Ashes and Storms (October 2996) {Runa}
Feb 14, 2018 14:27:14 GMT -5
Post by Ceolmund on Feb 14, 2018 14:27:14 GMT -5
The day previous had been stormy, and the rains had lasted through the night. The mist now was a relief compared to the pounding rain of earlier in the night. The silence now save for the gentle hum of the drizzle was a relief to ears which were sore from the tirade that had begun the moment he had stepped back into his home after his farewell with Runa. Mother had given it her all to try to convince him to stay home most of that night, though her screaming, ranting, crying... it only made him wish to leave more.
When morning had dawned the day previous, after little sleep, Ceolmund had awakened to find his door barred and locked. Elin, from the outside, announced that he would make no exit from their home the next day. He was glad he had already made as many preparations as possible for the muster, and had no orders... though it also meant that nobody would miss him. Ceolmund sat on his bed and stared out at the dreary day. From outside the door, proclamations of Elin's love for her dear son were followed in rapid succession with what a worthless and good for nothing boy he had grown to be. His stomach gnawed at him, and his mouth was dry.
By afternoon he had called through the door, pleading for a drink and food, and there was no response. Ceolmund settled back on his bed under his blankets, planning to sleep until morning. Surely if Beorhtric noticed him missing at the stables in the morning while they were readying their horses, he would come looking for him.
A few hours later the door creaked open for an instant as Elin pushed in a tray with water and bread. The sound of it clicking shut and the bar being dropped in place once more startled him from his sleep, and he saw the mug and loaf by the door in the dim, waning light. He had not eaten since Grandmum's house the night before, and his muscles felt weak for it, his head pounding with dehydration.
He reached for the mug first, drawing it to his lips and taking a long gulp, though his face twisted at the bitter taste of it the moment he swallowed. He felt himself gag, and he spit what was left in his mouth back in the cup and went to light his candle, illuminating the grey liquid. Ash.
Grimacing, he looked toward the bread, picking it up and breaking it. Still hot from the oven. The feel of it would have been wonderful if not for his hesitation and the burning sensation in his throat from the astringent ash-water already. The candle held to the fresh bread showed him that it was also grey, yet he was hungry and still took a pinch of it to his mouth just to be sure. It tasted foul, and there was nothing to wash down the taste. Mother barely took time in her days to bake for the family, and she had wasted as much to make this loaf to spite him.
Aldburg was going to be worth it. He had to leave Runa for a time, but he knew she would understand. Ceolmund sat on the floor of his bedroom and touched his hand to his temple, trying to remember the way her lips had felt against his skin. He wished Beorhtric had not interrupted them, as good as his intentions had been. He would have felt her pretty lips on his own. He would have sat and drinked in her eyes in the moonlight. Maybe he could have found the words to tell her his thoughts, how he felt. Maybe she could have helped him decide what to do.
Elin began to call through the door again, trying to find out if Ceolmund had enjoyed his supper. He did not respond, and she soon resorted to wailing and insisting he agree to her wishes. In the end, Ceolmund had not made any form of agreement to stay at home, and Elin had left him in his bedroom, announcing that now he was going to have to stay barred in the next day as well. Apparently charges of desertion brought against him were better than Ceolmund leaving and taking up his position in the Eored.
As evening passed into night, the room became black. The sky was cloudy, as storm had rolled in and lightening and thunder were rolling over the hill city. He began to fear that perhaps Beorhtric would not notice soon enough. If it was only at the gate that he noticed his friend not there, he would not have time to come seeking after him. If he came seeking after him, Beorhtric could be late himself, and he did not his friend, who was like a brother, to take any chastisement on his behalf. He had to find a way to get himself out of this.
Ceolmund knew his war axe could make short work of both the door and it's heavy wooden bolt, though the sound of hewing the log, even dimmed by the sound of the storm, would certainly wake Elin from her slumber, even if she were in a mead stupor. He also feared on some sort of charges being brought against him for causing such destruction to her door.
Thankfully, he had a window, though it was not one that had opened. Father had to replace that one years ago. The last time he had tried to use his window to run away was when he had been seven years old, and he had been able to walk near an entire day in the dead of winter in the direction he thought would take him to Hollow Hills. It was finally Grandmum who had come looking for him and took him back to the city. Mother had wanted his window completely boarded up. For the amount of time Elin kept the boy in his room, Ceorl had at least decided he could not let him sit in the dark, and had gone through the trouble of removing the sash and setting new solid glass in place. It could not be opened, but at least one could look out.
Painstakingly Ceolmund had burned his candle low, as he carefully used his short sword as a prybar to work loose the window frame and jambs, then removed the stiles, settling each glass pane carefully against his wall. The downpour caused the rain to soak his clothes as he worked, and he had no spares, for everything else was packed in his trunk at the inn where the spice merchant was staying. The only things he had kept behind were what he was wearing out to the muster, the clothes on his back.
When at last he had finished, the rain poured in, the lightening flashed. He watched the lights electrify the sky. The view out his window went from straight black abyss to sudden illumination. He could make now for Grandmum's house, but it seemed a risk to climb the watchtower hill in this weather when he could be struck down in an instant by a burning flash. There was nothing now to stop him from leaving, whether his Mother kept the door barred, or even if she stood outside the house and screamed at him, he could depart through the window. It may be better to try for a few hours of sleep first to see if the storm let before morning.
--
Cold mist blew through the open window in Ceolmund's bedroom. October was not the most preferred time of year to completely remove the panes of glass and let flow the brisk air, yet Ceolmund had no choice. What was one more night in the weather anyhow? When he was about to set out with the Eored and sleep upon the plain for the next month.
The young man groaned, turning in bed and pulling his covers up over his face, though doing so only bared his feet to the fog blowing in, for he had grown too tall for his blankets and bedframe. He curled his knees up and sighed beneath the thin wool cover. How much time had passed? He did not wish to be late for his first muster, though his sleep had been restless and he had been up a time into the night removing the window panes when he would have wished to be sleeping. His stomach groaned, and he could no longer lay asleep. At least he mug which he had left in his windowsill now had at least a swallow's worth of water within, and he went for it immediately, sighing at the freshness. It was not enough, however.
He did not know what time it was, but Ceolmund decided it was time to leave. The lightening and heavy rain had passed, and he would head down to the stables and ready horse. In the least he could have as much water as he wanted. The stream was flowing, and the rain barrels were filled. When he was finished there he'd make for his Gradmum's house. She would be up early today to meet him at the gate anyway... and she would have food...
Ceolmund lit the stump that was left of his candle to gather up his belongings in the darkness, though as the light shone against his bedroom doorway, and he looked upon it, he noticed the gap. His door was unbarred, and even open. His eyes widened. It seemed that Mother had changed her mind sometime after he had fallen asleep, and Ceolmund already began to feel guilty for removing the window. He sighed, looking over the panes of glass and thinking at the time it was going to cost his Father to put it back in, and the mess of water his Mother was going to have to clean up.
Ceolmund stepped nearer the doorway, pulling it open the rest of the way, and saw a lantern lit on the dining table. Beside it there was a large pitcher of water, bread, fruits. He could smell the cooked sausages before his eyes even hit them. He swallowed hard, suddenly regretting how bitter he had felt toward his Mother. She did care. Perhaps she did love him, and wish to give him a nice send off.
The house was quiet and he wondered how long she had been asleep; Mother must have stayed up late to see that he had that meal. The corner of his eyes were wet, and his mind went to Hildred. It was something she would have done. Mother had never done a thing before that had caused him to compare her to Hildred.
He started toward the table, his mouth already watering, but as he stepped out of his room, he stumbled over something in the doorway, falling and knocking into a stool. Ceolmund scrambled for the candle to snuff it out before it burned the house down. Then, he tried to find what had seemed to grab his leg. The light from the table was not carrying to the floor and he had to feel around before his arm brushed into something.
“What...” he mumbled under his breath, as he reached to feel along a taught string which seemed to be nailed in place from one side of his doorframe to the next. It was unmistakably a bow string. He had helped his Father in his work enough to know it by touch, and his brow wrinkled as he tried to fathom why it could be strung across his doorway. Ceolmund tried to tug it loose, but the nails held tight, so he stood up and stepped over it again, going to find his knife in his room to cut it loose.
He had made it back to his own bedside table just when Elin's voice could be heard wringing in the main room. “Ceol, did you fall? What happened?” Her voice seemed somewhat... hopeful. Elin looked about the floor but saw no sight of her son in the main room. His door was wide open however, and she had been awakened from the crash.
“Mother...” he said from his bedroom, his voice strained. “Why is-”
“Oh Ceol, are you all right? Did you break your leg?” Elin asked, making way quickly for his bedroom.
In her excitement to see if her last effort had worked, Elin forgot the bowstring herself, and tripped over it with a force, yelling out as she stumbled, then slipped on the wet floor and fell into the wall. There was a crack of bone and a crunch of glass. Elin screamed, and Ceolmund gasped, going first for her but being unable to see much of anything, then darting out for lantern, and back to his Mother's side.
“Ceolmund, what did you do to me?” she was crying. “Why is the floor... the window?” He saw the panes of glass broken all around her, and both her hands bleeding, and a long gash on the bare leg that was sticking out from her night dress, one arm hanging strangely at her side.
“Oh, Bema,” Ceolmund muttered under his breath. “I'm sorry... I'm sorry, Mother, I didn't mean...” His breath came quickly as he went back to the cabinet for wraps to try and still the bleeding.
“The brennevin!” Elin gasped out to him.
Ceolmund never would have obliged his Mother for her alcohol, but at this moment it seemed only fair and he grabbed hold of it too, opening the bottle and bringing it back to her, holding it to her lips and then trying to stop the bleeding.
“You'll have to set my arm,” she groaned to him.
Ceolmund's eyes widened. “No... no, I don't know... I can't do that. I have to... get you to the Hall...” he muttered, tightening the strips of cloth hard around his Mother's leg, and then working on her hands; trying his best to be careful with the obviously broken arm. He made a rudimentary splint with some of his Father's wood from his work room, tying it to her while she protested all the while, drinking heavily from the brennivin. Ceolmund wished Father were home... he might be able to calm her, yet he was still going to be out a couple days for wood gathering. As it was he was going to have to fight his Mother to get her down to the Hall. He had not known her to willingly go there for any tending... ever.
–
It was not long before Ceolmund had carried Elin across the city, the warm lights of the Healing Hall ahead. Even now he knew not the hour, though there were some people rising in their homes, and he saw men on the streets in the darkness, he presumed heading for the stables. He glanced to the sky, which had not yet lightened, though it could only be for the dreary weather.
Ceolmund reached the doors and had to knock on them with his boot and call out before someone answered and came to open them; they may have well heard Elin's wailing rather than Ceolmund's call for the shrillness of her protests at being seen, though Ceolmund had his mother cradled in his arms, and Elin had the brennevin in hers, and it was beginning to dull even her shrieks.
“Ceolmund, you can't take me in... you'll have to tend to me yourself. Stay at home and take care of me now...” she slurred. “You can't leave me here alone, after what you did. I can't believe you took the window out... left that glass on the floor. This is your fault. You can't leave me like this. You cannot ride out after this. You'll have to stay at least until my arm is mended.”
Closing his eyes, he sighed as the warmth of the hall hit him. He had been cold all the night, and it was a relief, though he felt sick to his stomach, his face almost as ashen as the bread had been, his head pounding, and now guilt ridden.
When morning had dawned the day previous, after little sleep, Ceolmund had awakened to find his door barred and locked. Elin, from the outside, announced that he would make no exit from their home the next day. He was glad he had already made as many preparations as possible for the muster, and had no orders... though it also meant that nobody would miss him. Ceolmund sat on his bed and stared out at the dreary day. From outside the door, proclamations of Elin's love for her dear son were followed in rapid succession with what a worthless and good for nothing boy he had grown to be. His stomach gnawed at him, and his mouth was dry.
By afternoon he had called through the door, pleading for a drink and food, and there was no response. Ceolmund settled back on his bed under his blankets, planning to sleep until morning. Surely if Beorhtric noticed him missing at the stables in the morning while they were readying their horses, he would come looking for him.
A few hours later the door creaked open for an instant as Elin pushed in a tray with water and bread. The sound of it clicking shut and the bar being dropped in place once more startled him from his sleep, and he saw the mug and loaf by the door in the dim, waning light. He had not eaten since Grandmum's house the night before, and his muscles felt weak for it, his head pounding with dehydration.
He reached for the mug first, drawing it to his lips and taking a long gulp, though his face twisted at the bitter taste of it the moment he swallowed. He felt himself gag, and he spit what was left in his mouth back in the cup and went to light his candle, illuminating the grey liquid. Ash.
Grimacing, he looked toward the bread, picking it up and breaking it. Still hot from the oven. The feel of it would have been wonderful if not for his hesitation and the burning sensation in his throat from the astringent ash-water already. The candle held to the fresh bread showed him that it was also grey, yet he was hungry and still took a pinch of it to his mouth just to be sure. It tasted foul, and there was nothing to wash down the taste. Mother barely took time in her days to bake for the family, and she had wasted as much to make this loaf to spite him.
Aldburg was going to be worth it. He had to leave Runa for a time, but he knew she would understand. Ceolmund sat on the floor of his bedroom and touched his hand to his temple, trying to remember the way her lips had felt against his skin. He wished Beorhtric had not interrupted them, as good as his intentions had been. He would have felt her pretty lips on his own. He would have sat and drinked in her eyes in the moonlight. Maybe he could have found the words to tell her his thoughts, how he felt. Maybe she could have helped him decide what to do.
Elin began to call through the door again, trying to find out if Ceolmund had enjoyed his supper. He did not respond, and she soon resorted to wailing and insisting he agree to her wishes. In the end, Ceolmund had not made any form of agreement to stay at home, and Elin had left him in his bedroom, announcing that now he was going to have to stay barred in the next day as well. Apparently charges of desertion brought against him were better than Ceolmund leaving and taking up his position in the Eored.
As evening passed into night, the room became black. The sky was cloudy, as storm had rolled in and lightening and thunder were rolling over the hill city. He began to fear that perhaps Beorhtric would not notice soon enough. If it was only at the gate that he noticed his friend not there, he would not have time to come seeking after him. If he came seeking after him, Beorhtric could be late himself, and he did not his friend, who was like a brother, to take any chastisement on his behalf. He had to find a way to get himself out of this.
Ceolmund knew his war axe could make short work of both the door and it's heavy wooden bolt, though the sound of hewing the log, even dimmed by the sound of the storm, would certainly wake Elin from her slumber, even if she were in a mead stupor. He also feared on some sort of charges being brought against him for causing such destruction to her door.
Thankfully, he had a window, though it was not one that had opened. Father had to replace that one years ago. The last time he had tried to use his window to run away was when he had been seven years old, and he had been able to walk near an entire day in the dead of winter in the direction he thought would take him to Hollow Hills. It was finally Grandmum who had come looking for him and took him back to the city. Mother had wanted his window completely boarded up. For the amount of time Elin kept the boy in his room, Ceorl had at least decided he could not let him sit in the dark, and had gone through the trouble of removing the sash and setting new solid glass in place. It could not be opened, but at least one could look out.
Painstakingly Ceolmund had burned his candle low, as he carefully used his short sword as a prybar to work loose the window frame and jambs, then removed the stiles, settling each glass pane carefully against his wall. The downpour caused the rain to soak his clothes as he worked, and he had no spares, for everything else was packed in his trunk at the inn where the spice merchant was staying. The only things he had kept behind were what he was wearing out to the muster, the clothes on his back.
When at last he had finished, the rain poured in, the lightening flashed. He watched the lights electrify the sky. The view out his window went from straight black abyss to sudden illumination. He could make now for Grandmum's house, but it seemed a risk to climb the watchtower hill in this weather when he could be struck down in an instant by a burning flash. There was nothing now to stop him from leaving, whether his Mother kept the door barred, or even if she stood outside the house and screamed at him, he could depart through the window. It may be better to try for a few hours of sleep first to see if the storm let before morning.
--
Cold mist blew through the open window in Ceolmund's bedroom. October was not the most preferred time of year to completely remove the panes of glass and let flow the brisk air, yet Ceolmund had no choice. What was one more night in the weather anyhow? When he was about to set out with the Eored and sleep upon the plain for the next month.
The young man groaned, turning in bed and pulling his covers up over his face, though doing so only bared his feet to the fog blowing in, for he had grown too tall for his blankets and bedframe. He curled his knees up and sighed beneath the thin wool cover. How much time had passed? He did not wish to be late for his first muster, though his sleep had been restless and he had been up a time into the night removing the window panes when he would have wished to be sleeping. His stomach groaned, and he could no longer lay asleep. At least he mug which he had left in his windowsill now had at least a swallow's worth of water within, and he went for it immediately, sighing at the freshness. It was not enough, however.
He did not know what time it was, but Ceolmund decided it was time to leave. The lightening and heavy rain had passed, and he would head down to the stables and ready horse. In the least he could have as much water as he wanted. The stream was flowing, and the rain barrels were filled. When he was finished there he'd make for his Gradmum's house. She would be up early today to meet him at the gate anyway... and she would have food...
Ceolmund lit the stump that was left of his candle to gather up his belongings in the darkness, though as the light shone against his bedroom doorway, and he looked upon it, he noticed the gap. His door was unbarred, and even open. His eyes widened. It seemed that Mother had changed her mind sometime after he had fallen asleep, and Ceolmund already began to feel guilty for removing the window. He sighed, looking over the panes of glass and thinking at the time it was going to cost his Father to put it back in, and the mess of water his Mother was going to have to clean up.
Ceolmund stepped nearer the doorway, pulling it open the rest of the way, and saw a lantern lit on the dining table. Beside it there was a large pitcher of water, bread, fruits. He could smell the cooked sausages before his eyes even hit them. He swallowed hard, suddenly regretting how bitter he had felt toward his Mother. She did care. Perhaps she did love him, and wish to give him a nice send off.
The house was quiet and he wondered how long she had been asleep; Mother must have stayed up late to see that he had that meal. The corner of his eyes were wet, and his mind went to Hildred. It was something she would have done. Mother had never done a thing before that had caused him to compare her to Hildred.
He started toward the table, his mouth already watering, but as he stepped out of his room, he stumbled over something in the doorway, falling and knocking into a stool. Ceolmund scrambled for the candle to snuff it out before it burned the house down. Then, he tried to find what had seemed to grab his leg. The light from the table was not carrying to the floor and he had to feel around before his arm brushed into something.
“What...” he mumbled under his breath, as he reached to feel along a taught string which seemed to be nailed in place from one side of his doorframe to the next. It was unmistakably a bow string. He had helped his Father in his work enough to know it by touch, and his brow wrinkled as he tried to fathom why it could be strung across his doorway. Ceolmund tried to tug it loose, but the nails held tight, so he stood up and stepped over it again, going to find his knife in his room to cut it loose.
He had made it back to his own bedside table just when Elin's voice could be heard wringing in the main room. “Ceol, did you fall? What happened?” Her voice seemed somewhat... hopeful. Elin looked about the floor but saw no sight of her son in the main room. His door was wide open however, and she had been awakened from the crash.
“Mother...” he said from his bedroom, his voice strained. “Why is-”
“Oh Ceol, are you all right? Did you break your leg?” Elin asked, making way quickly for his bedroom.
In her excitement to see if her last effort had worked, Elin forgot the bowstring herself, and tripped over it with a force, yelling out as she stumbled, then slipped on the wet floor and fell into the wall. There was a crack of bone and a crunch of glass. Elin screamed, and Ceolmund gasped, going first for her but being unable to see much of anything, then darting out for lantern, and back to his Mother's side.
“Ceolmund, what did you do to me?” she was crying. “Why is the floor... the window?” He saw the panes of glass broken all around her, and both her hands bleeding, and a long gash on the bare leg that was sticking out from her night dress, one arm hanging strangely at her side.
“Oh, Bema,” Ceolmund muttered under his breath. “I'm sorry... I'm sorry, Mother, I didn't mean...” His breath came quickly as he went back to the cabinet for wraps to try and still the bleeding.
“The brennevin!” Elin gasped out to him.
Ceolmund never would have obliged his Mother for her alcohol, but at this moment it seemed only fair and he grabbed hold of it too, opening the bottle and bringing it back to her, holding it to her lips and then trying to stop the bleeding.
“You'll have to set my arm,” she groaned to him.
Ceolmund's eyes widened. “No... no, I don't know... I can't do that. I have to... get you to the Hall...” he muttered, tightening the strips of cloth hard around his Mother's leg, and then working on her hands; trying his best to be careful with the obviously broken arm. He made a rudimentary splint with some of his Father's wood from his work room, tying it to her while she protested all the while, drinking heavily from the brennivin. Ceolmund wished Father were home... he might be able to calm her, yet he was still going to be out a couple days for wood gathering. As it was he was going to have to fight his Mother to get her down to the Hall. He had not known her to willingly go there for any tending... ever.
–
It was not long before Ceolmund had carried Elin across the city, the warm lights of the Healing Hall ahead. Even now he knew not the hour, though there were some people rising in their homes, and he saw men on the streets in the darkness, he presumed heading for the stables. He glanced to the sky, which had not yet lightened, though it could only be for the dreary weather.
Ceolmund reached the doors and had to knock on them with his boot and call out before someone answered and came to open them; they may have well heard Elin's wailing rather than Ceolmund's call for the shrillness of her protests at being seen, though Ceolmund had his mother cradled in his arms, and Elin had the brennevin in hers, and it was beginning to dull even her shrieks.
“Ceolmund, you can't take me in... you'll have to tend to me yourself. Stay at home and take care of me now...” she slurred. “You can't leave me here alone, after what you did. I can't believe you took the window out... left that glass on the floor. This is your fault. You can't leave me like this. You cannot ride out after this. You'll have to stay at least until my arm is mended.”
Closing his eyes, he sighed as the warmth of the hall hit him. He had been cold all the night, and it was a relief, though he felt sick to his stomach, his face almost as ashen as the bread had been, his head pounding, and now guilt ridden.