Chapter Two: The House on Hilstberry Hill

A second chapter appears!

Yes, for reals, I have another chapter for your reading pleasure. I know it's sudden considering I haven't done a progress report in a while, but I thought it wasn't going to hurt putting out a little bit more book.

Remember, if you have any comments, feel free to leave them below.

The Messenger

Chapter Two: The House on Hilstberry Hill

            Vivaldi.

            I had been there many times before, but each time I returned I felt as though one could audibly hear my heart sink. It was easy see that Vivaldi had once been a bright beacon of commerce and trade for the western coastline of Amroin, but now was but a ghost of its former glory. Businesses all about town had closed, homes and apartments lay vacant. The docks were mostly unoccupied, and those that were obviously had no desire to ship out any time soon.

            You see, despite the giant bay side cliffs and its heavy cannons augmenting their natural defenses from above, the Ogsans were far superior in terms of sea-going vessels. Many ships had sank in the waters just off the coast of Vivaldi, instilling within sailors the fear that their lives would be forfeit should they ever decide to leave the safety of the bay cliffs.

            Those that did remain here managed to eke out living off the soldiers who occupied the nearby fort and artillery batteries, but sometimes even that wasn’t enough. The one thing that Vivaldi had going for it was that its bay was safe from Ogsans by sea, but that hardly provided jobs during these hard times. Even as I traveled through the city, I could sense the eyes of those around me keeping watch on the lone inlet to the ocean, both in fear and in desire, longing to once again sail the waters that once made this city a pride of Amroin.

            Fishermen sat on the docks like so many barnacles, just waiting for any sign of opportunity to once again work their vocation. Some would simply cast lines to the waters for enough food to feed their families, others would venture out into the bay to collect a more substantial catch, but it wasn’t nearly as productive as traveling out to sea, where their hauls would almost sink entire vessels.

            It was a sad thing to see, but nothing I could do would help them. Besides, I had more important matters to attend.

            I led my horse, Pratsu was his name, down a short dead end street to the top of a small hill at the edge of the town. Following a short dirt path up to its height was a small, two-story farm house, sitting on a similarly small plot of land surrounded by slightly overgrown briars and untrimmed fruit trees. It was old, shutters barely hanging to its windows and what little remaining paint having almost curled its way off. The pungent smells of livestock, wet hay and clay mixed with an eerie silence. With the city creeping at its fences, the homestead looked quite out of place, and quite a bit run down.

            This was the once proud home of Tailon Danahan, atop Hilstberry Hill.

            Inside, I could hear the muffled, playful cries and gleeful screams of children at play, accompanied by the rattled yelling of a woman. I couldn’t tell what exactly was transpiring inside, but what I could gather in the moment I listened was that the older woman was obviously at the end of her rope.

            I motioned to Pratsu, which he easily understood and remained still at the nearby rail. Clearing my throat as I stepped up to the door, I hesitated briefly before I knocked.

            The voices inside instantly became mute, a sound replaced almost instantly with the patter of many feet running toward the sound. Three pairs of eyes instantly appeared in the window to my right, and still more to my left. I grinned, if only to acknowledge their presence.

            “Girls, stop staring,” a female voice called out, becoming louder, “I’ll get the door, shoo.”

            The door scrapped its way open, revealing its operator to be Tailon’s wife. Her silver hair caught a slight wind as she did, it glowed in the dimming light of the late afternoon. Her appearance defied her age, seeming to be quite youthful despite her many elven years.

            Her name was Noniea.

She eyed me for a moment, hesitating a moment before she greeted me. “Hello, Mercher.” She spoke, sighing partly with relief. “Don’t you have splendid timing.”

This was much different than the greeting she had given me the first time we met. Of course, back then, I wasn’t there with the best of news. After a few visits to check on her wellbeing in these trying times… well, I think she had grown a liking of me, a friendship rare towards wanderers like myself. Perhaps she saw whatever it was that her husband once did. 

            “I have never been accused of that before.” I said, furling my eyebrow. “Is there trouble afoot?”

            “Several troubles, actually.” She replied, a weary smirk spreading on her face. She took a slight step back, offering me entry. “Would you be so kind as to help me? I seemed to have forgotten my extra set of hands.”

            “Certainly.” I said, taking a step forward.

            That was as far as I could go before I was swarmed by three child-shaped shackles. Behind them, the youngest of the Danahan clan appeared, jumping atop them. “Mr. Channin’!” They squealed, piling up around me as they clung to my knees. “You’re here! You’re here!”

            “Hello, girls!” I said, trying my best to remain upright. “Think you might be able to leave me my legs?”

            “I doubt it.” Noniea said, crossing her arms as she leaned against the door frame. “It’s almost time for supper, and they’ve been quite ravenous as of late.”

            I grinned, rubbing their hair in greeting. “I can see that. Doesn’t your mother feed you? You must all be famished if you are trying to devour me.”

            The biggest of the troop, Marian, appeared in the doorway, her arms crossed in a similar yet more serious fashion to her mother’s. She eyed me with a sigh, not particularly pleased with my presence. “That’d be nice.”

            “Oh, hush, Mary.” Noniea said, pulling her to her side in a half hug before nodding at me. “You actually have wonderful timing. I have a turkey in the oven, about finished.”

            “A turkey, hmm?” I said, smiling at the children who were cutting off my circulation. An evil smile appeared on my face, noticing a single absence from the lot. “I do say, there seems to be one of you missing! Said turkey would not be your brother, would it?”

            The lot of them smiled with a loud “Ew!”

            Noniea chuckled, though it was a bit forced. “He’s… in his room. Been having a tough time as of late.”

            “Oh?” I said, looking down at the four girls. “What did you do to him?”

            “We didn’ do anythin’,” the youngest, Breen, eyed me with a frown. With the delicacy of a six-year-old, she blurted out, “He misses papa.”

            I froze, looking up at Noniea, not knowing what to say.

Noniea’s smile disappeared as she looked down at the child, but wasn’t about to say anything about it, either. Instead, she waved at them to come inside. “Come, children. Let go of poor Mr. Channing. We must prepare the table for supper.”

Finally free of the children around my legs, I was able to attempt entry into the house. I took but a step when I noise behind me made me stop.

The complaint was from Pratsu, who had been patiently awaiting my signal. I held my finger to my nose, lowered it slowly, and then pointed around the house towards the Danahan’s stable. The horse obeyed, trotting off as he was told without further complaint.

I turned to enter the house, but was stopped once more, this time by Marian. Her arms still crossed, she blinked at me. “How does he know to do that?”

“Do what?” I asked.

“The hand signals.” She said. “How did you train him?”

I shrugged slightly, honestly replying with as little information as possible. “With much time and effort, young one.”

“Right.” Marian said, skeptical of the answer. She watched me as I stepped inside, closing the door behind me and crossing her arms.

I cannot say that I blame Marian for being suspicious of me, seeing as I was very much the opposite of her father. To her I was a rough, unkempt, cowardly civilian, perhaps even a little too human for her liking. It was far from the brave, sharp, well dressed military man that was her father, whom deemed their family’s protection was worth even his life. Her limited tolerance was evident even as she set the table for the evening meal, watching me with a heavy frown as she placed the knives forcefully in their respective places next to the dinner plates.

The other girls quickly finished their part of their chore, and were getting themselves in formation to tackle me. However, their plans were quickly squelched by their mother. Noniea, carrying a decisively medium sized bird to the table, called at them, “Girls, go wash up. Marian, can you go get Montre?”

“I’ll do it.” I volunteered, holding up my hand. I over at Marian, who in turn gave me a death glare.

Setting the turkey down, Noniea grinned as best she could considering the circumstances. She seemed more frazzled than usual. “Wonderful idea, Mr. Channing. I’m sure he’d love to see you.”

“I’ll be down shortly.” I said, heading for the stairs.

The steep set of steps entered into a small attic area, the wood boards creaking as I went. The low ceiling forced me to crouch down a bit as I walked, but thankfully I did not have to go far. I knocked on the small bedroom door.

“Montre?” I asked. “It’s time for dinner.”

“Mercher?” A small, slightly muffled voice replied. It was definitely Montre, but it wasn’t his normal cheerful self. “I’m not hungry.”

I looked down at the floor, taking a deep breath before I opened the door. With a peek inside, I could see the small figure of a boy laying face down in a small bed. He desperately tried to ignore me, his head buried deep in his old, lumpy pillow.

“You’re not hungry, eh?” I asked. “Then you won’t mind if I eat your portion of the potatoes?”

He said nothing, only folding the pillow even further over his head. His melancholy attitude not dissuading me, I stepped into the room further, sitting on the bed next to him.

“That’s alright.” I said, looking off at the other side of the room. “I’m not particularly fond of potatoes, either.”

A short laugh emanated from under the cushion.

I reached over and pulled the pillow back from his face, revealing the sad smile of the young elven boy looking back at me, his eyes red. His grin quickly disappeared, and then tried to bury his face once again.

“Hey, now.” I said, halting him. “None of that. You’re supposed to be the man of the house.”

He sniffed, his frown returning. “Go away.”

“Not a chance.” I said with a sober grin. A short pause later, I looked down at the floor and sighed. “Did something happen?”

“No.” He said.

“Oh, I see. You’re just in here to suffocate that pillow, then.” I said.

He tried to shrug it off, but he knew I wasn’t buying it. After a short moment of silence, he sighed. “I tried to be like father.” He didn’t need to say any more than that. Once the words left his mouth, he buried his face under the cushion once more.

“You still miss him, don’t you?”

He only nodded.

“I can understand that.” I said. In fact, I was probably overqualified in the department of understanding, and as such should have been able to come up with a set of words much more comforting than that. And yet, I simply looked off at the ceiling, taking a deep breath.

The pillow slowly pulled away from his head, and he looked at me with a tear welling up in his eye. “How would you know?”

I grimaced. I should have expected such a question. “I… lost someone. Someone very close to me, once.”

“You lost your father?” Montre asked.

“In a way.” I paused, though not really meaning that. I forced myself to choose my words very carefully, moving and sitting on the bed next to him. “But what I mean is, it was actually a very… very close friend.”

“Oh.” Montre said, looking down. He sat up a little, scooting against the wall and hugging his pillow. “Was he killed in the war, too?”

“Well, no…” I said. “I mean, yes, she was killed. But it was an accident.”

Looking away, Montre frowned. He began a few times to say something, but he just ended up opening his mouth and hesitating repeatedly. But after a few tries, he finally asked, “Did… did you not take it well, either?”

I hesitated a moment, but not enough that I failed to answer. I had to be honest about it. “I would have to say I didn’t.”

“It’s okay.” Montre said, wiping the tears from his eyes again before putting his hand on my shoulder. “Mom says that people who die go to a better place.”

I grinned, halfheartedly at best. “That’s true, for the most part.” I lied to him, or at least I thought I had when I gave the answer. I quickly diverted the conversation. “That doesn’t mean we don’t miss them.”

“Aye.” He said, letting his hand slip down and plop against the bed. “Kids make fun of me for it.”

I looked at him over my shoulder. “Kids in town?”

He just nodded.

“You know, Montre, people grieve in different ways.” I said. “Some people take longer than others. The ones who make fun have not themselves suffered loss. Just don’t let them get to you, all right?”

“Okay.” He said.

I gave him a quick side hug, and then stood. Or, should I say, stood as much as I could because of the low hanging ceiling. “Let’s go get supper, okay?”

Montre scooted himself to the edge of the bed and set his feet to the floor, but paused for a moment. “Can… can I ask you a question?”

“Certainly.”

He eyed the door, as if he was trying to make sure no one else was listening. Confident we were alone, he folded his hands together. “Do you think father still watches out for us?”

It was a hard question for me, especially considering how I had been rather disbelieving in such things as of late. But I definitely could understand why he asked the question. I knew he was very close to his father, and I was seeing more and more how his absence was eating away at his only son.

“I honestly don’t know,” I said, “but it’s nice to hope they can.”

His face dimmed a little, half smiling. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something back, but he was rudely interrupted by one of his older sisters.

“Dinner’s ready, boys!”

“Thank you, Marian.” I called back. Turning back to Montre, I smiled. “Look, we can talk more later, all right? Perhaps while we go fishing off the docks tomorrow?”

Montre looked away, yet nodded. “Okay.”

I nodded towards the stairs. “Feel up to it?”

Montre sighed, a little grin in the corner of his mouth. He wiped his face of tears and looked away. “I guess.”

“You guess?” I pried. “Well, that’s better I suppose. Now let’s get down there before your sister has an aneurysm.”

“What’s an aneurysm?” Montre squinted.

I grinned slightly, thinking the better of giving the correct definition. “It’s… kind of like having your brain explode inside your head.”

“Oh.” Montre said, standing to his feet, managing a grin. “I’m pretty sure it’s too late for her.”

“There, see?” I chuckled. “That’s the Montre we like to see. Now, let’s go eat.”