The Vote

“The void is coming to you all; the nine worlds are almost at an end. Someone among us must be the first to walk the unknown labyrinths of life, not only on this world but among all. This charge I deem to a man of this time, and this place. Let one of you lay this destiny upon your shoulders and bear it throughout your nine lives for it must be so.”

 

Prophecy spoken by an unknown member of a crowd in the former land of Scataria, before the Great Dark.

Everyone raised their hand except Abe who just stared coldly at William accepting that he had been outtalked and outvoted.

“And so we are all agreed that Sovarden is to undertake the trial of manhood,” turning to the young boy he placed his aged hand upon the young boy’s strong shoulder looking deep into the eyes of Sovarden he whispered, “may peace speed your feet, you find your token, you return a man of Iscar.” Mancori stepped back from the lad and rejoined the men.

Something very important was about to happen to his life; Sovarden could feel it, even through his confusion he knew that something was coming. He stared down at his hands rubbing them together to warm them up; occupying his hands seemed to ease his thoughts more. What am I supposed to do? Sovarden knew something was wrong with him. Ever since a child he had never seemed to fit in, the other children among the village throw stones at me rather than let me join in among play. What is wrong with me? Sovarden felt the familiar anger building up against something he didn’t understand and could not express.

The crowd of Iscarian’s stood expectantly watching Sovarden as Gwynli walked slowly round to face her dull-witted son. A light rain began to fall.

Gwynli stared into the vacant eyes of her son and as always when he stared into his mother’s eyes, Sovarden began to smile. Gwynli was a short woman, with graying hair and deep-set eyes, sunken with anguish for her son and his life. It had been the coldest day she had ever known when she found a small bundle deep in the heart of her father’s crops. She was on her way back to her hut when she had heard the wailing, finding it eventually she remembered the gasp that issued from her throat as she laid eyes on the frozen blue baby feebly kicking it’s legs in the dead stalks of corn; as an unexpected freeze had taken her fathers crops, she vowed to not let it take also this young child. Wrapping it against her breasts underneath her coat she made her way back to the hut and tried to coax life once more into the dying baby. Although the babe had survived bodily, it was evident after a few years that it hadn’t survived that cold in spirit. Some part of it had died with the freeze that had disappeared slowly that year. Never showing any ability to speak she had named him Sovarden finally upon his tenth season, meaning Silence. Gwynli had been his mother since she had found him, devoting everything to him, never waning in her attempts to try and teach him things and unceasing in trying to teach him words and how to talk she knew he understood things she said to him but beyond extremely slow speech and short sentences he was adrift and lost. Abe had been a life-long friend to Gwynli, offering her support during the darkest days of her depression when Gwynli was juggling the care of Sovarden and her attempts at trying to educate him along with the demands of work in her father’s fields. Abe had spent a lot of time tutoring Sovarden in the use of a sword and forced him to come and practice movements in the outer yard of his hut. Sovarden seemed to move easily enough and copy much of Abe’s movements, but beyond the basics, again he became lost. Gwynli looked into her son’s eyes and prayed to peace that he would come through the trial a man of Iscar.

The End

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