the flame was growing dimmer, but Breckin could see the sky outside through a small, barred window high up on the wall, and it was turning from black to gray.  Morning was coming.  Breckin feared what might happen to him this new day.  Did anyone know yet that he was missing?
         Despite his fears, he felt his eyelids getting heavy.  He had nearly dozed off when he heard a low sound.  Where did it come from?  He heard it again, but there was nothing or no one else visible in the square gray room.  It sounded like whispering.  He looked around more, but saw nothing.  His eyes made their way up to the window, and in the gray light of dawn, he could make out the figure of a man crouched down and leaning in toward the bars. 
         Breckin held his breath.  Who was this?
         “Come over here, boy,” the man whispered.  Slowly, Breckin stood and made his way along the smooth wall until he stood directly below the rectangular window.
         “Who are you?”  He whispered.
         “I’m here to help you,” the voice replied.  “I intend to get you out of there.”
         Breckin wondered who this man could be.  Was he someone he could trust, or did he have ulterior motives?
         The man pulled a short knife out from somewhere and began to quietly cut away at the dirt surrounding the barred window frame.  Breckin glanced nervously back toward the heavy door through which the Giogans had come.  Perhaps they would hear?  What would happen then?  His thoughts urged the man to work quickly, but he dared not speak.
         The sky was getting lighter.  What if someone could see what was going on?  Please hurry, Breckin thought.  Finally, a small gap had been made between the ground and the metal frame, and the man wedged his hands into it and began to tug up and out.  Soon the barred frame had been worked free from the small opening, and he set it aside. 
         Breckin could now see his rescuer quite clearly.  He was an older man, apparently Human, with a short, red-brown beard and bushy eyebrows.  His face was quite tanned, wrinkled and leathery.  The hole he had opened up was too small for him to fit through, but not for Breckin.  The window was only a few feet above his head, and as the man held out his hands, Breckin reached up and was easily pulled through the opening.  As soon as he set foot on the ground outside, the man gestured for him to be still.  He shoved the metal frame back into the hole, and looked around. 
         It was almost full sunlight now, and escape could be difficult.  No one seemed to be watching, so the bearded man grabbed Breckin by the hand and they ran, bent low, toward a small cluster of trees nearby.  When they felt hidden well enough, they stopped behind one of the trees. 
         “I don’t have time to explain everything to you now,” the man whispered, “but I must get you to safety.  I know who you are.  There are many of us who are on your side.  You must trust me.”
         “But what do you mean?  Who do you think I am?  The Giogans said something about my birthright.  What birthright?”  Breckin was thoroughly confused.          “You don’t know?  We do know who you are.  Your mother is Ailis and your father is Emyr.  Is that correct?”
         Breckin nodded.  How did he know this?
         “You are the last heir to the Elven throne!”
         Breckin was speechless, in utter disbelief as the bearded man led him further away from his place of imprisonment.  There were some smaller stone buildings lined up along a main roadway, and the two of them ran along behind them.  They paused each time they came to a corner, lest someone might be standing between the structures and see them.  Just beyond the third square building, a younger man sat on a horse, holding tightly to the reins of a second.  His face filled with relief when he spotted Breckin and the older man approaching. 
         Breckin was lifted up to the back of the riderless horse, and the bearded man seated himself in front of him. “Hold on tight,” he advised, and they took off at a gallop, quickly putting distance between themselves and the Giogans.  Breckin had no idea where they were going, but the words of the bearded man still lingered in his mind - You are the last heir to the Elven throne!  Was this what his mother had been hiding from him for so many years?  How was this possible?  His father had to have also known.  Why had his parents chosen to hide this fact from him?  Why had his father been living in Nadurra, instead of the Elven lands near the Arsaidh Mountains?  Perhaps there had been trouble long before the war against the Elves had begun, and he had known that they would all be safer somewhere else.  Then why had his father gone back to fight?  Breckin knew why, before he even asked himself that question.  The Elves were his people.  Emyr would not have turned his back on them in their time of need.  He would never condone such an action.
         They rode on for some time before they came to a tall, ornate stone palace with large blue and red crested banners flying high from its towers.
         “Come inside quickly, young Breckin,” the bearded man advised him, and the three of them hurried up the wide steps into the palace as their horses were taken around the corner and out of sight.  Breckin was led down a long corridor lined on both sides by ornate tapestries.  They abruptly turned to the left and entered a guarded room, and the door was securely latched behind them. 
         The room was large and square, and the windows at the far end were draped in heavy red fabric that hung down to the lushly carpeted floor.  To the right was a dark wooden table, carved along the edges and down the thick legs with strange lettering.  To the left was a lit fireplace, and in front of this stood a tall, thin woman.  She had long, flowing hair that was similar in color to the flames that reflected in her eyes.  As she turned to face them, Breckin could see at once that she was an Elf.  He held his breath.  What was this?  Where was he?  And who was this Elven woman?
         “Young Breckin,” she said in a low, awed voice.  She stepped closer to him, and knelt before him, intently looking at his face.  She slowly reached up and gently held his head in her hands.  The Elven woman closed her eyes and let out a soft breath.  “He has come to us at last,” she said softly, to no one but herself.  Then she stood.  “Do not fear, all will be well.  Come, sit here with me.”  She held her arms out to him, and he cautiously stepped forward to sit near her at the long table, where the bearded man and his young companion joined them.
         “Let me explain to you what has happened,” the Elf began.  “My name is Edana.  These brave Humans who have risked their lives to bring you here are called Baird and Ilbrec.  You owe your very life to these men.”
         Breckin looked at them with gratitude beyond what he could begin to express, and the men nodded with understanding. 
         “The war against the Elves has once again taken full force,” Edana continued, and Breckin again turned to face her.  “However, many Humans have joined us in our fight to regain our position of leadership.  Our ways of peace and justice have not been entirely forgotten. Our time to reign is once again at hand.  Now this brings us to you, young Breckin.” 
         He swallowed nervously.  “They told me that I am the last heir to the Elven throne,” he whispered.
         “This is true,” Edana told him.  “Your father’s uncle was the reining king in Arsaidh when the other races began to turn against us.  Your father fled the land, as he was advised to do, when there was reason to fear for his safety.  Breckin, I knew your father, long before you were born.  He was a good man, and a brave warrior.  You should be proud of all that he stood for.”
         “I am,” he said quietly.
         “The Giogans,” Edana went on, “are our strongest enemy.  When the Humans became our allies, they knew that the only way to prevent the Elves from coming to power once again was to get their hands on you.  We had to bring you here despite the danger, or all could have been lost.  The Giogans will be brought under submission.  We can only hope now that the other races will turn against them in our favor.  A new day is beginning!”
         Breckin felt a mixture of joy, relief, and concern at what awaited him in the near future.  He was delighted beyond imagination at the thought of the Elves no longer needing to fear for their lives, that they could once again assume their rightful position in the land.
         “Only one thing remains to be done,” Baird spoke up.  “You, Breckin, must take the throne.  All must know that the Elves once again have a king.  It is essential to our victory over the Giogans.”
         Breckin felt his face go pale.  “What do I need to do?”  He asked.
         “Do not fear,” Edana told him.  “All of that will come in time.  What we must do now is present you to the public as our King.  That is the first step.  We must act quickly.”
         They all rose from the table and left the room.  They hurriedly retraced their steps down the corridor, where Edana went in another direction.  “Baird, you know what needs to be done in preparation.  I will be waiting for you.  Come quickly.”
         “Yes, my lady.”  The bearded man led Breckin into a smaller room where he was cleaned up and dressed in soft, dark green fabric decorated at the edges with gold cording.  Breckin hardly recognized himself as he gazed at his reflection in the mirror.  He lovingly fingered his father’s silver chain as it hung around his neck. I know you’ll always be with me, Pappin. 
         “One last thing,” Baird told him.  He opened a small, hinged golden case and lifted a thin, jeweled crown out of the red velvet lining.  He gently placed it onto Breckin’s head.  He smiled with deep satisfaction.  “You will be a great king,” he said. 
         Breckin had his doubts, but he would do anything to help his people.  Just like his father.
         There was a knock at the door, and Ilbrec entered.  “Excuse me, but Breckin has a visitor.”
         A visitor?  Breckin wondered.  Who else knew where he was?  His legs went weak and he nearly fell to the floor when his mother entered the room.
         “Mammin!”  He exclaimed, and ran to her, wrapping his arms around her waist.  “Mammin, I can’t believe you’re here!”
         All his mother could do was cry tears of joy as she tightly held her son and rocked him back and forth.  At last, she held him back and admired his new appearance.  “How amazing you look!”  She said, wiping away her tears.  “My son!”
         “So do you, Mammin,” Breckin told her.  She too had been dressed for the occasion, and her hair hung in soft waves around her face, pulled back at the top by shining silver combs. “How did you know I was here?”  He asked, looking up at her beautiful face.  He was still in disbelief that he could actually see her here, standing before him.
         She laughed softly.  “There is too much to tell you, and no time for that now.  You have a ceremony to attend.”  She gently touched his freckled cheek.  “My son,” she whispered.  “The Elven king.  I knew this day would someday arrive.  I wish that I could have prepared you for it.”
         “It’s all right, Mammin.  I understand.  Where are Keir and Nayela, and Tavish?  Are they safe?”
         “Yes, they await your first appearance as king, along with many others.”
         “It is time we joined Lady Edana,” Baird informed them.  “She is waiting for us.”
         Breckin and his mother walked arm in arm through the palace hallways, led by Ilbrec and Baird to where Edana stood before a wide balcony.  Her eyes sparkled in anticipation.
         “Come, Breckin,” she said.  “Your people await you.”





  Breckin's Saga part two - Arsaidh - coming soon..........