Two Stories

Aldred

    “What part of my story would you like?”
    “As much as you can remember.” 

    “Are you certain my origins are of any import?”

    “Yes. If I must choose I would like all the information set in front me.”

    “Okay then.”

    Hmm. These are memories that I haven't thought about for a long time. Well then. 

    My childhood was nothing special. I had a loving mother and father, a privilege I didn’t really think about until I lost them. I grew up in a relatively minor hamlet, where a plow was infinitely more valuable than a pen and a man’s word was an inviolable thing. Unfortunately for us, however, my father was a scribe in a place where contracts were scoffed at. He chose to try and make me follow in his footsteps,  preferring to show me how to read and write instead of forcing me to go outside and harvest and plant our towns kilometers of farmland. 

    I was allowed to stay inside and ask questions, and my surprisingly capable father would answer all of them eloquently and to the best of his ability, something that looking back on is more than a little strange. 

    However, to a young child with fathomless globs of time, this was the best way to waste away my days, pestering my father with all sorts of questions as he muddled through wills and wrote a few contracts for the less trusting members of our little community. 

    Outside of that, I did things all children do such as passing sunlight causing mischief with friends, running through the town exploring everywhere that was supposed to be forbidden and leaving all the mundane behind me. 

    Fortunately, the townsfolk were tolerant of the tomfoolery me and my little cabal of troublemakers caused. The entire town was wonderful. We had all the staples of a small burgh. We had a smithy who would allow us to watch in wonder as he turned lumps of metal into the weapons every small boy dreams of holding. We had a baker who would turn a blind eye to us swiping sweets every now and then, and wouldn’t give us an all out pummeling when he chose to be observant. We had an inn where we could listen to stories of far off lands that were full kilometers away from the travelers who seemed most likely to regale us with their tales. I will repeat again that it was a wonderful little town, charming and prosperous to a minor degree. Everyone worked hard and no one went hungry for the most part. It was a place where I could have lived my life happily and without stress. A place where my frown lines would have been less prominent and my smile lines bountiful. 

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    I wormed my way to the front of the crowd to get a look at the massive, ornate carriage that had just rolled into the town square. It was larger than some of the smaller buildings in our city, dwarfing all the people crowding around it. Once I had worked my way up, I saw my father in discussion with a short man dressed in a rigid uniform, standing as if he stood straight enough he would grow a little. I saw worry lines crease the forehead of my normally jocular father and they looked as out of place as this carriage did in our small town. 

    I inched up close enough to hear my father pleading to the one in the uniform.

“No. This town doesn’t take The Examinations. It never has, and it was never supposed to,” his voice grew more frantic as he continued, “No one has even prepared. This is a town of farmhands and millers, bakers and blacksmiths. None of these are trades that require any sort of education. It’d be a waste of parchment to force all of them to stare at a test they can’t even read. Just continue along to the next little hamlet. I assure you that there is no one here worthy of being taken to the capitol to be educated. Hell, no one here is capable of going over to the capitol.”

The short man refused to deign my father with a glance as he continued to observe men taking out stacks of parchment, many quills and pots of ink. After an uncomfortable silence filled only by the sounds of rustling paper he finally turned towards my father. 

“As much as I would to leave this quaint little podunk behind me, my instructions were very clear. I was to administer the Examinations to every single irrelevant backwater I have the misfortune of passing through,” he shrilled in a high voice, “I am simply following the commands of our glorious King Eldrich.” He glanced at my father menacingly. “I assume you have no objections to that?”

My father sighed in resignation and stepped away from the carriage, on his way to the house. I went to intercept him. 

“Da, what was that about?”

He rubbed his temples. “Nothing. Just an exam you might be forced to take.”

I took it for the cryptic dismissal it was and allowed him to continue to the house, walking with the gait of a warrior defeated in battle. 

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Looking back I wish I had been warned. I wish he had told me to fail on purpose. I wish I had been spared what happened next. Maybe if he had I could still be a small town scribe, taking payment for teaching kids numbers and letters, smiling at my family and my permanent resident. Maybe the world would be a better place, or maybe not. I like to think I have been a positive force. I have made tough choices, but so has everyone playing this game of chess with lives and kingdoms. All of my laments do nothing to change the inexorable path through which the river of time flowed.