The Family Line Part 3 – Refugees

 

Part 3 – Refugees

Theomin rode fast to Harwich filled with anticipation. Thoughts were racing through his head as to who his parents really were. Most likely his mother was the lady from Langhold. Or perhaps he was really a Gondorian. He then thought the worst. “I hope I am not a Dunlanding,” he said under his breath.

Approaching the gate of Harwick felt like forever. In the distance the flags of the city, a yellow chainmail shirt amongst a green background, were fluttering high on the watch towers. It was a large and usually bustling city with the occasional mix of merchants, vagabonds, and mercenaries for hire roaming the city, drinking, fishing in the Harwick pond, or just plain chatting with the folk of the city. Its modest homes and shops were strewn across the winding ways in no particular order and at the top stood the mead hall, proudly perched upon its high hill adorned with the flags of Harwick.

Finally, Theomin arrived at the gate of Harwick where two guards were posted. “Excuse me, sir. Do you know where the refugees from Langhold are?” The guard looked at him, stoic with no intention of answering Theomin.

The guard seemed like a rough type. A scar running across his permanently scowled face under his golden flowing lion’s mane hair made him an unsavory figure. His guard cowl was completely spotless as if new. His halberd’s blade was dented, no doubt from past scrapes with others. Perhaps it was dented from bone as it impaled some poor victim and then ripped that person apart. Theomin knew any mistake on his part might lead to him sharing that same fate.

“Do not let him intimidate you.” The other guard announced. “He is harmless unless you intend to raise Harwick.” His confident chuckle told of his complete faith in the Harwick guard.

With relief on his breath, Theomin nodded to the other guard. “I was worried he would run me through.”

He gave a slight chuckle, then continued, “I am Eothic. My apathetic partner’s name is Hamalburg.” Eothic said. “And you are looking for the Langhold refugees.”

“Yes, if you please.” He said glancing at Hamalburg, making sure no movements would upset the dreadful guard.

He used his halberd to point in the directions of the refugees. “Last I heard they were still encamped atop a small hill just outside the palisades to the south.” Theomin turned his horse and started off but Eothic stopped him one last time, “Remember, they may not be too eager to help. They lost their town and some lost their families. They are tired, hungry, and afraid. Striking up a conversation with a stranger is the last thing on their minds.” He then hailed to him, “Farwell, stranger.”

Theomin nodded in understanding while starting off to the refugee camp. He rounded the small ponds that were scattered about the outside of the city, as there were foul lizards prowling around them. He finally caught site of the small hill where tents were erected. Galloping, he rode around the hill to find a gentle slope for which he could ride his horse. He finally came upon the hill to an empty camp. The fires were snuffed out but were still hot so the refugees did not find their new home too long ago. There was a single lady still standing in the unorganized gaggle of tents staring off in the distance. In her hand she tightly held a sword.

“Excuse me, my lady, where have the Langhold refugees gone?”

She was young, perhaps close to twenty. Her neck had adorned on it an emerald pendant wrapped in small gold feathers. Something of great value, he deemed. Her empty gaze told of a great pain. The wind was gently blowing her hair across her face. It seemed she had not the energy to move it, letting it slide along her pale haunted face. If Theomin did not know any better, he would think she was a statue carved out as a sorrowful reminder of the fall of the town on the hill.

Theomin started to leave but the lady responded with a tortured whisper, “Langhold.” He stopped and looked back with surprise at the woman as she looked at emptiness in the distance. Her gaze then slowly shifted to Theomin making him a bit unnerved. “Look for the rest of us at the home of Frithbèorth.” She then turned back her stare again silent and unmoving. He did not dare disturb her again. He turned and rode away not wanting to look back, fearing she was some specter haunting the site.

Theomin made his way to the closest gate. He approached the guards on watch, “Excuse me, sir.” Both guards looked at him with grim faces and then back at their surroundings. “Where may I find Frithbèorth’s home?”

The guard to the right spoke up with a low growling voice, “Follow the path to the right. It is across the way in front of the fisherman’s shop near the Harwick pond.”

“Thank you, sir.” Theomin said. He did not want to sound too excited as he knew the guards were over worked and over stressed, especially after the fall of Langhold. He passed the guards riding through the streets of Harwick, looking around at the sites. He had been to Harwick many times before, but there was a different feeling to the air. The tension was so thick it felt like slogging through water. The people of Harwick had an uneasiness about them. There were almost no people on the roads. The children were scarce and those children who were out stayed closer to their parents. An eerie sense of tense quiet hung in the atmosphere. It was not the Harwick Theomin remembered.

Theomin approached the fisherman’s shop and looked across from it. Beside a few tents he saw a very modest, lonely, unkempt house; the size of which could not possibly fit the refugees of Langhold. Theomin, coming for one purpose, had to shrug off the thought and approached the house. Nervous of what he might find out in the house, he opening the door and walked inside.

 The house was indeed very small, stuffy and uncomfortable. The tension Theomin felt outside was only multiplied inside. Just walking in, the unease felt thick like walking through a room of molasses. He found a few people working close to a small fire as, what looked like stew, was cooking in a pot. “Can I help you, stranger?” A soft voice came from the blond lady. She was holding a pot in her hand, stirring it ever so slowly. Her eyes were puffy as if the woman had no sleep or had been sobbing for a long time. Her body had the appearance as if a heavy weight was placed upon her delicate shoulders. He carefully approached the overly burdened woman.

Before speaking, he hesitated as he did not want to put too much pressure on her, “This may seem an odd request, ma’am, but I am looking for a woman who may have given a child away almost twenty years ago.” He took out the blanket with the seven sided star. “She might have had this back then.”

The woman took the blanket and stared at it for what seemed like forever, scanning the blanket with her tired eyes. “I remember a woman coming to our town from the Elthengals.” Theomin’s interest peaked. “But I am sorry to tell you she passed many seasons ago.”

With that, he smiled and said, “Okay,” hoping for a little more.

“I do know who you could talk to about the lady, though.” The woman threw out just as Theomin looked down. “She is the old woman up the stairs. You cannot miss her.”

“Thank you…” he hesitated for her name, wanting to thank her personally for her help.

“Cìllan.” She said with regret in her eyes. “The wife of the Thane of Langhold.”

Knowing the thane was killed, he was taken back. All Theomin could say was, “I am sorry, I did not know.”

She stared mournfully at Theomin for a mom. Her heavy eyes then glazed over to a cold stair and back to what she was doing. “You have business with the old woman up the stairs.” Cìllan said, “You had better be off.” She emotionlessly said, ending their conversation.

He started past her then whispered while climbing the stairs, “You do not know what this means to me.” Cìllan continued as if she did not hear him.

Theomin ascended the stairs and reached the second story of the modest house full of refugees from Langhold. Children, women, guards all occupied the cramped space. Every bit of the upstairs area was taken. Every bed was occupied. Every chair was being sat in. Nobody looked comfortable as cramped as they were. Theomin saw the old woman leaning upon a post next to the beds. She was a haggardly old woman, obviously tired, her life shortened by what transpired in Langhold. Her face was just as pale as all the other refugees. Her arms were crossed, seemingly angered by the situation they were in.

Theomin approached her, “Excuse me,” he started with all the respect he could muster, “but Cìllan told me you could help me with a particular matter.”

She looked at Theomin and cocked her head as if he was under some kind of spell. “Me help you, son?” She mockingly chuckled at the idea. “Where is OUR help? Hmm? Where is our aid we should be provided by the great and powerful Reeve?”

Theomin stuttered. He did not know what to say so all he could do was pull out the blue cloth. Her arms dropped, her eyes which were cold as ice lit up wide with almost a lifetime of memories. “How did you come by that?”

“Well ma’am,” he answered respectfully, “my mother said it did not come to me, it came with me.”

Her hand covered her mouth and then touched and squeezed the cloth, wanting desperately to touch it one last time. “You were the child she pulled from that Gondorian tower.” She emotionally whispered then grabbed his shoulders and looked into his eyes. “Let me have a good look at you.” A great sense of approval washed over her now warmer face. Her chin quivered with a joyous yet painful smile and her eyes welled up with tears but she did not cry. She finally spoke up, “Many a year have I wondered what became of you and now here you are.” The old woman composed herself and continued, “I am sure Cìllan told you she passed long ago.” Theomin nodded. “If you are wanting answers, go to our house in Langhold if it is still standing. It is behind the general store. I am afraid to say most of the town has burned down but there is a chance our home is still standing. If it is, look for her room on the left. I have not touched her room since she…,” the old woman gasped for air and looked down, “since she passed. In her strongbox you may find what you are looking for.”

He took the woman by the hands. “Thank you so much. This means more than you know.”

She smiled at him and placed a quivering hand on his cheek, “No, dear, you have given an old woman a new heart after it was burned out of her.” A tear broke free of her eye and streamed down her face, “It is you who should be thanked. Now go,” she quipped, “before I adopt you.”

Theomin turned and left giving one last glance at the old woman. She looked younger somehow. He smiled and left.