3 Vardimann's Travels

Vardimann woke up under the trees. The rain had stopped, but water still dripped onto the waxed cloth above his head. He crawled out from under the shelter and stretched, buck naked. Ignoring his hollow stomach, he got dressed and packed up the shelter. The shelter consisted of a large rectangle of waxed canvas, stood up with poles and ropes. When the supporting poles were taken out, the entire thing could fold up and fit in the pack quite neatly. But with that and the cloak he had slept in, there wasn't much space left.

Vardimann happened to glance at his hand. "Damn. I missed a spot." A short walk took him to the pool from the day before. He used the cloudy water to scrub at a dark stain under his fingernail.

Perhaps a change in direction was what he needed. The pool was at the bottom of a cliff, half again as high as Vardimann was tall. The cliff stretched like a scar to the north and slightly west of south. It could be seen that in the north, the cliff got smaller and smaller until the skin of the land connected. In the south, the trees stopped completely. While the top level of the cliff stayed the same, the lower land sloped away.

This time, Vardimann headed north. He didn't fancy having to climb a cliff at some point.

The trees started growing larger and closer together. The golden light from yesterday became darker and greener. After a few hours of walking it was nearing noon, and Vardimann couldn't ignore his stomach any longer. He sat on the ground under a large conifer and opened his pack. Taking out the ham he had purloined from the inn, he stared at it.

Vardimann gave it a slight squeeze, as though testing its ripeness. He shuddered and dropped it onto the ground and looked away.

After a while, a mournful groan sounded from his stomach.

Vardimann sighed. "It's fine. It's cold and hasn't been smoked." He picked up the ham and dusted it off. The leaf litter was thick, so he didn't have to worry about mud.

Clay, wood, and "bone china". What haven't I eaten off? With that thought, Vardimann used a small bone knife to slice off a small sliver of meat and put it in his mouth. He only chewed a few times before swallowing.

With another sigh, Vardimann stood and started walking again. The branch of the river he hadn't followed had turned north, so he should be meeting it at some point. He should be able to get some fish there.

Walking, walking, and more walking. Vardimann had a strong back, so he could carry his pack. His legs were strong, so he could go on.

The poem made him scoff. Should I thank God for this too? It left a bad taste in his mouth. But it was possible that it might have just been the meat. He spat it out anyway.

The forest was getting darker. The sun was starting to set. Vardimann became aware of a constant rumbling to his right. Curious, he headed towards the sound.

The trees thinned out at the edge of a river. The rumbling sound was distinctly louder here. The water was not the calm or brisk or playful water he was used to. Instead, it charged ahead, throwing itself against the rocks. Across the river he could see the yellow stubble of harvested fields rolling about, occasionally dotted with green paddocks of sheep and cattle. A wide dirt road followed the current. There were no travellers on it at the moment.

"Bug, bug, bugger." Vardimann slapped a sand fly on his arm. He wasn't going to be able to eat. No fish was going to swim in these troubled waters. He could only follow the river west and hope it calmed down.

The river twisted and turned, and every time it did, Vardimann added extra bugs to his curse.

"Bug, bug, bug, bug, bug, bugger!" Vardimann dropped his pack. He was seriously tempted to skip the bends and walk in a straight line. But he would lose sight of the river, and then it might decide not to curve again.

The man sighed. He untied his water bottle from his pack and refilled it. The good news was the water was clear and clean. It was also slowing down, so there should soon be a good place to fish. He lifted his pack and started walking.

With one last wriggle, the river flowed into a huge lake. The lake was large and clear, the setting sun creating sparks in the surface. On the far side, Vardimann could see smoke rising from several villages. It was truly a beautiful sight.

All thoughts of fish forgotten, Vardimann dropped his pack and sat at the base of a tree. He stayed there, gazing at the view until his eyes drooped shut.

Dreams are usually rather repetitive, but this one was a little different.

He sat on a stool with his shirt off, a sharp stinging pain on his back. Large and gentle hands rubbed an ointment into the wounds. Well, it would be more accurate to say it was a massage, more caressing and comforting than a simple treatment. The sharp pain quickly faded away like it had never existed.

The hands gave him a gentle pat and withdrew. Holding a crock in his hands, a man stepped into his view.

He was taller, but all adults were taller. He was thin because he didn't eat much. That was all Vardi's eyes could remember.

Vardi hopped off the stool. "Tell me, tell me!"

The man chuckled, but his eyes weren't laughing. "Let me put this away first. The way you are, you're going to need it tomorrow."

Vardi wrinkled his nose and scuffed his little leather shoes.

The man sighed and closed the cupboard door. He walked over to the Vardi, lifting him up. With the boy in his lap, he sat in the only chair. "Quiet. You're going to wake my wife."

Vardi leaned back against his chest. "I thought you said she was out getting mushrooms."

"Don't lean on me like that. No, she isn't well enough to go out. She's pregnant, remember?"

The boy huffed. "I think you are the one who does not remember. Anyway, tell me!"

The man turned Vardi so that he was sitting sideways. "Far, far away, after weeks and weeks and weeks of travel, you will come across the ocean. A large body of water, so large you cannot see the other side. The horizon is so large and flat, it looks like you'd fall off the edge if you went out too far. In the very early morning it, the water rises high, and then is sinks down, and then in the afternoon it rises high again, and then it sinks for the night. This cycle called the tide."

The boy leaned on the chest again, ignoring the dampness. "Cycle. When a set of actions repeat."

"Correct." The man reached out to a clay bottle on the floor. He flicked the top off, and unmindful of the smashing sound, took a large gulp. When he spoke again, his voice was slightly raspy. "It's a good place to visit, it's beautiful. But remember, the water is salty so you can't drink it."

"O.K."

The man took another swig of the bottle. "Would you like a song?"

"YES!" The boy excitedly jumped off the lap. He ran to an old lute, picked it up, and held it out for the man.

Seeing the beaming smile on his face, the man shook his head. "How can you smile?"

Vardi's smile faded. "Are you not going to sing?"

The man leaned back and stared at the ceiling, mumbling. "I guess to develop trauma you need something to compare it to." He turned his head to gaze at the empty bed. The clay bottle slipped from his grasp.

The smashing sound startled him, and he looked up to see the boy still in front of him, still holding out the battered lute. "Why were you startled? There is no one here."

With that last sentence, the man seemed to wilt a bit. "Yeah."

"So sing."

After a moment, the man gave that smile again and nodded. He took the lute. "What do you want to hear?"

Vardimann woke with only the faint memory of music and gentle hands. Nevertheless, he smiled.