Chapter 5: The Greatest of Journeys Begins with a Single Step (pt. 1)

At the end of Chapter 4: A Stitch in Time, our brave hero began his journey to the Dark Lands. Bertronius, meanwhile, has just become a spy and caught the attention of McNab the spy master.
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Over the next month, Glothnafar and Jellihondor’s band of rebel troops would spend the bulk of the daylight hours marching to the north and west on the magical forest paths. At night, they would make camp just outside the magical barriers of the paths, usually opting to sleep under the open sky, as the good weather had persisted. Though the journey involved long days of marching, Jarthen was incredibly grateful for the existence of the magical paths, which had eased the journey considerably.

The journey had given Jarthen a chance to become better acquainted with some of his comrades than he had while they were embedded with the larger body of troops. It was, as most of us can testify from our own personal experiences, quite a challenge to get know anyone when thrust into a new, large group of people. In the more intimate setting of the party headed towards the Dark Lands, Jarthen began to notice how often Glothnafar and Jellihondor separated themselves from the larger group to engage in confidential discussions. Glothnafar’s continued hostility did not improve Jarthen’s spirits. It seemed like every time Jarthen had found a moment to relax, Glothnafar would appear with a menial task for him to perform, or have a cruel insult to hurl at him. For the most part, Jarthen sought to avoid the centaur, which usually wasn’t too much of a problem given Glothnafar’s preoccupation with the important business of planning their journey.

Over the days and weeks, Jarthen also noted that while all the elves deferred to Jellihondor without question, many of them displayed almost as much respect for Rethnaki (albeit in their humor still very much intact). Rethnaki, being more experienced and slightly older than the others, served as a buffer of sorts between the elves and their commander, and did his best to keep spirits up and morale high. At mealtimes, Jarthen noticed that friendliness and warmth Zartheim exuded with such ease made everyone in the group comfortable with him, and he had grown into a sort of ad hoc mediator for the arguments which sometimes broke out amongst the passionate rebel soldiers. All in all, Jarthen generally felt like he understood his place in the Rebel Army, but felt more isolated from them than ever. Additionally, he was also having more bouts of nostalgia for his dear friend Bertronius: oh how he missed him!

Jarthen: alone, miserable, in the rain

Jarthen was feeling particularly reminiscent about his life in the West Fethil because he knew that his thirteenth birthday was rapidly approaching. Despite his humble origins, Jarthen’s family had always made it a point to celebrate his birthday in as extravagant a manner as they could possibly afford. His father hung decorations made of tin cans and cowbells, while his mother would always spend a full week in their small kitchen creating splendid concoctions and delights, culminating in a fabulous mush cake, the traditional Elothninian birthday repast.

*******

Bertronius awoke with a start. Through the din of Lem’s snoring, banging pots and the undulating canvas walls of tent, he could hear Clemhand yelling at him and his tentmates to get out of bed. “Oi, get up, I say! Ye lot got to be trained, ye think the life of a spy is easy?!” yelled the man while he shook the tent to and fro with one hand and slammed a cookpot into the frame like a gong with the other. Bertronius found his way out of the tent and mumbled a good morning to Clemhand, who paused briefly in his cacophonous monologue to nod at Bertronius. He was grinning from ear to ear, obviously enjoying this part of his job.

Bertornius, still bleary-eyed, fumbled with his shoes in the chilly morning air. Nelhoepher emerged from the tent just as Bertronius was getting his shoes tied. He yawned and stretched his long, athletic limbs, obviously in no hurry to get ready. “Mornin,’ Bert. How’d you sleep?”

“Not well. You didn’t tell me Lem snored like that! I kept thinking an animal was attacking our tent,” Bertronius said ruefully. Nelhoepher chuckled and assured Bertronius that he would get used to it. At that moment, a loud yelp and soft whimper came from the tent. Clemhand, who’d been getting more and more frustrated with Lem’s insistence on remaining unconscious, had forsaken the loud-and-annoying approach to the wake up call in favor of a more silent-and-painful one by means of a swift kick to the ribs. Lem crawled out of the tent and shot Clemhand an accusatory look before sitting next to his two friends.

“Did you lot see that? Clemhand kicked me in the ribs – hard! I never did nothin’ to him, and I says that’s a cruel way to wake a body, I do,” mumbled an embittered Lem.

“Oh, it’ll be alright, Lem. It’s 'bout breakfast time, and yeh won’t even remember what old Clemmy did to yeh once yeh get some mush in that potbelly,” replied Nelhoepher.

Overhearing this, Clemhand started chuckling to himself. “What do you lot think yeh are? Wee little princes, eh? Yeh be trainin’ now, boys! No breakfast for you three 'til you’ve run the perimeter of the camp. And if yeh get back before the mess tent stops servin,’ then yeh can have yer mush.” He paused a moment to relish the sad and disbelieving looks on the boys’ faces before continuing. “After that, come on back here and you’ll have yer history and theory of spyin’ lesson with me. Then, ye can go eat summat in the mess tent afore you have yer practical training with McNab and the others. But, seein’ as how spies got to be in fine physical condition, you’ll be running laps again before dinner.”

“But, that’s not fair!” cried Nelhoepher. “Why do we have to run laps when you’re the one with the paunch?”

Clemhand narrowed his eyes. “I ain’t even goin’ to dignify that with an answer, ‘cept to say I know 16 ways to kill a man before you can say boo. Now, boys, if ye really do be wantin’ yer mush, ye better run for it!”

At that, Bertronius, Nelhoepher and Lem hopped up and sprinted out of camp, each hoping they could keep up the pace long enough to get whatever was left at the end of breakfast.

three young spies earning their mush

*****

Jarthen and the rest of the small band had spent the whole day marching along the forest paths, making steady progress along their journey, and pausing only as the sun was beginning to sink out of sight to set up camp for the night. Rethnaki had prepared a campfire to heat up some tea and some of their dried venison rations, while Zartheim, who was a keen enthusiast of elvish pipe weed, was preparing a giant sized pipe for the group to partake of.

Jarthen was lost in his own lonely, sullen thoughts. After the fire had been built and the pipe filled, Rethnaki sat down next to Jarthen. With a look of concern, he asked, “what’s on your mind, Jarthen?”

Jathen looked up gloomily. He knew Rethnaki just wanted to help, but he was caught in the doldrums and did not see an easy escape from them. “It’s just…do you guys have birthdays?” Jarthen asked breathing a heavy sigh.

Rethnaki exchanged a puzzled look with Zartheim, before asking gently, “What’s a birthday then, lad?”

“Well…” Jarthen began, pausing while thinking how best to explain the concept to his compatriots, “…it’s like a celebration of the anniversary of the day you were born on…in Elothnin, we celebrate it by having mush cake with a numerical candle on it for how old you are.”

“Hmm…that sounds like a born-on day to me, lad,” Rethnaki replied thoughtfully. “I ha'en' ne’er heard of a birthday, but tha’s pretty much ta gist o’ a born-on day fer us elves, ‘cept we mark’s it wit’ a night o’ ale drinkin’ an' pipeweed smokin’.” Rethnaki paused and put a graceful hand on Jarthen’s slim shoulder before continuing, “Why do ye ask?”

Jarthen made a valiant effort to fight back the tears that welled up quite suddenly, as all the sadness overwhelmed the boy at once with Rethnaki’s tender show of concern. “Well, see, my birthday…or…did you call it a born on day? Well…it was three days ago, I think, and I guess I’ve just been feeling a bit homesick, you know?” he added in an altogether pitiable voice.

“T’ree days ago? Tha’ does explain why ye’ve been a touch preoccupied o’ late. How old are ye now? T’irteen, is it?” Jarthen nodded in response, impressed that Rethnaki had remembered accurately how old he was.

Zartheim, overhearing the conversation, was quick to add cheerfully, “Of course we understand completely, dear boy! It is always difficult to be away from one’s home for the first time, and especially on important occasions such as your birthday it’s perfectly understandable!”

“Aye lad,” Rethnaki added in a knowing way, “Now, I may not ken anythin’ about birthdays or mush cakes, but I’ll make sure tha’ ye ha’ ta best birthin-day tha’ any humans e’er had, belated or otherwise!”

Jarthen’s spirits were immediately buoyed by this show of support from his still relatively new comrades. “Really?” he asked excitedly, “that’s really nice of you Naki: it would mean so much to me!”

Rethnaki indicated that nothing would be simpler for him than to prepare a birthday party in the midst of a great forest, during their arduous journey, and that Jarthen should leave the matter entirely to his discretion. Jarthen agreed without a doubt, and began to feel better than he had since he left the clearing.