Read Online Across the Face of the World by Russell Kirkpatrick - Free Book Online
Authors: Russell Kirkpatrick
Tags: Fiction, General, Fantasy fiction, Fantasy, Epic, Revenge, Imaginary wars and battles, Immortalism, Immortality
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cold. The Haufuth, now in his ceremonial dark green robe edged in gold, motioned to the minstrels, who laid down their instruments.
The villagers drifted to the sides of the tent, nudging awake those who had fallen asleep.
Tables were shifted away and a space cleared in the centre. The Haufuth waddled forward and raised his hands, making ready to introduce the Play.
To everyone's surprise, the nuggety old farmer Kurr pushed his way into the open space, interrupting the headman as he prepared to speak.
'Are we not forgetting something?' he said in a quiet but pene¬trating voice.
'Sit down, sit down!' the Haufuth wheezed, red-faced. 'What are you doing?'
'It is customary for the oldest man at Midwinter to speak before the Play!' the gaunt farmer announced above the murmurs in the crowd. 'You will recall that Aldha was buried last spring. I am now the oldest here, and I claim the right to honour tradition.'
The Haufuth tried to respond, but had to wait until a woman whose voice sounded remarkably like Herza's was silenced by those around her.
'Very well, but don't take long. Remember, the Play must be over by midnight.' The village headman retired, frowning his anger at the thin old man.
The old farmer cleared his throat, then spoke in a clear voice.
'We've had many good years, here in Loulea. It's been a long time since we had any real problems. Well, there was that boy from Vapnatak lighting fires in our hay barns, but the worst thing that's happened of late was the Black Winter ten years gone. Crops are good, the weather's been - well, we're surviving. More than surviving, by the look of the feast we had today.' He cast his eye over the crowd, daring any of them to disagree.
'But something is wrong,' Kurr growled at them. 'We've grown complacent. Soft. We live here as though our future is assured, as though no evil thing could ever touch us.'
He paused for breath, and everyone present clearly heard a stri¬dent voice at the rear of the group say, 'What's 'e talking about?'
'I don't know if I can tell you what is wrong here, with us,' the old man said earnestly. 'But just think for a moment. For most of the last thousand years people have been at war with each other. The towns of Mjolkbridge and Windrise just up the Westway have been at each other's throats for generations. The Fenni raid the coastlands around Iskelfjorth. Further afield the Lankangas, a loose alliance of ten cities, has ceceded from the King of Firanes. There's a war going on a few hundred leagues away. People are dying. Women. Children. But here all is peace. Do you think the present peace will last? Think about what happened a thousand years ago. Bhrudwo is just a word to frighten infants with, but maybe one day the world will once again be threatened from the east. How will we be prepared for it? I'll tell you how. We won't!
It will catch us unawares, because no one ever listens to crazy old men, no one ever listens to the Watchers. Don't think that we of Loulea will remain untouched by war. War is a devouring animal, demanding your sons and your daughters. I've seen it. I have a feeling I'll see it again. Now I've finished. I've said what I had to say. Let the watchman blow the trumpet when he sees the enemy coming, or the blood of the people will be on his head. You can't say you weren't warned. My conscience is clear.'
The laughter when he sat down was audible above the buzz of puzzled conversation.
'Ah, th-thank you, Kurr,' the Haufuth said. 'It's good to have the Midwinter Speech revived.
But now it is time for the Play.'
Leith took a deep breath. He felt a little sick, probably as a result of eating too much, he told himself. Or perhaps it was that elderberry wine. Time to move. Both he and Lanka, a tall boy whom he vaguely recognised, went to get their masks. There was no sign of the girl playing the Falla.
His nervousness was not about remembering his part in the Play. Any teenager living in the northern lands of Firanes,
The villagers drifted to the sides of the tent, nudging awake those who had fallen asleep.
Tables were shifted away and a space cleared in the centre. The Haufuth waddled forward and raised his hands, making ready to introduce the Play.
To everyone's surprise, the nuggety old farmer Kurr pushed his way into the open space, interrupting the headman as he prepared to speak.
'Are we not forgetting something?' he said in a quiet but pene¬trating voice.
'Sit down, sit down!' the Haufuth wheezed, red-faced. 'What are you doing?'
'It is customary for the oldest man at Midwinter to speak before the Play!' the gaunt farmer announced above the murmurs in the crowd. 'You will recall that Aldha was buried last spring. I am now the oldest here, and I claim the right to honour tradition.'
The Haufuth tried to respond, but had to wait until a woman whose voice sounded remarkably like Herza's was silenced by those around her.
'Very well, but don't take long. Remember, the Play must be over by midnight.' The village headman retired, frowning his anger at the thin old man.
The old farmer cleared his throat, then spoke in a clear voice.
'We've had many good years, here in Loulea. It's been a long time since we had any real problems. Well, there was that boy from Vapnatak lighting fires in our hay barns, but the worst thing that's happened of late was the Black Winter ten years gone. Crops are good, the weather's been - well, we're surviving. More than surviving, by the look of the feast we had today.' He cast his eye over the crowd, daring any of them to disagree.
'But something is wrong,' Kurr growled at them. 'We've grown complacent. Soft. We live here as though our future is assured, as though no evil thing could ever touch us.'
He paused for breath, and everyone present clearly heard a stri¬dent voice at the rear of the group say, 'What's 'e talking about?'
'I don't know if I can tell you what is wrong here, with us,' the old man said earnestly. 'But just think for a moment. For most of the last thousand years people have been at war with each other. The towns of Mjolkbridge and Windrise just up the Westway have been at each other's throats for generations. The Fenni raid the coastlands around Iskelfjorth. Further afield the Lankangas, a loose alliance of ten cities, has ceceded from the King of Firanes. There's a war going on a few hundred leagues away. People are dying. Women. Children. But here all is peace. Do you think the present peace will last? Think about what happened a thousand years ago. Bhrudwo is just a word to frighten infants with, but maybe one day the world will once again be threatened from the east. How will we be prepared for it? I'll tell you how. We won't!
It will catch us unawares, because no one ever listens to crazy old men, no one ever listens to the Watchers. Don't think that we of Loulea will remain untouched by war. War is a devouring animal, demanding your sons and your daughters. I've seen it. I have a feeling I'll see it again. Now I've finished. I've said what I had to say. Let the watchman blow the trumpet when he sees the enemy coming, or the blood of the people will be on his head. You can't say you weren't warned. My conscience is clear.'
The laughter when he sat down was audible above the buzz of puzzled conversation.
'Ah, th-thank you, Kurr,' the Haufuth said. 'It's good to have the Midwinter Speech revived.
But now it is time for the Play.'
Leith took a deep breath. He felt a little sick, probably as a result of eating too much, he told himself. Or perhaps it was that elderberry wine. Time to move. Both he and Lanka, a tall boy whom he vaguely recognised, went to get their masks. There was no sign of the girl playing the Falla.
His nervousness was not about remembering his part in the Play. Any teenager living in the northern lands of Firanes,
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