Legends of the Ells - The Beginning
by J. T. Wheeling
Genre: Children
Swearwords: None.
Description: A young Ell embarks on a dangerous journey to find his home.
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Swearwords: None.
Description: A young Ell embarks on a dangerous journey to find his home.
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Polonia, central Spain. Late February, 2436.
Yani raced through the village, terror in his heart. The thud of pursuing feet spurred him on. “Faster, faster!” he urged himself.
A glance behind showed Marc, whip in hand and anticipation stamped on his spotty face, almost within reach. The last beating had left Yani in agony for days. As he raced on, the hill to the cottage and safety seemed endless.
Marc's heavy steps came closer, then the dreaded “woosh” of his whip whistled through the air. Yani hunched his shoulders as it grazed past his back.
“Ha, get you next time,” gloated the voice behind.
At that moment Yani saw Senga the Healer’s house. In desperation he veered right, flinging himself against Senga's door. Sobbing for breath he collapsed, banging his shoulder as he fell. The door opened and a tall gaunt woman stepped out calmly, as if she had been expecting him. Her leathery hands gripped a long cane which she pointed straight at Marc, who jerked to a stop.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she barked.
Marc stepped back, “We were just playing,” he whined, “and this—”
Senga prodded him. “Nonsense, you were going to beat him up again, you monster. Last time I had to dress his wounds and he couldn’t work for a week. Your father was not pleased!”
“Old witch!” Marc muttered under his breath as he backed away, “When I run the village I’ll see you burn!”
Senga's eyes blazed, “And who will tend the sick after me? Get off home or I’ll speak to your father, then we’ll see how you enjoy a thrashing.”
Marc remembered only too well the strength of his father’s arm and his uncertain temper. Sullenly he turned and lumbered off down the hill.
Senga helped Yani to his feet and smiled. The boy’s hair gleamed golden in the evening sun, his blue eyes huge in the slim face. Despite his ordeal, he looked defiant.
“Thank you, Senga,” he said. “I must run faster ’till I’m big enough to fight him. I’ll be fourteen next week.”
“He’s a stupid bully who doesn’t know any better, and his sister’s worse.” Yani's face tightened as he remembered black- haired Lula and her cruel eyes.
“I must get back to Mika, he hasn’t been eating.”
“Why don’t you just run off from this miserable place?”
“ Mika cared for me when I was small. Now he needs me.”
Senga shrugged and shook her head. “Well, here’s some beef broth, that’ll give him strength, and a bone for that dog of yours. I’ll watch while you go up the hill.”
Mika lay half awake, thoughts flickering like a dying candle. He imagined it must be evening; if so, Yani would be back soon. Yani, golden haired Yani. At the thought of the faithful boy who had cared for him since he had come back to this god-forsaken village—what was it?—seven years ago, a smile touched his shrunken, bristled face. Yani's fine features, filled by the remarkable sapphire eyes, swam before him. Mika blinked and realized that the boy had actually come in. He could stop dreaming, Yani had returned. Bob, released from his chain, padded around the room carrying a bone.
“Yani,” he whispered as, muscles protesting, he tried to sit up.
“Look,” Yani said, “Senga's sent you some broth. Let me help you up.”
“Listen Yani,” Mika wheezed, gathering his wits to speak, “This winter’s done for me and I’ve been thinking about your future. You must get away from here and go and find your white city in the south. When I die, Jord will seize this cottage and make you live in his stables.” At the sound of Jord's name Bob looked up and growled softly.
Yani swallowed. “But you’re not going to die. I’m here and—.”
“No, boy, my end is coming. I feel it. I have walked in too many winds. Don’t argue, just listen. Your birthday’s in a week and Senga told me that Jord will be away with his men that day. Leave early in the morning and get to the forest that lies in the south. I managed to hide a little money from Jord, you’ll find it under the hearthstone there.”
Yani blinked hard to hide his tears.
“You’ve been a true friend to me, Yani. I’m sorry I ever brought you to this place—”
“But you had no idea what had happened to it since you left.”
“Just you remember what I’ve said. Now I’m going to sleep and you make your plans. Spring is coming, that’ll help. Goodnight my boy! Play your mouth organ for me, it helps me settle.” Mika turned away and closed his eyes, putting an end to any further discussion.
Yani unwrapped his precious mouth organ and went outside. The little three roomed cottage huddled comfortably against the hillside, with the village lights twinkling below. Above, stars sprinkled the spring sky. Yani sat down on a log and played one gypsy song after another until Mika fell asleep. Only then did the boy go to bed.
That night when Yani was sleeping a gentle presence entered his dreams and counselled him, as it had done every night since he could remember.
“Soon, Yani, you will be fourteen and your powers will begin to waken. Till then you must be patient.”
Yani rose early and left before Mika woke. Jord inspected the stables every morning and there would be trouble if they weren’t mucked out thoroughly. On the way down he saw a light in Senga’s window. He knocked on her door.
“How did he like the broth?”
“It did him good, but now he’s talking about dying and—”
“I’ll go up and see him. You’d better get off now. Stop by on your way home and I’ll tell you what I think.”
Yani laboured hard and Jord left him in peace. Better still, he learned that Marc and Lula were away. At last, his work finished, Yani hurried back to Senga, anxious to hear her opinion.
Senga sighed, “I’m afraid he can’t last much longer, Yani. Afterwards you must leave at once. Tomorrow you have the day off and I’m afraid you’ll have to spend the time digging a grave behind the cottage. Mika would like to be buried there.”
During the next six days Mika slept more and more and, while Yani worked, Senga spent her day sitting with her friend. Every night Yani hurried back, expecting the worst, but Mika hung on, as if waiting for Yani's birthday.
Just after midnight the old man’s eyes opened and he smiled.
“Happy Birthday, Yani” he whispered, clasping his hand. Yani leant closer to catch each word, “Time to go our separate ways. Sorry I can’t come with you,” then Mika sighed softly and his eyes closed for the last time.
“No, Mika, come back,” the boy cried then, realizing this was their final parting, buried his head on the familiar chest and sobbed his heart out. After some time he got up, dried his face and went down the hill to fetch Senga. That night they buried Mika where he had wished, in his own garden.
“You haven’t time to grieve, Yani, leave now.”
“I have today off,” Yani said, “there are a few things I get each Sunday from the store. If I don’t appear someone might be suspicious. Jord’s group are away smuggling again, so I shall be well gone by the time they notice. But what about you, shouldn’t you leave too?”
Senga snorted. “I’ve lived all my life here and most of the folk are decent enough, just scared of Jord and his gang. You go and seek the white city you remember. But you’re right, keep to your usual routine. No one should miss you till Monday. I could send a message to Jord saying you’re sick, that might give you more time.”
“Senga, I’ll never forget you!”
“On you go,” mumbled the old woman, turning away. She couldn’t recall the last time she had shed tears.
“Get a little sleep, boy. You’ll need it and dawn’s coming soon. Go with my blessing,” and, to his surprise, Yani received a great hug before Senga turned and left.
Yani woke early. Leaving Bob locked in, he set off down to the village to do his weekly trade of rabbits for provisions. All was quiet as he jogged down the hill, the sun warm on his back and the spring flowers scenting the morning air. He took a deep breath. His duty to Mika was done and now he could escape this place. He hoped his tormentors were still away.
A stone whistled past his ear, bouncing off the wall beyond.
“Yah-nee, Yah-nee, dirty Ell, dirty Ell!” came the nauseating chant.
He whirled round, heart thumping. Lula, proud of her young body, stood beside Marc. Behind her stood her big cousin, Venty, piggy eyes gleaming in a pock-marked face. Lula pointed a broom handle at Yani.
“Got you this time.” Triumph shone in her black eyes. She had always hated him ever since that time….Yani`s thoughts snapped back to the present.
“How nice! He’s trapped some rabbits to welcome us back. Give `em here!”
“No!” Yani backed away.
“Go on, Marc, get him before he runs. Let’s strip him and throw him in the dung heap, that’s where dirty Ells belong.” Marc, a full head taller than Yani, reached out to grab Yani's hair.
Last night the dream message had changed. “Today is your fourteenth birthday, now your powers awaken and you can begin to fight.”
Yani dropped the rabbits, caught Marc`s hand, twisted it, spun round, and used the bigger lad’s momentum to bash him against the wall. Feeling Venty’s hands on his shoulders he dropped into a ball, hooking his arms backwards and outside his attacker’s legs. He tucked in his chin, heaved up and threw Venty over, to fall on top of Marc and cracking their heads together.
He staggered to his feet, gaping at the two bullies lying dazed, wondering what had possessed him. A noise came from behind. Yani ducked and Lula’s broom handle wooshed over his head. Before she could take a second swipe at him, he leapt forward and grabbed it.
Twisting and turning the handle, Yani began to break her hold. Lula gasped as she tried to tug it away. Where had all this strength come from? It had always been easy to bully him and make those blue eyes fill with tears.
She dropped the handle and stepped back. “You’re a witch!” she gasped, “and witches should be burned, yes, burned alive!” She licked her fat lips. “Wait till I tell Jord how you witched extra strength and hurt his son. He’ll see you burn.”
Yani recoiled in horror—was he really a witch? Ever since Mika had brought him here from the gypsies the youngsters had resented him. His different appearance irritated them and he knew they would just as well get rid of him. But—a burning!
Heart pounding and still holding the handle, he picked up the rabbits and ran to the store. Quickly collecting what he needed, Yani then sprinted up the hill to the cottage.
He released Bob, who had been whining anxiously. The big dog jumped up and, putting his paws on Yani`s shoulders, gave the boy a comforting lick. Yani hugged him back, knowing that with Bob beside him, he was safe. His tormentors hated the big hound for protecting him. He threw his few belongings into an old haversack, grabbed the broom handle as his only weapon, only to hesitate at the door.
This had been his home for seven years caring for Mika as the kindly old man grew weaker. Seven years—and they had only intended to stay a few days. Jord had put a stop to that. The horrible memory sprang up as if it had been yesterday.
“Now Yani,” Mika had said as they neared Polonia, “I promised your gypsy friends to return you and Bob to the white city by the sea, the one you remember leaving when you were three.”
“Nearly four,” Yani corrected him. “I had my birthday as we travelled north. Now I’m seven.”
“The thing is I need to stop here at my old village for a few days, to see if my cottage is still standing and make some arrangements.”
An old stone building came into view, overgrown, dirty and deserted.
“Well, it’s still there. We can leave the ponies in the field and walk down to the village,” Mika said, then scratched his grey head. “I wonder who’s running things now?”
By the following evening Mika was putting things back into his saddlebags.
“Are we leaving already, Mika?”
“I don’t like what I see. That thug Jord has taken over control. This is not a place for you, so we shall leave tomorrow.”
“Oh no, you won’t!” growled a voice from the doorway. “Run off and report what we do here—I think not.”
The hulking shape of Jord, self-appointed head of the village, filled the doorway. Bob’s growl sounded from behind the kitchen door.
Yani sprang up in front of Mika. He glared at Jord who loomed over him, unkempt and smelling of beer and rank sweat.
Mika came across the room.
“You’re not welcome in my house,” he said. “You were a bully when you were a child and you’re no better now. Just get out.”
“Not till I’ve seen your money!”
Yani clenched his hands and stepped forward. Jord's great fist stunned the boy who collapsed on the floor, then he picked up Mika and shook him violently.
“Where is it?” he rasped.
“You’ll get nothing from me and tomorrow I’ll be gone from this forsaken place.”
“It’s my village now and you’re going nowhere!” Dropping Mika, Jord picked up an iron poker, swung it twice and smashed the old man’s ankles. Mika screamed and tried to drag himself away. Bob barked furiously from the kitchen and scrabbled at the door.
“Your money,” Jord repeated, “or shall I start on the boy?”
“Take it!” Mika gasped, “it’s in my saddlebags.”
Jord grinned and helped himself as Yani tried to get up. Jord turned and planted his dirty boot on the boy’s chest.
“Like I said, you’re going nowhere—ever again. You can work for me, cleaning the stables and cowsheds. I’ll take the ponies in case you’re tempted to try and run.”
Ferocious growls and scratches continued from the kitchen door. Jord gave it a nervous glance, then added, “Another thing, keep that large dog up here or you’ll find it poisoned, that’s a promise.” He turned on his heel and left.
Dizzy and sick, Yani crawled over to Mika. Barely conscious, sweat beading his brow, the old man forced his eyes open. Slowly they focussed on Yani's crumpled face. His voice rasped.
“Yani, boy, listen. Go and get Senga. First house on the left near the foot of the hill. Tell her about this. She’ll sort out my legs. Afterwards, you get away. Go south and take Bob.”
White-faced and sick, Yani made his promise, “I’ll get Senga but I’m not leaving you. You’ve cared for me, now it’s my turn.”
Mika's eyes closed again as the pain took him; he couldn’t get any more words out, and Yani went off to find Senga.
Now, after seven years, he could leave with a clear conscience. He could do no more for Mika. “Come on Bob,” he murmured, “we’re on the road at last.” He chose the track going south, along the bare, rocky hillside and prayed they would not bother to come after him.
The light was fading before sounds of pursuit alarmed him. Somewhere ahead lay a forest where he could hide. He started to run but the ominous pounding of hoofs on the hard ground grew louder. His legs spasmed and his lungs were on fire; he could go no faster. A line of trees appeared in the distance but it would take too long to reach them.
“There he is! We’ve got him!” Jord's triumphant shout made Yani turn. His heart fell then, suddenly, fury flared in his head. He stopped running and turned to face the six men galloping towards him over the stony ground.
Bob, hackles up, jumped in front of him, and bared his teeth. The group pulled up a stone’s throw away. “Leave me alone,” Yani shouted. “Go back!”
Jord's harsh voice mocked him. “Listen to the little squirt. Go back, he says. I wonder what he’ll say when we roast him? Lula says he’s a witch.” Lowering his hunting spear he rode straight at Bob.
Without thinking, Yani jumped forward, pointing his broom handle at Jord. “No!” he yelled.
Crack! A fiery bolt struck Jord full in the chest, catapulting him out of his saddle onto the ground. The other riders recoiled in surprise. Yani, as amazed as everyone else, heard his own voice, shrill with fear. “Push off, or I’ll burn you all. Leave the pony. Go!”
Venty and Marc spurred their ponies forward. The handle in Yani's hand seemed to crackle with power, then spat more flashes. Venty and Marc joined Jord, all lying senseless on the ground.
The remaining three backed off, utterly astonished. Whatever had happened to the Yani that had obeyed them? Truly this was an entirely different creature. Lula had been right, he must be a witch, but also very dangerous and best left alone.
Not trusting himself to move, Yani stood still, legs shaking, and watched the three disappear back along the track. His knees finally gave way and he sank to the ground. What had possessed him? How had he done what he had done—or was it the handle? Bob’s wet nose in his face roused him from his thoughts. Still shaking, he scrambled to his feet.
“Oh Bob,” he said, stroking the thick coat, “you wouldn’t have let them take me would you? Now we’d better get on in case they change their mind.”
Ignoring the three moaning bodies on the ground, Yani used the rope they had brought to bind him to tether two ponies behind Hardy, the one he knew best.
“Now we can really travel, Bob,” he said, as he clattered into the forest.
Late that night Yani reached a small town and sold the two ponies for some much needed money.
“That’ll make up for some of what Jord stole from Mika,” he mused as he entered the local inn. There he was accepted; custom this early in the year was welcome, even from a ragged youngster.
Next day, with only a distant memory of a white city by a warm sea to guide him, Yani followed the road through the forest, travelling towards the sun. Years with the gypsies had taught him how to live off the land. He also had other skills that he didn’t fully understand, for every morning he seemed to have learned something in his dreams. The lady who spoke to him as he slept never showed her face, but her voice was gentle and loving.
“Who is she, Bob?” he asked. “I have the feeling that I knew her long ago, but you’ve always been with me too. Did you know her, does she visit your dreams too?”
Bob, trotting alongside, lifted his old shaggy head and looked at his master with adoration. As they travelled, Yani kept his sling to hand. Years of practice had made him accurate at bringing down the odd meal, rabbit or bird, so they wouldn’t starve.
Solitude was fine, he had Bob and now he had Hardy, the best of the village ponies. At last he was free, and would come to somewhere eventually. But how had he won his freedom? He eyed his staff (as he called the broom handle) with suspicion. He had tried to get it to shoot bolts again, but nothing happened. Perhaps it was bewitched, or perhaps he was a—No! he couldn’t be….his thoughts shied away from such an idea .
Finding a suitable spot to camp near a small stream, Yani tethered his pony and chose some food from his pack. Suddenly Bob jumped up, staring into the trees and growling deep in his throat.
“What do you hear, boy?” he whispered. It was then he heard the low, throaty growl of another animal, and saw something large and black slink out of the undergrowth. The female lynx weaved in front of him, her paws silent on the mossy ground. Bob snarled at her and before Yani could pull him to heel, he had moved out of reach. Yellow eyes shone in the lynx’s dark face, her whiskers quivering as she bared her teeth and hissed at the hound. “Stay back, Bob,” Yani commanded, panic rising at every word. He looked around for his handle but found it too late.
The animals rose in unison to collide in mid air, Bob with a death grip at her throat as they fell to the ground with a sickening thud. Yani could do nothing but stand and watch as the animals writhed and ripped at each other. He sought an opening to strike the lynx with his staff, but he was afraid he would hit his dog instead. The hound’s powerful jaws were clamped over the lynx's windpipe, Yani could see the animal was gasping for breath, her flailing claws beginning to ebb. Bob wrestled her to the ground, growling into her bloody throat. She struggled futilely, terrible sounds escaping her snapping jaws, till eventually she lay still and quiet, her chest unmoving. “Leave it Bob,” Yani ordered, approaching slowly, afraid the animal would somehow regain consciousness. He had never been this close to something so magnificent and so dangerous. The hound extricated his muzzle from the cat and sank to his side whining, his front paws lifted away from his wounded under-belly.
Yani poked the cat to be sure it was dead before turning his attention to his dog, and only then did he see the damage that had been inflicted. He sank to his knees, and tried in vain to close the gaping wounds. Ripping his shirt to pieces he tried to stop the flowing blood with makeshift bandages.
“Stupid, stupid dog,” he scolded through his tears, “I told you to stay back, I could have dealt with it, why didn’t you obey me?” He lifted his faithful friend’s head on to his lap to hold him close. “Don’t leave me Bob,” he sobbed, “don’t leave me all alone. We have been through worse than this, you and me, much worse, you’re going to be okay.”
Bob gave a great sigh. His head sank slowly into Yani's lap and his body became heavy and still. Yani sat, rocking his pet, his comrade-in-arms, backwards and forwards. Grief, and a numbing sense of aloneness, held him in a timeless grip.
The first rays of the sun woke Yani. Missing the familiar cold nose nuzzling his ear, he suddenly recalled the fight. For a time he lay unmoving, a black aching hole in his heart. He could not remember a time when Bob had not been with him. Ever since that distant day, when he had come back from exploring the woods with the gypsy boy to find his parents` caravan buried under a rockfall, Bob had protected him. All the three years with the gypsy clan, all the seven years in Polonia, Bob had been his constant companion.
Now he was gone, giving his life to protect him. No other animal had so loved him: it had been a life of total devotion. He could never make it up to Bob now.
“But I’ll make you proud of me, Bob,” he swore between sobs, “I will be as brave as you’ve been and as loyal to my friends—if I ever find any,” he added wistfully.
Eventually he roused himself and scraped a shallow grave with his knife before building a cairn over it with the biggest stones he could move. Now Bob’s body would be safe from scavengers.
“Everything I love leaves me, Bob. First my parents, then Mika, now you.”
He tried to say “Goodbye” but his voice failed him. At last he turned away and, with an empty heart, took the road south without looking back.
Two days later Yani came to the end of the forest. Far ahead, across a bare plain, he saw a long line of hills.
“There’ll be no cover for us to hide up there, Hardy,” he said, glancing back nervously from time to time for any sign of pursuit. “Do you think they might try again?”
Towards evening he started to look for a place to sleep. The lynx’s attack had put him off camping and last night he had managed to talk an innkeeper into giving him cheap accommodation.
“It’s a challenge my father has set me,” he had said. “He’s teaching me to manage money so he’s given me a little and I’ve to travel to Cordoba by myself and make it last. How much is your cheapest bed?”
The landlord had smiled and said, “Well, if you really want to save money, you can have the room off the stables for free,” and Yani had gladly accepted.
Now, a day later, the light was fading again but he could see lights twinkling in the distance.
“Come on Hardy,” he urged his pony, digging in his heels, “you’re as hungry as I am.” Thus encouraged, Hardy snorted and quickened his pace.
The main village street was deserted but a sign “Torreperogil Inn” hung on a long three-storey building. Yani tethered Hardy to a post and went inside. The big gloomy hall smelt of lavender and polish, but no one seemed to be about.
“Hola!” Yani called tentatively.
“Can I help you,” boomed a deep voice, startling him. Yani spun round to see a tall woman advancing on him, like a galleon under sail. He swallowed nervously, then launched into his story. Halfway through, he saw the disbelief in her eyes
“Humph!” she said. “Where’s your pony?”
“Tethered outside.”
For a moment she inspected him in silence from a pair of dark eyes. “Pinto!” she called in a voice like a foghorn. Yani edged towards the entrance, but she forestalled him by moving swiftly to the door and closing it.
Pinto appeared, an ancient gnome of a man, half the height of his employer, and smaller than Yani. “Yes, ma'am?”
“Fetch in this young lad’s saddle bags, then take the pony to Manuel’s stable and hide it there. If anyone asks, you’ve never seen this boy before.”
Seeing the alarm rising in Yani's face, the woman suddenly smiled, producing a line of large teeth. “It’s for your own protection, lad,” she rumbled.
“Protection?”
“I am the Widow Grimstone,” she announced, “I’ve heard about you but don’t worry, you’ll be safe here.”
“You’ve heard about me?”
She flashed the tombstones at him again, and Yani began to wonder what had happened to Mr. Grimstone.
“You must be starving, lad. Come to the kitchen and we’ll see what we can find.”
As long as I’m not on the menu, Yani thought, then, curiosity overcoming him, asked again, “You’ve heard about me?” as he followed her down a dark corridor.
“We may live in the wilds, but we do have communications you know.”
In fact, Yani did not know and had never heard of `communications`.
“Satellite V-phones, a system from the old days,” she explained, which didn’t help either. “My cousin owns the inn where you stayed last night. He called me earlier and said that a bunch of ruffians had just left. They had been asking for you and seemed to think you were on the Cordoba road.”
“I must go!” Yani gasped, turning round.
“No lad, I told you, you are perfectly safe here,” she said, putting a large hand on his shoulder. “You need food, rest, and then some help. I’ll take care of anyone chasing you, never fear, but you’d better tell me your story, the real one I mean.”
They reached the kitchen, a warm comfortable room with hams and cheeses hanging from the rafters.
“First you must eat, then you can decide whether or not to trust me,” the Widow said in a kindly tone. Having placed large quantities of food on the table, she sat down and watched the famished boy attack it. Despite his unkempt appearance, he spoke well and had reasonable manners. She noted the slim hands, the fine-drawn features, the intelligent eyes; this was no rascal.
As he ate, Yani decided to trust this strange woman; there had been no need for her to tell him that she knew he was being hunted. He felt surprise, Jord must be keen to get him back—or to silence him. He looked up at her, smiled and told her all he could remember since the avalanche ten years ago.
Yani raced through the village, terror in his heart. The thud of pursuing feet spurred him on. “Faster, faster!” he urged himself.
A glance behind showed Marc, whip in hand and anticipation stamped on his spotty face, almost within reach. The last beating had left Yani in agony for days. As he raced on, the hill to the cottage and safety seemed endless.
Marc's heavy steps came closer, then the dreaded “woosh” of his whip whistled through the air. Yani hunched his shoulders as it grazed past his back.
“Ha, get you next time,” gloated the voice behind.
At that moment Yani saw Senga the Healer’s house. In desperation he veered right, flinging himself against Senga's door. Sobbing for breath he collapsed, banging his shoulder as he fell. The door opened and a tall gaunt woman stepped out calmly, as if she had been expecting him. Her leathery hands gripped a long cane which she pointed straight at Marc, who jerked to a stop.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she barked.
Marc stepped back, “We were just playing,” he whined, “and this—”
Senga prodded him. “Nonsense, you were going to beat him up again, you monster. Last time I had to dress his wounds and he couldn’t work for a week. Your father was not pleased!”
“Old witch!” Marc muttered under his breath as he backed away, “When I run the village I’ll see you burn!”
Senga's eyes blazed, “And who will tend the sick after me? Get off home or I’ll speak to your father, then we’ll see how you enjoy a thrashing.”
Marc remembered only too well the strength of his father’s arm and his uncertain temper. Sullenly he turned and lumbered off down the hill.
Senga helped Yani to his feet and smiled. The boy’s hair gleamed golden in the evening sun, his blue eyes huge in the slim face. Despite his ordeal, he looked defiant.
“Thank you, Senga,” he said. “I must run faster ’till I’m big enough to fight him. I’ll be fourteen next week.”
“He’s a stupid bully who doesn’t know any better, and his sister’s worse.” Yani's face tightened as he remembered black- haired Lula and her cruel eyes.
“I must get back to Mika, he hasn’t been eating.”
“Why don’t you just run off from this miserable place?”
“ Mika cared for me when I was small. Now he needs me.”
Senga shrugged and shook her head. “Well, here’s some beef broth, that’ll give him strength, and a bone for that dog of yours. I’ll watch while you go up the hill.”
Mika lay half awake, thoughts flickering like a dying candle. He imagined it must be evening; if so, Yani would be back soon. Yani, golden haired Yani. At the thought of the faithful boy who had cared for him since he had come back to this god-forsaken village—what was it?—seven years ago, a smile touched his shrunken, bristled face. Yani's fine features, filled by the remarkable sapphire eyes, swam before him. Mika blinked and realized that the boy had actually come in. He could stop dreaming, Yani had returned. Bob, released from his chain, padded around the room carrying a bone.
“Yani,” he whispered as, muscles protesting, he tried to sit up.
“Look,” Yani said, “Senga's sent you some broth. Let me help you up.”
“Listen Yani,” Mika wheezed, gathering his wits to speak, “This winter’s done for me and I’ve been thinking about your future. You must get away from here and go and find your white city in the south. When I die, Jord will seize this cottage and make you live in his stables.” At the sound of Jord's name Bob looked up and growled softly.
Yani swallowed. “But you’re not going to die. I’m here and—.”
“No, boy, my end is coming. I feel it. I have walked in too many winds. Don’t argue, just listen. Your birthday’s in a week and Senga told me that Jord will be away with his men that day. Leave early in the morning and get to the forest that lies in the south. I managed to hide a little money from Jord, you’ll find it under the hearthstone there.”
Yani blinked hard to hide his tears.
“You’ve been a true friend to me, Yani. I’m sorry I ever brought you to this place—”
“But you had no idea what had happened to it since you left.”
“Just you remember what I’ve said. Now I’m going to sleep and you make your plans. Spring is coming, that’ll help. Goodnight my boy! Play your mouth organ for me, it helps me settle.” Mika turned away and closed his eyes, putting an end to any further discussion.
Yani unwrapped his precious mouth organ and went outside. The little three roomed cottage huddled comfortably against the hillside, with the village lights twinkling below. Above, stars sprinkled the spring sky. Yani sat down on a log and played one gypsy song after another until Mika fell asleep. Only then did the boy go to bed.
That night when Yani was sleeping a gentle presence entered his dreams and counselled him, as it had done every night since he could remember.
“Soon, Yani, you will be fourteen and your powers will begin to waken. Till then you must be patient.”
Yani rose early and left before Mika woke. Jord inspected the stables every morning and there would be trouble if they weren’t mucked out thoroughly. On the way down he saw a light in Senga’s window. He knocked on her door.
“How did he like the broth?”
“It did him good, but now he’s talking about dying and—”
“I’ll go up and see him. You’d better get off now. Stop by on your way home and I’ll tell you what I think.”
Yani laboured hard and Jord left him in peace. Better still, he learned that Marc and Lula were away. At last, his work finished, Yani hurried back to Senga, anxious to hear her opinion.
Senga sighed, “I’m afraid he can’t last much longer, Yani. Afterwards you must leave at once. Tomorrow you have the day off and I’m afraid you’ll have to spend the time digging a grave behind the cottage. Mika would like to be buried there.”
During the next six days Mika slept more and more and, while Yani worked, Senga spent her day sitting with her friend. Every night Yani hurried back, expecting the worst, but Mika hung on, as if waiting for Yani's birthday.
Just after midnight the old man’s eyes opened and he smiled.
“Happy Birthday, Yani” he whispered, clasping his hand. Yani leant closer to catch each word, “Time to go our separate ways. Sorry I can’t come with you,” then Mika sighed softly and his eyes closed for the last time.
“No, Mika, come back,” the boy cried then, realizing this was their final parting, buried his head on the familiar chest and sobbed his heart out. After some time he got up, dried his face and went down the hill to fetch Senga. That night they buried Mika where he had wished, in his own garden.
“You haven’t time to grieve, Yani, leave now.”
“I have today off,” Yani said, “there are a few things I get each Sunday from the store. If I don’t appear someone might be suspicious. Jord’s group are away smuggling again, so I shall be well gone by the time they notice. But what about you, shouldn’t you leave too?”
Senga snorted. “I’ve lived all my life here and most of the folk are decent enough, just scared of Jord and his gang. You go and seek the white city you remember. But you’re right, keep to your usual routine. No one should miss you till Monday. I could send a message to Jord saying you’re sick, that might give you more time.”
“Senga, I’ll never forget you!”
“On you go,” mumbled the old woman, turning away. She couldn’t recall the last time she had shed tears.
“Get a little sleep, boy. You’ll need it and dawn’s coming soon. Go with my blessing,” and, to his surprise, Yani received a great hug before Senga turned and left.
Yani woke early. Leaving Bob locked in, he set off down to the village to do his weekly trade of rabbits for provisions. All was quiet as he jogged down the hill, the sun warm on his back and the spring flowers scenting the morning air. He took a deep breath. His duty to Mika was done and now he could escape this place. He hoped his tormentors were still away.
A stone whistled past his ear, bouncing off the wall beyond.
“Yah-nee, Yah-nee, dirty Ell, dirty Ell!” came the nauseating chant.
He whirled round, heart thumping. Lula, proud of her young body, stood beside Marc. Behind her stood her big cousin, Venty, piggy eyes gleaming in a pock-marked face. Lula pointed a broom handle at Yani.
“Got you this time.” Triumph shone in her black eyes. She had always hated him ever since that time….Yani`s thoughts snapped back to the present.
“How nice! He’s trapped some rabbits to welcome us back. Give `em here!”
“No!” Yani backed away.
“Go on, Marc, get him before he runs. Let’s strip him and throw him in the dung heap, that’s where dirty Ells belong.” Marc, a full head taller than Yani, reached out to grab Yani's hair.
Last night the dream message had changed. “Today is your fourteenth birthday, now your powers awaken and you can begin to fight.”
Yani dropped the rabbits, caught Marc`s hand, twisted it, spun round, and used the bigger lad’s momentum to bash him against the wall. Feeling Venty’s hands on his shoulders he dropped into a ball, hooking his arms backwards and outside his attacker’s legs. He tucked in his chin, heaved up and threw Venty over, to fall on top of Marc and cracking their heads together.
He staggered to his feet, gaping at the two bullies lying dazed, wondering what had possessed him. A noise came from behind. Yani ducked and Lula’s broom handle wooshed over his head. Before she could take a second swipe at him, he leapt forward and grabbed it.
Twisting and turning the handle, Yani began to break her hold. Lula gasped as she tried to tug it away. Where had all this strength come from? It had always been easy to bully him and make those blue eyes fill with tears.
She dropped the handle and stepped back. “You’re a witch!” she gasped, “and witches should be burned, yes, burned alive!” She licked her fat lips. “Wait till I tell Jord how you witched extra strength and hurt his son. He’ll see you burn.”
Yani recoiled in horror—was he really a witch? Ever since Mika had brought him here from the gypsies the youngsters had resented him. His different appearance irritated them and he knew they would just as well get rid of him. But—a burning!
Heart pounding and still holding the handle, he picked up the rabbits and ran to the store. Quickly collecting what he needed, Yani then sprinted up the hill to the cottage.
He released Bob, who had been whining anxiously. The big dog jumped up and, putting his paws on Yani`s shoulders, gave the boy a comforting lick. Yani hugged him back, knowing that with Bob beside him, he was safe. His tormentors hated the big hound for protecting him. He threw his few belongings into an old haversack, grabbed the broom handle as his only weapon, only to hesitate at the door.
This had been his home for seven years caring for Mika as the kindly old man grew weaker. Seven years—and they had only intended to stay a few days. Jord had put a stop to that. The horrible memory sprang up as if it had been yesterday.
“Now Yani,” Mika had said as they neared Polonia, “I promised your gypsy friends to return you and Bob to the white city by the sea, the one you remember leaving when you were three.”
“Nearly four,” Yani corrected him. “I had my birthday as we travelled north. Now I’m seven.”
“The thing is I need to stop here at my old village for a few days, to see if my cottage is still standing and make some arrangements.”
An old stone building came into view, overgrown, dirty and deserted.
“Well, it’s still there. We can leave the ponies in the field and walk down to the village,” Mika said, then scratched his grey head. “I wonder who’s running things now?”
By the following evening Mika was putting things back into his saddlebags.
“Are we leaving already, Mika?”
“I don’t like what I see. That thug Jord has taken over control. This is not a place for you, so we shall leave tomorrow.”
“Oh no, you won’t!” growled a voice from the doorway. “Run off and report what we do here—I think not.”
The hulking shape of Jord, self-appointed head of the village, filled the doorway. Bob’s growl sounded from behind the kitchen door.
Yani sprang up in front of Mika. He glared at Jord who loomed over him, unkempt and smelling of beer and rank sweat.
Mika came across the room.
“You’re not welcome in my house,” he said. “You were a bully when you were a child and you’re no better now. Just get out.”
“Not till I’ve seen your money!”
Yani clenched his hands and stepped forward. Jord's great fist stunned the boy who collapsed on the floor, then he picked up Mika and shook him violently.
“Where is it?” he rasped.
“You’ll get nothing from me and tomorrow I’ll be gone from this forsaken place.”
“It’s my village now and you’re going nowhere!” Dropping Mika, Jord picked up an iron poker, swung it twice and smashed the old man’s ankles. Mika screamed and tried to drag himself away. Bob barked furiously from the kitchen and scrabbled at the door.
“Your money,” Jord repeated, “or shall I start on the boy?”
“Take it!” Mika gasped, “it’s in my saddlebags.”
Jord grinned and helped himself as Yani tried to get up. Jord turned and planted his dirty boot on the boy’s chest.
“Like I said, you’re going nowhere—ever again. You can work for me, cleaning the stables and cowsheds. I’ll take the ponies in case you’re tempted to try and run.”
Ferocious growls and scratches continued from the kitchen door. Jord gave it a nervous glance, then added, “Another thing, keep that large dog up here or you’ll find it poisoned, that’s a promise.” He turned on his heel and left.
Dizzy and sick, Yani crawled over to Mika. Barely conscious, sweat beading his brow, the old man forced his eyes open. Slowly they focussed on Yani's crumpled face. His voice rasped.
“Yani, boy, listen. Go and get Senga. First house on the left near the foot of the hill. Tell her about this. She’ll sort out my legs. Afterwards, you get away. Go south and take Bob.”
White-faced and sick, Yani made his promise, “I’ll get Senga but I’m not leaving you. You’ve cared for me, now it’s my turn.”
Mika's eyes closed again as the pain took him; he couldn’t get any more words out, and Yani went off to find Senga.
Now, after seven years, he could leave with a clear conscience. He could do no more for Mika. “Come on Bob,” he murmured, “we’re on the road at last.” He chose the track going south, along the bare, rocky hillside and prayed they would not bother to come after him.
The light was fading before sounds of pursuit alarmed him. Somewhere ahead lay a forest where he could hide. He started to run but the ominous pounding of hoofs on the hard ground grew louder. His legs spasmed and his lungs were on fire; he could go no faster. A line of trees appeared in the distance but it would take too long to reach them.
“There he is! We’ve got him!” Jord's triumphant shout made Yani turn. His heart fell then, suddenly, fury flared in his head. He stopped running and turned to face the six men galloping towards him over the stony ground.
Bob, hackles up, jumped in front of him, and bared his teeth. The group pulled up a stone’s throw away. “Leave me alone,” Yani shouted. “Go back!”
Jord's harsh voice mocked him. “Listen to the little squirt. Go back, he says. I wonder what he’ll say when we roast him? Lula says he’s a witch.” Lowering his hunting spear he rode straight at Bob.
Without thinking, Yani jumped forward, pointing his broom handle at Jord. “No!” he yelled.
Crack! A fiery bolt struck Jord full in the chest, catapulting him out of his saddle onto the ground. The other riders recoiled in surprise. Yani, as amazed as everyone else, heard his own voice, shrill with fear. “Push off, or I’ll burn you all. Leave the pony. Go!”
Venty and Marc spurred their ponies forward. The handle in Yani's hand seemed to crackle with power, then spat more flashes. Venty and Marc joined Jord, all lying senseless on the ground.
The remaining three backed off, utterly astonished. Whatever had happened to the Yani that had obeyed them? Truly this was an entirely different creature. Lula had been right, he must be a witch, but also very dangerous and best left alone.
Not trusting himself to move, Yani stood still, legs shaking, and watched the three disappear back along the track. His knees finally gave way and he sank to the ground. What had possessed him? How had he done what he had done—or was it the handle? Bob’s wet nose in his face roused him from his thoughts. Still shaking, he scrambled to his feet.
“Oh Bob,” he said, stroking the thick coat, “you wouldn’t have let them take me would you? Now we’d better get on in case they change their mind.”
Ignoring the three moaning bodies on the ground, Yani used the rope they had brought to bind him to tether two ponies behind Hardy, the one he knew best.
“Now we can really travel, Bob,” he said, as he clattered into the forest.
Late that night Yani reached a small town and sold the two ponies for some much needed money.
“That’ll make up for some of what Jord stole from Mika,” he mused as he entered the local inn. There he was accepted; custom this early in the year was welcome, even from a ragged youngster.
Next day, with only a distant memory of a white city by a warm sea to guide him, Yani followed the road through the forest, travelling towards the sun. Years with the gypsies had taught him how to live off the land. He also had other skills that he didn’t fully understand, for every morning he seemed to have learned something in his dreams. The lady who spoke to him as he slept never showed her face, but her voice was gentle and loving.
“Who is she, Bob?” he asked. “I have the feeling that I knew her long ago, but you’ve always been with me too. Did you know her, does she visit your dreams too?”
Bob, trotting alongside, lifted his old shaggy head and looked at his master with adoration. As they travelled, Yani kept his sling to hand. Years of practice had made him accurate at bringing down the odd meal, rabbit or bird, so they wouldn’t starve.
Solitude was fine, he had Bob and now he had Hardy, the best of the village ponies. At last he was free, and would come to somewhere eventually. But how had he won his freedom? He eyed his staff (as he called the broom handle) with suspicion. He had tried to get it to shoot bolts again, but nothing happened. Perhaps it was bewitched, or perhaps he was a—No! he couldn’t be….his thoughts shied away from such an idea .
Finding a suitable spot to camp near a small stream, Yani tethered his pony and chose some food from his pack. Suddenly Bob jumped up, staring into the trees and growling deep in his throat.
“What do you hear, boy?” he whispered. It was then he heard the low, throaty growl of another animal, and saw something large and black slink out of the undergrowth. The female lynx weaved in front of him, her paws silent on the mossy ground. Bob snarled at her and before Yani could pull him to heel, he had moved out of reach. Yellow eyes shone in the lynx’s dark face, her whiskers quivering as she bared her teeth and hissed at the hound. “Stay back, Bob,” Yani commanded, panic rising at every word. He looked around for his handle but found it too late.
The animals rose in unison to collide in mid air, Bob with a death grip at her throat as they fell to the ground with a sickening thud. Yani could do nothing but stand and watch as the animals writhed and ripped at each other. He sought an opening to strike the lynx with his staff, but he was afraid he would hit his dog instead. The hound’s powerful jaws were clamped over the lynx's windpipe, Yani could see the animal was gasping for breath, her flailing claws beginning to ebb. Bob wrestled her to the ground, growling into her bloody throat. She struggled futilely, terrible sounds escaping her snapping jaws, till eventually she lay still and quiet, her chest unmoving. “Leave it Bob,” Yani ordered, approaching slowly, afraid the animal would somehow regain consciousness. He had never been this close to something so magnificent and so dangerous. The hound extricated his muzzle from the cat and sank to his side whining, his front paws lifted away from his wounded under-belly.
Yani poked the cat to be sure it was dead before turning his attention to his dog, and only then did he see the damage that had been inflicted. He sank to his knees, and tried in vain to close the gaping wounds. Ripping his shirt to pieces he tried to stop the flowing blood with makeshift bandages.
“Stupid, stupid dog,” he scolded through his tears, “I told you to stay back, I could have dealt with it, why didn’t you obey me?” He lifted his faithful friend’s head on to his lap to hold him close. “Don’t leave me Bob,” he sobbed, “don’t leave me all alone. We have been through worse than this, you and me, much worse, you’re going to be okay.”
Bob gave a great sigh. His head sank slowly into Yani's lap and his body became heavy and still. Yani sat, rocking his pet, his comrade-in-arms, backwards and forwards. Grief, and a numbing sense of aloneness, held him in a timeless grip.
The first rays of the sun woke Yani. Missing the familiar cold nose nuzzling his ear, he suddenly recalled the fight. For a time he lay unmoving, a black aching hole in his heart. He could not remember a time when Bob had not been with him. Ever since that distant day, when he had come back from exploring the woods with the gypsy boy to find his parents` caravan buried under a rockfall, Bob had protected him. All the three years with the gypsy clan, all the seven years in Polonia, Bob had been his constant companion.
Now he was gone, giving his life to protect him. No other animal had so loved him: it had been a life of total devotion. He could never make it up to Bob now.
“But I’ll make you proud of me, Bob,” he swore between sobs, “I will be as brave as you’ve been and as loyal to my friends—if I ever find any,” he added wistfully.
Eventually he roused himself and scraped a shallow grave with his knife before building a cairn over it with the biggest stones he could move. Now Bob’s body would be safe from scavengers.
“Everything I love leaves me, Bob. First my parents, then Mika, now you.”
He tried to say “Goodbye” but his voice failed him. At last he turned away and, with an empty heart, took the road south without looking back.
Two days later Yani came to the end of the forest. Far ahead, across a bare plain, he saw a long line of hills.
“There’ll be no cover for us to hide up there, Hardy,” he said, glancing back nervously from time to time for any sign of pursuit. “Do you think they might try again?”
Towards evening he started to look for a place to sleep. The lynx’s attack had put him off camping and last night he had managed to talk an innkeeper into giving him cheap accommodation.
“It’s a challenge my father has set me,” he had said. “He’s teaching me to manage money so he’s given me a little and I’ve to travel to Cordoba by myself and make it last. How much is your cheapest bed?”
The landlord had smiled and said, “Well, if you really want to save money, you can have the room off the stables for free,” and Yani had gladly accepted.
Now, a day later, the light was fading again but he could see lights twinkling in the distance.
“Come on Hardy,” he urged his pony, digging in his heels, “you’re as hungry as I am.” Thus encouraged, Hardy snorted and quickened his pace.
The main village street was deserted but a sign “Torreperogil Inn” hung on a long three-storey building. Yani tethered Hardy to a post and went inside. The big gloomy hall smelt of lavender and polish, but no one seemed to be about.
“Hola!” Yani called tentatively.
“Can I help you,” boomed a deep voice, startling him. Yani spun round to see a tall woman advancing on him, like a galleon under sail. He swallowed nervously, then launched into his story. Halfway through, he saw the disbelief in her eyes
“Humph!” she said. “Where’s your pony?”
“Tethered outside.”
For a moment she inspected him in silence from a pair of dark eyes. “Pinto!” she called in a voice like a foghorn. Yani edged towards the entrance, but she forestalled him by moving swiftly to the door and closing it.
Pinto appeared, an ancient gnome of a man, half the height of his employer, and smaller than Yani. “Yes, ma'am?”
“Fetch in this young lad’s saddle bags, then take the pony to Manuel’s stable and hide it there. If anyone asks, you’ve never seen this boy before.”
Seeing the alarm rising in Yani's face, the woman suddenly smiled, producing a line of large teeth. “It’s for your own protection, lad,” she rumbled.
“Protection?”
“I am the Widow Grimstone,” she announced, “I’ve heard about you but don’t worry, you’ll be safe here.”
“You’ve heard about me?”
She flashed the tombstones at him again, and Yani began to wonder what had happened to Mr. Grimstone.
“You must be starving, lad. Come to the kitchen and we’ll see what we can find.”
As long as I’m not on the menu, Yani thought, then, curiosity overcoming him, asked again, “You’ve heard about me?” as he followed her down a dark corridor.
“We may live in the wilds, but we do have communications you know.”
In fact, Yani did not know and had never heard of `communications`.
“Satellite V-phones, a system from the old days,” she explained, which didn’t help either. “My cousin owns the inn where you stayed last night. He called me earlier and said that a bunch of ruffians had just left. They had been asking for you and seemed to think you were on the Cordoba road.”
“I must go!” Yani gasped, turning round.
“No lad, I told you, you are perfectly safe here,” she said, putting a large hand on his shoulder. “You need food, rest, and then some help. I’ll take care of anyone chasing you, never fear, but you’d better tell me your story, the real one I mean.”
They reached the kitchen, a warm comfortable room with hams and cheeses hanging from the rafters.
“First you must eat, then you can decide whether or not to trust me,” the Widow said in a kindly tone. Having placed large quantities of food on the table, she sat down and watched the famished boy attack it. Despite his unkempt appearance, he spoke well and had reasonable manners. She noted the slim hands, the fine-drawn features, the intelligent eyes; this was no rascal.
As he ate, Yani decided to trust this strange woman; there had been no need for her to tell him that she knew he was being hunted. He felt surprise, Jord must be keen to get him back—or to silence him. He looked up at her, smiled and told her all he could remember since the avalanche ten years ago.
About the Author
Born in Airdrie and now living in Edinburgh, J. T. Wheeling retired from venture capital work after forty years to write primarily for youngsters. In his own words: “My main purpose in writing is to encourage youngsters to take a more positive view of the future and develop a constructive and tolerant attitude with which to tackle their lives – if that doesn't sound too pompous!”
You can read more of Legends of the Ells, the first book in his trilogy, Tomorrow’s Children, by clicking on the image below.
You can read more of Legends of the Ells, the first book in his trilogy, Tomorrow’s Children, by clicking on the image below.