The New World: A Step Backward (21 page)

Sunday
~
October 6
~
3:45 pm

Following the funerals of Ukkiville's other fallen heroes, the time of final respects for Protuk had arrived.  Thoruk, along with Wolfuk and Stormulka, stood next to the deceased Master of Arms' treasured fishing boat, adorned with colorful roses and mums as a memorial.  The famed carpenter's cherished maple box with the engraving 'For the Little Ones' sat snug against his side.

After Thoruk told tales of adventures shared with the beloved protector, he touched Wolfuk's shoulder and patted the weathered, chalky-white craft.  "Thanks for organizing this.  It's the perfect Viking farewell for a man who whittled creatures for children, while peeking at a bobber when fishing."  The tracker nodded and forced a one-sided smile.

While his friends continued talking, Thoruk spotted something tall and cloaked in the schoolyard.  "Excuse me a second, I'll be right back."  He strolled toward the secretive structure blanketed by a ghostly covering. 
What on earth is this?

Two archers standing guard, a man and woman with hardened muscles and faces void of expression, stepped forward to halt his approach.  Wolfuk hurried to his side.  "Sorry, but nobody's allowed to look, sir.  There's not much longer to wait."

Thoruk shook his head.  "I can't believe you won't let me see.  You know I could simply order you to lift the sheet, right?"

The stern warrior stood straight with his chest out.  "Yes, but you won't, sir."  He grinned.  "Be patient."

While Thoruk pondered the likely possibilities, chatter filled the air as villagers gathered between the church and school where the procession was to start.  He turned in the direction of the jumbled conversations.  Families neared with gifts as several children clung to their own offerings.

Deciding to begin the ceremony, he waved the crowd toward Protuk's body.  "Please, let's join together."

Once the audience hushed, the pastor lowered his head.  "Dear Lord, please bless Protuk and welcome this humble servant to your arms in Heaven.  No one has done more to protect your followers in Ukkiville.  He was not just our guardian but a man who loved our children and spent his spare time creating gifts from his heart."

"Amen!" fervently echoed among the throng.

Thoruk noticed smiles of some little ones not yet grasping the true loss of their friend, the carver.  "Please, line up in single file to pay your respects."

As the families passed alongside the revered guardian, mothers and fathers lifted their smaller offspring to leave presents beside Protuk.  A few teenagers tendered wooden animals they carved, demonstrating the training received from the skilled carpenter.

One of the dads raised his little girl who bent forward and placed her mouth next to Protuk's ear.  She tried to whisper, but her loving message drifted through the night's air.  "Thank you for the deer you made me.  I always keep it by my bed.  Please take it to Heaven with you — bye."  She kissed the hero's cheek, set the carving on his chest, then waved when her father carried her off.  Appreciating the child's admiration, Thoruk smiled.

After the last of the villagers said their farewells, he walked toward the concealed structure.  As he approached, Wolfuk relieved the sentries.

Facing the crowd, Thoruk pointed at the mystery of the day.  "Please, may I have your attention.  Wolfuk has a special presentation."

The townspeople pressed closer for a better view.

Wolfuk grabbed a corner of the covering.  "Throughout last night, several among you helped create a great tribute to the loved ones killed during their fight for us and our way of life.  To honor our beloved Protuk and the other fallen heroes, we offer this work of art from the heart of Ukkiville."  He gently pulled, and the shroud cascaded to the ground.

Thoruk slowly surveyed the magnificent, seven-foot sculpture of Protuk standing with his legs apart and his right arm extended to the sky.  In the fist was his favorite sword, used to slay many rogue Skalags during several raids and the recent battle.

His left arm was wrapped around the likeness of Wolfuk's slain little brother, Foxuk.  Across the top half of the circular base, the sculptured faces of the others who died surrounded an inscription, 'Protuk and the Fallen Heroes of Ukkiville.'

Additionally, 20 small, hollowed shelves lined the lower platform's circumference.  Each displayed one of the carvings that Protuk had given to children but were donated to the memorial by the same youngsters.

Thoruk stood back, amazed at the detail Wolfuk and his volunteer sculptors accomplished with so little time. 
That's what all that noise was about.  A fantastic tribute befitting those who saved Ukkiville!

Later After Dark

Nearing the community park, Thoruk and eight volunteers ceremoniously carried the boat cradling Protuk.  After reaching the Lake of Dreams and setting the rite-of-passage vessel down, Thoruk watched the lengthy stream of torches held by each villager in the procession toward the shore.

For a moment, he stared at the fallen Master of Arms' peaceful face. 
You gave your all for us.  I, for one, wouldn't be standing here today, if not for you.  Your final journey to heaven will be imprinted on the minds of Ukkiville forever.

When the last villager arrived, Thoruk and five men grabbed the craft and placed it close to the water's edge as families extended their torches to illuminate the area.  He turned to the townspeople.  "Let's line up along the shore."

As everybody settled in their chosen spots, he looked at Tradulka who gripped Red with a long arrow nocked against the bow's string.  The fletching's feathers were of an osprey, Protuk's favorite bird of prey.

While the champion archer awaited a signal, Thoruk and Wolfuk waded into the cold water, slid the boat off the grassy slope, and pushed it toward the heart of the lake.

After neighbors pulled them up the slippery bank, Bartuk handed Thoruk and Wolfuk their swords.  Several warriors, men and women alike, joined together to form a large circle.

Thoruk unsheathed his blade extending it high toward the center of the group.  The others followed his lead.  More than 30 swords clanked in unity as he signaled Tradulka and loudly exclaimed, "For Protuk — a man who gave his life for Ukkiville — a man loved by all!"

The marksman lifted the oil-wrapped arrowhead to the flaming torch Bartuk held in position.  Aiming the blazing shaft toward the floating bed of flowers carrying the Master of Arms, the archer let go.

A fiery arc scored the coal-black sky.  The trail of light ended in a cluster of kindling in the vessel's stern, setting the pine chips ablaze.  Within seconds a massive bonfire illuminated the lake, fulfilling Protuk's request to honorably release his spirit to Heaven — Viking style.

As Thoruk stood mesmerized by the bright, flickering glow, his eye twitched as a sting of loneliness interrupted the memories of his freed protector. 
I wish Mercy was here.

More Than Four Months Later:

February 16, 2076
~
11:30 am

After chopping wood on a frigid morning, Thoruk sat alone, staring at the flames in the hearth.  Rising, he lumbered to the bathroom and peered into the mirror, squinting.  He closed his eyes, disgusted with his long, straggly hair and shaggy beard, reflecting months of neglect.

As he washed himself, he splashed his face and slicked his hair back.  The cold droplets streamed down his cheeks and chin.  He shivered and shook his head like a wet dog, as water flew in all directions.

Returning to the main room, he looked around.  Dishes, crusted with moldy food particles, lay stacked in the sink and across the counters.  Filthy, wrinkled clothes hung from every piece of furniture.

A fowl but familiar odor struck his nostrils.  The place reeked of mildew and dust akin to his old professor's cabin. 
I hate my life without Mercy.  Never see Storm anymore — he's always around his girlfriend — Blessivil.

Nibbles of loneliness slowly ate at his heart, frosty and aching most days. 
I miss jogging and sparring with my friends.  Haven't seen Mercy's mom in forever — not a decent meal, for months.

Thoruk clutched his chest.  The momentary thought of the unearthed secret still hurt deeply.

For weeks after Mercivil left for Texas, he wondered how his forlorn sister was doing.  A knot swelled in his innards. 
Got to stop thinking about it!

A sharp knock startled him. 
Who could that be?

Thoruk slogged to the door and cracked it open, peering through the slit. 
Whose horse and sleigh is that?
  Peeking around the edge, he surveyed the visitor from foot to head. 
Charilulka.  What's Storm's cousin doing here?
  He sighed.  "Hello?"

Clinging to a black iron pot, she flashed her bright white teeth.  "Good morning."

Smacked by panic, he held his breath and looked behind him. 
Shivers, this place is a disaster — just like Intellulka's!
Glancing back at her, he squished his brow.  "Can I help you?"

"I brought you some hot chicken noodle soup for lunch."  She grinned.  "It's real heavy."

He drew a deep breath of the cool air, shut his eyes, and slowly opened the door. 
Blazes, what will she think?

Charilulka stepped in and continued past him, straight to the kitchen without a word.

Thoruk remained fixed, mouth agape. 
Didn't she see the mess?

Scanning the counters, then the stove, the determined woman set the kettle on the sole location absent a dirty dish.  "It seems you saved a spot just for the soup."

Smiling but void any hint of shock, the unexpected guest removed her cougar hide coat.  She held it out.  "Would you be a sweetheart and hang this up for me, please.  I'll get lunch ready."  Her pink, wool sweater certainly didn't obscure her voluptuous figure.

As fascination swelled, he tracked her every movement, noticing the dark, auburn hair accented by a few light, tan strands.  Extending to the small of her back, the wavy mane floated with the slightest motion of her head.

Beautiful — she's an angel.
  He recalled seeing her several times in the village, mostly in church, but never really "looked" at her.  Warmth flashed across his face and neck as his heart thumped like a thunderous drum.  Placing a palm on his chest, he prayed she couldn't hear it.

Charilulka opened a cupboard door, then another.  "Where are your bowls?"

Oh no, I think I used the last one yesterday.
  He searched the shelf where he usually kept them. 
Nope — can it get any worse?
  He spun toward her, grinning.  "Uh, apparently I've run out of bowls.  Let me wash a couple."  Without moving his head, his gaze turned to the sink.

"I'll get it."  Lightning-fast, the gorgeous visitor slid her sleeves to her elbows and snatched the dishrag sitting on the ledge.  Smelling the stiff cloth, she jerked back and set it aside.  "Do you have a fresh one?"

While the newfound maid started to clear the sink, Thoruk retrieved the last clean cloth in the kitchen. 
This has got to be the most embarrassing moment of my life.
  He handed her a white sock with not one, but three holes.

Humming, his attractive guest cleaned a stack of dishes as if everything was normal.

Curiosity overwhelmed him.  "Did Storm send you to help me?"

"Nope."

What kind of answer is that?
  Not a smidgen of his thirst for truth was satisfied by such a short response.  He continued his pursuit from a different angle.  "Did Storm tell you I was sick or dying?"

She chuckled.  "No."

Thoruk grew increasingly irked at getting nowhere with his interrogation.  "Okay, why are you here?"

"I wanted to help you."  Charilulka never turned, just kept her back to him.

He huffed and paced.

Rinsing the dishes, she looked around the kitchen.  "I'm sorry, but do you have a towel?"

For the first time in weeks, maybe months, he smiled.  "Yes, I saw two this morning.  Let me get one."

As she cleared the table, he ran toward the bathroom.  After a successful search, he returned.  "Here, see."  He extended a blue, cotton face towel.

The stunning cook fluttered her lashes and laughed.  "I'm glad I didn't have to use your last one.  Go on and sit down while I pour some soup."  She grabbed a ladle and lifted the lid.  A puff of steam drifted to the ceiling.

As she filled the bowls, Thoruk snuck a look at her again. 
She's a savior — long, dark hair and deep brown eyes — so different from Mercivil — lots of curves, especially up top.

Whirling, she strolled to the dining room.  He lowered his gaze, hoping she hadn't noticed his stare.  She smiled again, parting her lips.

He caught himself gawking and blinked.  Instinctively, he smiled in return, feeling more at ease and warmer with each passing second.

More Than a Year Later:

April 11, 2077
~
3:30 pm

With his girlfriend's urging, after Miss Gracivil missed Sunday's service earlier that morning, Stormulka drove his sleigh to check on her.  After a lengthy courtship, Blessivil, who bore a remarkable family resemblance to her cousin, Mercivil, with her long, blond hair and sky-blue eyes, spent most of her time by Stormulka's side, and today was no exception.

Since Miss Gracivil had been downtrodden for months, he and Blessivil brought firewood, supplies, and a piping-hot meal to share with her, a ritual they repeated every couple of weeks since her daughter's departure.  In his pocket, Stormulka kept a deck of cards in case Mercivil's mom wanted to play three-handed Pinochle — her favorite.

Upon arrival, he noticed a foot-high pile of snow across the porch.  He scratched his head. 
Nobody has been in or out of the front entrance in awhile.
  He knocked, but there was no answer.  Rapping the oak door again, he slowly opened it.  "Hello, it's Storm and Blessivil.  Anybody home?"  Still no word.

He entered, stomped his caribou hide boots on the rug, and set a kettle on a small, nearby stand.  Likewise, his partner placed a basket of biscuits and bottle of milk next to the stew.

Random pops filtered in from the next room.  Stormulka carefully pulled on Blessivil's hand, leading her toward the noise.

When he turned the corner he stopped short.  "Miss Gracivil?"  Without a hint of movement, she sat staring into the crackling flames as if frozen in time. 
She seems deaf or oblivious to everything around — worse than the other day.

He stepped forward in her direction.  Fluf, lying on the far side away from the fire, lifted her snout and snarled, curling her lip.

Stormulka gingerly retreated and raised his palm.  "Calm down Fluf, it's just us, Stormy boy and Blessivil."  The gesture soothed the suspicious polar bear, but her eyes tracked every move he made.  He glanced at his partner.  "I don't like this.  They're both getting bad."

"I agree.  The last time I was here to help Miss Gracivil she had trouble remembering who I was.  And when I tried to brush Fluf's fur, she growled and wouldn't let me touch her."  Blessivil tiptoed behind Mercivil's mother and gently placed her arm around the shoulder of the mesmerized lady, startling her.

Turning toward the visitor, her voice cracked as her lower lip trembled.  "Oh, hello."  She spun back around and stared into the hearth, lost in the abyss of the flickering flames once more.

His caring partner walked around the cowhide chair and crouched before the feeble woman, tenderly clutching her hands.  "Hi, Miss Gracivil."

The words broke the trance and she tilted her head.  "Wow, you're so beautiful.  Are you Mercy's friend?"

Tears formed in Blessivil's eyes.  From the appearance of her thinning body and smudged clothing, it was clear the frail lady had not taken care of herself since the last visit and her memory seemed to be fading further.  Blessivil looked at Stormulka who joined her.  "We can't leave her here anymore."

Nodding, he helped the confused woman to her feet.  "Why don't you come with me and we'll enjoy some stew?  I know you love venison, carrots, and onions.  We also brought delicious, fluffy biscuits — the ones you like so much."

Blessivil smiled.  "You two eat and I'll pack her belongings to take home with me, as we previously discussed.  With my large family there will always be someone to keep an eye on her.  You'll have to care for Fluf."