Kaelen

Near the southern valley of Tul'Anon, a single narrow pass led through the Mountains of Holith into the Wilds of Ranick, where the descendants of the desert made their home. The Cheadith, they were called by many, a savage race whose only interaction with the northern kingdoms resulted in death. Long had the pass been guarded, watched, yet the memory of the Tul'Anese was short. For they had not seen the oversized desert people in nearly two centuries, and even the elders began to question the legends that described the Cheadith warriors' deadly speed to that of sand vipers; as was the custom for bedtime stories in Tul'Anese bedrooms.

Yet even still, there were those who kept the watch, to spread the alarm if need came swiftly upon the valley. From the mountain pass, a pyre and bell had been set, laden with gold the bell was, to shine bright in its ringing, whether by the sun of the day or the pyre by night, as it swung and called out its dreadful warning. In days of old, the king's army guarded it, but in those days of peace, it was up to the governor and his troops to keep it, and so those who lived nearest the pass took up the burden.

Of that burden, part was carried by a simple farmer whose fields lay near the base of the mountain path leading to the pyre and sounding bell. Working his fields by day and guarding by night, he rested little, but he did so for the love of his wife and unborn child, and for the pride of his people and the beautiful valley he called home. It was at one of these evenings that dread and terror befell him.

It was not from the Cheadith in the south, but from a northern man, a thief, a liar, a mercenary, who was called by the name Kaelen. It was the bell that he had come for, seeing no need for such a valuable object to be left to the weather, and heeding no mind to the tales of the southern danger. He passed quietly through the valley and slipped up the path silently in the dark, a black cloak, dark eyes, and stringy hair to match. The first time the farmer saw Kaelen was also the last. A flash of steel in the torchlight, and the farmer was struck down.

Even as the farmer's blood poured onto the rocky dirt, Kaelen stumbled down the hill with the massive bell; he was unable to make a swift departure, due to the weight of the object, and he struggled with maintaining his footing in the dark while walking back down the path. It is for this reason that he took no notice of the figure coming up the hill toward him.

It was the farmer's wife who struggled with the hill, carrying both child and food for her husband's long, late watch. Ashera, she was called, and neither she nor Kaelen noticed each other until they were practically upon one another and it was that fateful meeting that seared Kaelen's pale, clammy face in her mind, with the long scar from near his nose, down his cheek to the jaw, an unfortunate souvenir from his line of work.

Ashera screamed and nearly fainted, sitting down quickly on the ground, and Kaelen tripped, tumbling down the path, the bell making its way ahead of him, clanging loudly on multiple rocks as it fell. Before the would-be thief could fully recover, torches kindled in nearby farms, and calls to arms echoed down the valley. Those few with horses bolted north to alert the governor's guard. Kaelen's deeds would soon be found out. Looking at the bell, looking back at Ashera, who was struggling to stand, and listening for the shouts of nearby farmers, he left the bell and ran.

No one saw Kaelen's escape that night, but when Ashera finally made it to the top of the hill, the entire valley felt her pain. Like a banshee among the living, her cries called out the fallen, her husband, struck down for the bell that lay uselessly at the bottom of the hill. For over a hundred years it had not rung, and when at last danger was upon one of the people of the valley, it failed its purpose, calling out only too late. Bringing help and strength of arm for a battle it could not win, the long, painful path of a widow with a babe.

It was that very night, on that very spot, that her heartache brought about the pangs of labor, and she gave birth to the son of the husband who had been slain there in the pass. Robbed of husband, and joy tainted by sorrow, Ashera's mind was seared with the image of the thief whom she hated with unbridled passion for many years, Kaelen.

Though she never spoke of it over the years, her son became aware of his mother's nightmares. Ashera long relived that night in her dreams, waking up in a cold sweat, screaming the same scream that burst from her lips at the sight of Kaelen's face on the mountain path. She clung to that memory daily and it clouded her mind. Ten years passed, and though Ashera's community banded about her, and though her farm prospered and they were well loved, her heart was never truly mended.

Still, the sight of her son, whom she had named Danith, growing up to be the man his father would have wanted, warmed her in moments, like the sun coming out briefly from behind cold grey clouds. The other farmers had stepped in where they could, teaching the boy skills his father would have, such as hunting and fishing, the working of the plow, and even in discipline if it were needed. His mother taught him to value life above all else, and so he often struggled when he hunted for rabbits, unwilling to take the shot, for he saw life as precious, as his mother guided. It was then the teaching of his mother that changed the fate of the southern valley of Tul'Anon forever.

One morning, as the boy was out hunting in the woods to the west of his home, he came across something dark moving in the woods. He was quick and quiet, as his neighbor Mr. Jaelyn had taught him. It was too large for a boar, but the undergrowth was thick. Danith, assuming it was a small black bear, nocked an arrow and prepared to fire his bow at the creature, for though life was sacred, the black bears in those woods came down out of the mountains hungry and were not particular as to the meal.

His hands trembled, and sweat beaded on his brow, but he calmed himself and readied to fire. However, the dark mass did not move, making little noise. Yet, the boy's stamina was not great, and soon his forearm grew tired, and without his leave, his fingers gave way. There was a quick twang of the bow string, the sound of the arrow sinking into something, and the sharp gasp of inhaled breath, then something thudded to the ground.

Danith waited, his hands shaking. Then the sound of groaning, an unnatural sound for that of an animal, came to his ears, and he dropped his bow and ran to the sound, his eyes wild with fright. He crashed through the bush to find a man lying on the ground with an arrow through his gut. His clothes were dark, and his face pale, with a long scar across it and thin black hair filled with streaks of grey. It was the man Kaelin, who had not set foot in the southern valley in ten years, since the fateful night when he had killed Danith's father. The thief was abnormally thin, for the past ten years had not been as kind to him as to Ashera and Danith, and now he lay on the ground, struck down by the very son of the farmer he had murdered. Yet, it was not his fate to die that day.

Danith's face was nearly as white with fright, but he knew what to do. However, before he could run to get help, Kaelin bade him wait. The boy did not understand this, but felt obliged to help the stranger he had accidentally shot, so he pulled his flint and steel to set a fire for the man, which he did swiftly. Soon, it was hot enough that the mercenary could set a dagger in the flame to allow it to heat. When it was at last glowing, Kaelin pulled the arrow from his side and cauterized the wound, growling through gritted teeth, with Danith standing on watching in fascination, unsure what to do.

Though the boy offered to bring Kaelen help once more, the thief waved it off and let the boy know that no one should know that he was there, and if Danith told them, he would let everyone know that the boy had shot him. In fright, Danith kept the secret from even his mother when he returned home, though she had little to be concerned with in her son's movements in those days. Therefore, early the next morning, Danith found Kaelen still lying by the cooling embers, beset with fever.

The boy rushed to bring the man water and made up what poultice he knew from his mother. For several days, Danith cared for the man who murdered his father, unaware of Kaelen's identity, keeping them quietly from his mother; for the boy had never seen the man's face, and had his mother ever talked about it, much could have been different.

However, after many days of working to regain himself in the woods, Kaelen was again feeling able to move and take care of himself. He took his leave of the boy and bade him not to tell a soul of their meeting, thanking the child for his kindness, in what gruff way he could. It was then nearing evening when Kaelen looked up the path he had climbed ten years before, and at the bell that reflected the last rays of the sun, that he gave thought to the valley while waiting for darkness to fall. The bell was his single greatest mistake as a thief, for he saw it as the cause of a ten year string of bad luck, and now that his blade arm was not as strong as it used to be, it was the one object he needed to get ahead, and live a slower and less dangerous life in his older years. Yet, in the back of his mind, the boy nagged at him.

He had watched the boy head back to the farm many times over the past few days and wondered where he lived. He had returned many times with some of the best food the thief had been provided in a long time. The boy's kind smile, and selflessness had affected the man more than he had realized, yet the bell lay before him at the top of the hill, and in that hour that wasn't a soul to sound it. The duties of guarding the pass had grown even more slack in those days.

Yet, as darkness fell, and the man made his way up the hill, he soon found the boy Danith near at hand, curious to see what the man was doing, and followed him along. In irritation, but wanting to allay suspicion, Kaelen talked to the boy as they walked up the hill, a path the boy was familiar with, for at its peak was a small memorial for his father. When at last they arrived at the top of the hill and looked out over the southern valley below, Kaelen saw something that made him freeze.

A torch was coming up the hill after them. He strained to see who it was as the boy reassured him that he needn't worry. It was only his mother likely coming to talk to the boy's father. Danith pointed to the stone monument that Kaelen had not noticed and explained the tragedy of the farmer slain for the bell by a thief who didn't even take it. The realization of who the boy was struck Kaelen, and he swayed. Kaelen broke into a cold sweat.

The man then became agitated, but looking around, there was nowhere for him to go that he would not be seen by her, by Ashera. Slowly, his fate summited the hill, and Kaelen looked at the boy, looked at the woman, and looked at the bell with a deep longing, but something else happened as well. A sound further down the mountain pass, not from the southern valley, but from the direction of the Wilds of Ranick. The man spun around, and in what moonlight came peaking through the sheer walls of the path, he could see figures moving. Tall figures, lurking in the faint moonlight, and suddenly the ground about him was lit as Ashera stepped up behind them. The woman spoke suddenly to her son in surprise, asking what he was doing there and who his friend was. Kaelen spun around and locked eyes with Ashera.

In a single moment, years of grief, anger, fear, vengeance, and malice flashed over her eyes, but instinctively she screamed as she had done waking from so many nightmares for the past decade. Yet, Kaelen's face did not match. Sorrow, shame, and pain flashed in his eyes, and throwing a glance back over his shoulder, he snatched the torch from Ashera's hand and threw it on the pyre, then jumped to the side where the bell was and snatched its cord in his hand. H shouted for them to run, to get away. So sudden and forceful was his command that they both leaped into the air as he set his hand to the ringing of the bell. With that, the cry of a large war party of Cheadith echoed ominously through the pass, and mother and son fled.

Once again, the call of the bell was answered by the faithful farmers of the southern valley, but this time, it had done its job. But there was Kaelen, the boy and mother whom he had robbed of a father and husband, and the Cheadith bearing down on them. Kaelen looked at the path leading down the mountain and away from the danger. No one would ever know he was there if he left right then, but he saw Danith and knew they would not get far.

It had been many years since he had fought under the king's banner. Many years had passed since he had fallen from grace, and far he had fallen. Yet, at one time, he was counted among the elite soldiers of his day. Few in those lands, and none in the valley, could know the thief's prowess with a blade, or they would have left when he first entered. Kaelen turned to face the Cheadith.

He threw back his cloak as the oiled pyre quickly grew to light the approach of the mighty desert savages. With the swiftness of muscle memory, Kaelen pulled two swords from their scabbards and stood in the middle of the pass with the pyre lighting his way and the roar of the Cheadith cry breaking the air about him. Though outmatched and undersized compared to his opponent, Kaelen fought with the fury of a bear defending his own home. So strong came his attack that even the Cheadith warriors slowed, yet they did not relent. Still, there was no way around the man who held the narrow pass before them, and their blades rang out over the valley below. His stance unyielding and his arms unwavering, Kaelen poured all he had left into the defense of that pass, for he fought not for valor or self-preservation. He fought for redemption.

When Ashera and Danith made it to the bottom of the hill, the last they saw of Kaelen was his silhouette ferociously holding the path for their escape. They were soon passed by armed men, neighbors. They fled past their farm and more soldiers. They fled to the northern valley where the family lived and stayed for many days, for news had come that the pass had held. Songs of valor sprang up on the wind for the men of the southern valley who had defended their homes against an enemy of legend. In those days, Danith and Ashera were able to share what knowledge they had of the man, and for he first time, Ashera had a name to go with the murder of her husband, Kaelen. Yet, soon the two needed to travel home, to their farm, to pick up what pieces were left.

To their great surprise, their neighbors reported no harm had come to their fields. In fact, the Cheadith never made it down the path into the valley; the stories were true. Yet, for all those who had come to the defense of the valley, no one could understand how they were so successful. There were none in those days and those lands with the skill to slay so many of the savage people who were taller and stronger than those of the northern kingdoms, though one neighbor thought he knew. Mr. Jaelyn was one of the first to arrive at the pass.

When Danith asked what had become of the man Kaelen, Mr. Jaelyn explained that from the moment he saw the man to the moment the Cheadith fled, Kaelem had fought as one of their own, and it wasn't until they returned from chasing the savages out of the pass that they found the man among the fallen. Kaelen had been run through several times by enemy blades and had collapsed under their feet. He was one of the few who had fallen but had slain many.

Ashera's vengeance did not taste as sweet as she had imagined it would, but for the first time in many years, she was at peace. When the pass was cleared and the guard post renewed with a heightened sense of duty to again watch for their enemy, Danith set a small monument beside his father's. On a small plank, the man's name was scratched. Kaelen had found his redemption. If you like this story, subscribe for more. Comment below with what you liked or would do differently if you were writing the story.