FirstLineFiction beta

from Contest #7

"She's a local." The old man spoke gruffly around his mangled pipe stem.  He looked sideways at the young stranger, removed the pipe from his mouth, and spat through a sizeable gap in his front teeth.  “You’re not,” he pointed out in the same gravely voice.  “Locals around here, son, they don’t take too kindly to strangers.  Do your business, and get out.  Don’t you be wastin’ no time with lookin’ her up and down.  She’s a local.”  To punctuate his warning, the old man spat again, replaced his pipe between his teeth, and shuffled out of the tavern without another glance and the stranger to whom he had spoken.

 

Puzzled, the stranger stared after the old man for a moment before turning back to face the bar.  He saw the young woman carrying a tray back to the kitchen, and watched the door for her return.  He wasn’t disappointed: not two minutes had passed before she came bustling back through the door with a new tray, laden with food for the customers.  He watched her sweep from table to table, distributing food and mugs of ale, gathering up empty dishes, and smiling brightly all the while.  She must have sensed she was being watched, though, because once she had completed her rounds on the floor she made her way back behind the bar.  She approached the stranger with the same bright smile on her face, but her eyes seemed guarded. 

 

“Can I get you something, sir?” she asked, obviously hoping this stranger was in the tavern just for food or drink.  “Our cook made a fine stew tonight, and fresh rolls with it.”  She waited expectantly, her bright smile glued to her face all the while.

 

“Miss,” began the stranger, “I’m not from around these parts.”  The serving girl nodded, clearly wondering why the stranger was bothering to tell her he was a stranger.  In a village as small as hers, everyone local was well known by everyone else.  Strangers stood out like a sunrise at noon: everyone noticed with fear and wonder.

 

“Yes sir.  Can I get you something from the kitchen?” 

 

“No, miss.  I require no repast.  Just a moment of friendly conversation, if you’d be willing?”  He looked at her steadily, no doubt in his eyes that she’d grant his request.  “The road is awful lonely, miss, and I don’t get no decent conversation exceptin’ when I stop by at a village.”  The stranger slowly adapted his inflection to match that of the old man and other locals he’d heard while sitting and waiting for the girl, knowing that familiar-sounding speech would ease her discomfort.

 

“Well, sir, I do have these customers waiting on me to bring them food and drink.  I haven’t got the time to sit and have a chat.”

 

“After you close is fine, miss.  I’ll wait.”  The serving girl looked at him for a moment, confusing flooding her pale blue eyes but showing nowhere else on her face or in her bearing.  She turned away from the stranger, and continued her endless rounds among the tables and to the kitchen.

 

After several hours, the last few customers staggered out of the tavern, leaving the serving girl and the stranger alone in the front room of the tavern.  As she was picking up the last of the dishes, the stranger jumped lightly to his feet and grabbed the nearest plates to help her.

 

“No, no, sir.  You mustn’t bother.  Please, sit and let me do this.”  The stranger ignored her and continued gathering dishes.

 

“Here, miss.  Now we can sit and chat a while.”  The stranger pulled a chair out at a small table, holding it and looking at her expectantly.  Hesitantly, she crept forward and perched on the very edge of the chair, keeping her back ramrod straight in apprehension.  The stranger chuckled at her discomfort as he strode around the table to claim the chair directly across from her.

 

“Now, miss.  I know you’re a local and I’m a stranger.  I know locals around here don’t take to strangers much, and I’m obliged that you’re taking the time to visit with me.  I’m not much of a stranger, though, really.”  The girl’s eyebrows puckered as she tried to work out what this man could mean by saying he wasn’t much of a stranger.

 

“Sir, forgive me, but I don’t know you.  No one here knows you, so you are indeed very much a stranger!  You’re correct, we don’t take to strangers, so I’d be pleased if you could hurry this up and let me get on home.  I don’t think this is about a lonely road.  What, then?”  She gazed at him with a steady, and increasingly cold, look.  She was losing patience for the whims of this stranger, and was starting to think longingly of her bed.

 

“Well, miss, here’s what I mean.  May I call you Sereh?”  The girl gasped: she had been named for her mother’s mother, and no one else in the village or surrounding areas had that name.

 

“Sir,” she faltered.  It was too late to pretend it was not her name, but she did not want to ask how he had known.

 

“Well, Sereh, the thing is I need a favor.”  He spoke with calm assurance, again displaying no doubt that she would comply with his wishes and no indication that he was in any way being presumptuous.  Sereh hesitated, flabbergasted at the gall of this strange man.  She assumed that he must have asked around about her, at the very least to find out her name.  There was no other way for a stranger to know her given name.

 

“Sir,” she replied, “Who are you?  I am not in the habit of doing favors for people I do not know.  I am not even in the habit of having conversations in the tavern after hours with strangers I have only just met.”  Sereh waited half a heartbeat, shook her head, and made to stand up.

 

“Sit, please.”  His voice was calm and quiet, but she remained sitting, looking at him in wonder.  Something in his voice compelled her to obey, though there was no sound of begging or ordering.  It was a simple request, but she felt she had to listen.  She looked at his face closely, noting that he had storm-gray eyes set deep in their sockets.  Gray eyes were rare, and she had only ever met one other person who had them.

 

“Who are you,” she breathed.  As an answer, the man pulled a small leather pouch out from under his shirt and withdrew a small, rolled paper from inside.  He unrolled the paper slowly, taking great care and showing great reverence for this tiny slip.  He gazed at it for a moment, a flicker of pain flashing briefly in the depths of his eyes, and then held the slip of paper out for Sereh to see.  On it, there was a faint drawing.  The ink had faded in the years since the drawing had been done, but she could make out an old woman cradling a baby girl.  Though the ink was faint, and the drawing miniscule, Sereh recognized her own face in that of the old woman.

 

“I don’t understand, sir.  How is it that you have a portrait of me?  But, it’s not really me, is it?”  He took the slip of paper out of her fingers, rolled it slowly, and tucked it carefully back in the leather pouch.

 

“Sereh, it is you.  Not the old lady, though she was also named Sereh.  She was my wife.”  Sereh was confused.  This stranger was telling her that she was the baby in that portrait?  And that he was…

 

“You’re my grandpapa?  You could not be, sir.  Grandpapa died when I was just a small girl.  You can’t be any older than I.  I am sorry, sir, but there is no way.  Perhaps you have taken ill?”  Concerned for her own well being, as well as that of the stranger, Sereh again made to stand.  She intended to get a glass of water for the stranger, but with just the tiniest shake of his head, he kept her sitting on the edge of her chair.

 

“Sereh, my dear, you understand me correctly.  Though, you do not understand the situation.  It is confusing; I can see that.  Sereh, the baby in that portrait is you; the old woman is your grandmother.  Your grandmother was my wife, so that does make me your grandpapa.  I did not die when you were a small girl: I left.  I had to leave.”  Sereh stared at him in utter astonishment.  This man had to be delusional!  There was no way that a man of her same age could have been married to her grandmother.  Her grandmother had been dead 15 years!  She shook her head, denying what he was telling her.

 

“Sereh, listen to me.  I know you don’t believe.  I know that you don’t want to believe!  But, the time has come for me to tell you, and for you to listen and believe.  Please, try.  When you were a small girl, your mother died.  Your grandmother and I planned to raise you, but I was forced to leave.  I always meant to come back as soon as I could, but I had to wait for the locals to forget me.  They could not know the truth.  But, you must know the truth, as it is your truth as well as mine.”

 

“And what is this truth supposed to be?”  Sereh was deeply puzzled.  She was having images from her past float in front of her mind’s eye.  Whether due to the stranger’s claims or from actual memory, she saw her grandpapa’s face with deep-set, storm-gray eyes.

 

“The truth is in our lineage.  We are descended from an ancient people.  The people from across the sea, who first settled in this land.  My own grandpapa was among the first of these settlers.  He married a woman native to this land, but she died after fifty or sixty years.  He was still young, so he took another wife, another native.  They had my father and his two brothers.  My grandpapa is still alive, though he hides in the deep forests.  All of these ancient people are still alive, though many of their children have perished.  My father and uncles died many years ago, but their faces still looked young.  I am nearing my 700^th year, my dear Sereh, though you notice I look to be of age with you.  All of us descended from this ancient line live close to a millennium, and the original ancient line seems to be immortal in this land.  Sereh, you are of my blood.  You are indeed a local of this area, my dear, but you cannot hope to grow old and die here.  For you will never grow old, and you will live many, many more years.”

 

Sereh was still perplexed, and wary of being taken in by this strange man and his tale.

 

“What proof have you, sir?”

 

“Well, Sereh, this brings me to the favor I must ask of you.  I know that you must be skeptical, though I imagine you are beginning to remember me from when you were quite young?  The favor is this: join me in my travels.  I am heading to the deep forest to visit my kin.  They long to meet you, and you will see that I am telling you a truthful tale.”

 

“Sir, how can I know to trust you on this voyage?  If you are telling me a lie, how am I to keep myself safe?  I do not know you, whatever you claim!”

 

“I know, it is difficult to take in.  I have more proof for you.”  The stranger withdrew another small object from his pouch, this time a silver locket.  He gazed at it momentarily before passing it to Sereh.  She took it with a small gasp.  She recognized the locket instantly: it was identical to the one she wore around her own neck!  She had gotten the locket from her grandmother as a child.  Inside, where most people would keep a portrait, there was a short verse instead:

                However long we shall live,

                We never shall forget…

She had often asked her grandmother what the verse meant, but her grandmother had been unable to tell her.

 

“Open it,” the man said.  Sereh carefully opened the new locket, expecting to see the same verse.  Instead, she found the words:

                …Across the sea where our home lies

                And buried deeply: our regret.

“Oh,” said Sereh quietly.  She gazed at the new verse for a long time, wondering what regret was hidden.  “Why,” she whispered finally.  “Why did they leave?”

 

“Their homes were being invaded.  A new race of men was evolving; it was taking over, killing, raping.  It was horrible.  To save their lives and their culture, our ancestors fled.  They went the only way they could: by sea.  They landed on these shores and headed for the deepest forest they could find, seeking refuge and solace.  They found it, but something changed inside them.  The original travelers never age.  They never die.  This, I guess, is where their regret is born.”

 

Sereh stood up, calm resolve painted on her face.  “I will come with you, grandpapa.  I will come to meet my ancestors.  I will come to thank them for giving up their homes so that we would have a chance in this new land.”

 

Warm pride filling his heart, Sereh’s grandpapa stood as well.  Together, they strode out of the tavern and headed toward the deepest forest they could find.

back to Contest #7