Emory
By Jonathan Trentham
Chapter 1
Samuel Amadei sat beneath a large oak tree overlooking a peaceful trickling stream. A small bird that had perched above him called out, longing for a response from the other side of the water. Samuel, who had previously been lost in thought, found himself listening intently to the bird’s call, almost to the point of empathy. His eyes eagerly searched the opposite bank as his hope was stirred. After a long pause, a piercing chirp came springing across the gurgling morning water. The bird above Samuel burst back with a bounding song of jubilation. A soft smile grew on the face of the old man, as his dazzling eyes appeared to drift back to a memory of a time long ago.
Sights, sounds, and smells seemed to pour easily into his mind. His mind glided through events and seasons as if they had happened earlier that day. Samuel may have appeared to be old, but his mind was as clear and sharp as it had ever been. He remembered all the people he had lived with and loved. Samuel remembered those who loved him and those who strove against him. He also remembered the many joys and regrets that he had throughout the years. Samuel absolutely loved stories. And those who knew Samuel, absolutely loved to hear him tell them.
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Andrew Anwell was a stout young man who was both clever and wise by most people’s assessment. He was well known throughout the entire city of Parthenope, where he had lived since a child. By the age of seventeen, Andrew had accomplished more than most people set out to do for their entire lives. Andrew finished an apprenticeship at the City Court where he was then offered a position as private counsel to the High Sheriff of the land. Andrew turned it down, because he didn’t want to retire to a life of pomp and bureaucracy, at least, not yet. What Andrew’s heart had always longed for was adventure! Danger captivated his imagination, and the unknown did nothing but cry out to be explored. So instead of a life of splendor and security, Andrew set out to see the unseen in a world full of uncertainty. He knew his best course of action was to strike out to find it. There was certainly no danger to be had for him at home, and uncertainty was certainly not to be found in his hometown. So one day, he packed up some of his tools, some maps, some extra clothes, a bit of food, and a canteen full of water, and stepped out his front door.
Andrew didn’t much see the need in informing anyone about his recent plans. The way he figured it, anyone who knew of the plans would simply try to stand in the way, and that was a futile matter in his mind. He was leaving, not because someone or something had made him angry or upset, but simply because his heart called him away from this place. He wouldn’t have told anyone one where he was going, even if he himself knew. As far as he could tell, his destination was one step in front of where he stood in that moment. Why should he discuss it with anyone until he’d been there? So away he went, one foot in front of the other. His destination was the journey itself. With his front door getting farther and farther away, his focus stayed ever forward. Right where his next foot should land.
Two hours passed, and he was still in familiar territory. He didn’t make it out to those parts of the countryside very often, but he knew them none the less. His mind wandered as his feet stayed the course. He thought of what would lie beyond the familiar. He let his imagination run wild. He pictured towering mountains that looked like sleeping giants as if they could awake at any moment and swallow an entire army whole, deep chasms like hungry vacuums of dirt and rock ready to lay hold of anyone who traveled too close to their edge, lush valleys with soil so black and rich that one could drag a single seed across the ground and a row of plants would sprout up before your very eyes, putrid swamps with a smell so foul that none but the vilest creatures could stand to travel near to them, unfathomable seas that poured over the edge of the world into nothingness, magnificent waterfalls that seemed to stop time as you watched the water pour from the steady river above into the misty turmoil below, great forests as old as time itself that that made one feel as if the trees themselves held the knowledge of all that had ever been said or done, and broad open fields that seemed to stretch the sky further and wider than any eye could ever hope to look at all at once. This would be the backdrop to his journey. He just knew it. He could feel it in his bones, despite the fact that his feet were still treading the well worn path that cut through the mundane fields of tomatoes and peas in the outlying farmland.
As evening was approaching, Andrew realized that he had no memory of any of the farms or cottages that lay scattered throughout his landscape. A wave of life seemed to rush into his body as he took steps along a path that he now knew he had never walked before. The sun began to set behind him over his right shoulder. He wasn’t sure why he chose to travel southeast, as best as he could figure it, something about heading southeast seemed “downhill”, it was the natural flow of his steps. One thing he did know was that he loved to watch the Sun set. The warm colors and the sounds of the birds winding down for their night’s rest seemed to satisfy him with a sense of accomplishment. He was now far from any house, but a few storage barns for keeping wheat could be seen through the orange, purple evening air. As a sliver of the silver moon began to rise, he finally reached them. He found the doors locked, but there was a large window about four feet off the ground without any glass. It seemed as good a door as any, so Andrew hoisted himself with his bag into the barn. Andrew made a small pile of hay behind one of the larger piles, so he would have chance to hide if one of the workers came to the barn before he was awake. However, the harvest was over, and he doubted that anyone would come at all.
As he lay in his makeshift bed of hay, he found his mind still racing with exotic places that no eye had ever seen. Andrew found out that imaginations have quite a bit of momentum to them. It takes some time to get them rolling, but once they’re moving, they don’t come to a stop very easily. So he lay on his back half excited because of the wonderful places his mind was picturing, and half annoyed, because he couldn’t shut it off. Eventually, something he was doing must have worked, because he was soon asleep, wedged in a small pile of hay.
The morning sunlight worked its way across the floor of the old wooden storehouse and reached Andrew’s face. The warmth was felt instantly and woke him. He propped himself up, and looked around. In the daylight, he had a better idea of his surroundings. The storehouse was mostly open. The roof was pieced together with what looked to be spare planks of wood with plenty of gaps and holes that left a slow moving pattern of stripes and spots on the floor below. He crawled out of the hay, and got to his feet. A grumble from his stomach alerted him to his impatient appetite. It would have to wait. Andrew wanted to be well on the road before stopping for food. He found his way to the window he came in through, and hopped out with only two cows to witness escape. He made his way back to the road, and his strides soon found their pattern as he continued his journey towards his unknown destination. “Will today hold my first adventure?” he thought to himself. He had no way of knowing, so he kept his eyes on the horizon, and moved slowly but steadily towards the radical lifestyle he had so suddenly chosen for himself.
Chapter 2
After traveling about three miles, Andrew started to hear the sweet undulating tone of music being played in the background of the far distance. He could hear the steady rhythmic drone of drums, the bright metallic rasp of tambourines, and the smooth hypnotic scales of flutes and strings. He could also hear the occasional whoop and holler coming from what seemed to be a great event of merry making and jubilee. Andrew’s curiosity tugged at him like a small child pleading earnestly for the attention of its mother. As the great pipes chanted out a rolling tune from the forest, Andrew’s heart cried out for him to join in. Never had he attended an event with laughter, dancing, and sounds of such happiness as he was hearing right then. The parties that he had to attend while growing up were dull and boring, filled with hierarchy and organized to the last detail. “This will surely be a sight to see,” he thought to himself. So without further thought on the matter, he gave his ears the task of finding the source of the music.
His ears lead him up a hill, through a patch of trees, and across a small clearing, and then down a steep slope, until he could see a house up on a crest in the distance. This house had a warm and rustic look to it. It had a deep rich color to it, but it was hard to tell if it was yellow or brown or orange. It had large dark wooden beams spanning the length of the roof holding everything up and in its proper place. The windows were made of a swirling glass that looked as if they were still being blown by the glass maker. Never had Andrew ever laid eyes on a more magnificent and welcoming house in all his life. It had the lines of a small cottage or tavern, but it was much larger than any cottage or tavern that he had ever heard of, or was it? There was something very interesting about this whole scene. Maybe it was just the illusion caused by it being in a clearing in the forest, or maybe it was music that seemed to flood his mind with thoughts of hunting and feasts and great bonfires. He couldn’t quite figure it all out, and his curiosity begged for a closer look.
So Andrew stepped out from behind the trees and strode across the clearing, noticing that his feet were soon moving to the beat of the music that filled the air. His ears then placed the music to coming from behind the house. So instead of approaching the front door like any polite and civilized person would do, he instead went around the right side of the house to see what he could see. As he turned the corner a magical sight lay before him. At least, magical is the only word that Andrew could think of to describe what he found there. It was the most beautiful, glorious, and dazzling party that he had ever seen. Never had he or anyone like him ever imagined such an event. The warm yet vibrant colors wanted to make Andrew’s heart weep with joy. And the smiles on everyone’s faces seemed to ring out with satisfaction. Andrew could almost drink in the scene with his eyes, and his heart was skipping like the feet of the young girls as they twirled and leapt through the cool afternoon air. There were old men telling stories that lit up the eyes of the children. There were young men playing games with such sport that the crowd itself was continually lost in suspense. There were jokes, and drinks, and cheers and proverbs. All of this seemed sewn wondrously together by the swinging and sliding tunes that flowed forth from at least thirty different musicians sitting in a circle near the house. The whole scene possessed Andrew and he couldn’t take in all at once. Life itself seemed to course through that clearing on the hill with a pulse that was matched by the tempo of the music.
Then Andrew noticed that someone was calling out to him. He wondered to himself how long he had been standing there watching. Had it been five minutes, or was it only half a second? Either way, he had been spotted, and Andrew wasn’t sure whether he should run back into the forest, or step forward and introduce himself. The voice that had called out to him was that of a young lady, about the same age as himself, with long curly red hair and a smile that seemed to outshine the stars. She walked towards him almost skipping with the music and said “hello, hello, how are you?” as though he were an old friend she once knew. Andrew was a bit thrown off by this and felt as if he needed to correct her, that he actually wasn’t supposed to be there. He had just begun to open his mouth to do just that, when she reached out her hand and introduced herself. She told him her name was Bridget O’Sheena. “Welcome to the Festival of Colors,” she said, as she turned back to admire the splendid view of dancing and merry making that lay before them. “Aren’t they magnificent?”
Andrew wasn’t sure if she meant the people or the colors, but either way, his answer was yes. He had never seen such a people before. They had the look of nobility in their faces, but they carried themselves like common folk about their common business. All of which without a care in the world. Suddenly he heard the music change tempo, the instruments all backed out as the drums came forward laying a new rhythm that was instantly felt by all present. The beat went up and down and this way and that, but it stayed true to its tempo and rhythm. There was a roar of cheers as a troupe of dancers seemed to leap from being dispersed among the crowd to all lining up in the center of the yard. The rest of the musical instruments immediately burst forth all at once with a lively tune. The crowd gathered around them as faces of young and old were elated at the sudden presence of this performance. It was at this moment that Andrew noticed that Bridget was no longer standing beside him. As he scanned the crowd for the one face he knew, he failed to find her. Only when he turned his eye back to the dancers did he see her moving in strong and graceful unison with the other dancers. The dancers floated delicately up and down, in and out, and back around. They met together and spun apart with such ease, that one could not help but smile and keep watching. The dancers transversed the yard back and forth so smoothly and effortlessly, yet it was done with incredible speed and enormous strength.
The dancers finished and they were met with a roar of applause and the festival continued its course of drink, dance, and games. Andrew found Bridget up near the house and gave his sincere appreciation for her dancing. Bridget walked Andrew around introducing him to many of the people who were in attendance. There were those of the Murphy family, the O’Brian family, a young man with the last name Griffin, and three brothers with the surname Casey, just to name a few. So many faces, and all so kind and welcoming. Andrew found himself surprised at the genuineness in each person’s expressions. Andrew had always felt that introductions and greetings were more an action of duty rather than pleasure. These people really appeared joyous to make his acquaintance, although he held no special title in these lands or any other.
