Mysterious Ways

It's a funny thing how a relationship can get started (And I'm talking about friendships here.). A lot of the time it's just the normal deal; you met at school, or on a sports team, or through some other event. But sometimes the circumstances can get pretty... unbelievable.

It was around January, probably halfway through the month. Soccer season was beginning to get started, and I had just finished a grueling practice. We didn't have a dinner planned out, so we swung by Moe's Southwest Grill to grab some dinner. It was a week night, so of course the line is huge, and we ended up behind another family. As we stood there waitng to order, the dad in front of us saw our soccer gear and asked, "So you guys play soccer?" He and my father struck up a conversation that I mostly ignored, choosing instead to concentrate on my burrito.
When we finished making our orders, rather then leave my dad strode over to those other people's table and continued talking. This, as you may have guessed, surprised me. I was hot, tired, and more than ready to tear into my dinner. But he kept talking, telling them about our chruch and soccer team, the HGHS Vipers. Finally, he said goodbye and we left. Soon the encounter had dissapeared from my mind.
It is now April, and they have quickly become some of our best friends. I write this only two days after a sleepover at their house. Now, as I look back, I shake my head in wonder at what God can do. I mean, these people have become an integral part of my family's life, and we met them in the line at a fast food resturant! Clearly, God works in mysterious ways, and all we can do is just hang on and wait to be amazed.

Fire Tamer Chapter 1: How It All Started...

Chapter 1: How It All Started…

Spirit awoke to a bright morning shining through his bedroom window. Sitting up in bed, he stretched his arms and let out a huge yawn, chasing away the last vestiges of sleep. Relaxing, he tried to remember his dream. All that he could recall was a vague glow and blazing warmth. It reminded him of the feeling of sitting by a fire, but already the details were slipping from his mind like water down the river. Oh well, he thought as he got out of bed and began to get dressed.

Spirit lived in the town of Caren, a little farming village in the western plains of the Kingdom of Naria. The inhabitants were generally good natured, despite the baking heat of the constant sun, and were well known for their strength and determination. Because it sat at a crossroads between Barellia, the capital, and the port city Gamaldris, it was a popular place for traveling merchants to rest and resupply while traveling to one of the two bigger cities.

It also served as an inter-species melting pot, with Larcens coming from the deserts to the east and the mysterious Storm Elves from the southern forests.

Spirit was an average-looking lad, the same as any other boy you would see around a village in those days. His only unique feature was a faint birthmark on his left shoulder. Although it was so faded that it was often indistinguishable, he liked it, because it was shaped like a tiny tongue of flame.

Spirit had lived with his Aunt and cousin for as long as he could remember. His mother, father, and sister had all died in a house fire when he was a baby, and so his Aunt, as his only living relative, had adopted him. Over the years he had been singled out as the orphan boy, the one who was always different. Annoyed at the pity and sideways glances he was often treated to, he had apprenticed himself to Mr. Colin, the local blacksmith, and was fast learning the trade. I have to prove that I’m just as normal as them, he often thought.

He knew nothing about them, only what he had been told by others. His mother had left the village when she was young and journeyed off to find her fortune. After many years, she had returned with Spirits father and a baby girl. The trio settled down, and after about four years he had been born. And then they had died.

Although he had learned to accept the fact that his entire family was gone, he still missed them, so much that sometimes it was almost a physical pressure in his chest. All he wished for would be to have known them, what they looked like, how they talked, what they liked to do, anything that could connect him to them. But they were dead, and so he forced himself to forget, forget that he had ever had anyone else.

He was shaken out of his reverie by the crowing of the family rooster, Buddy, outside his window. Drac woke at the raucous noise. “Morning Spirit,” he said with a yawn. Drac was a handsome boy, nearly sixteen, with straight blonde hair and blue eyes.  He and Spirit were not real brothers, but they had been raised as brothers and cared for each other as much.

“Morning.”

“Why aren’t you at the smithy?”

“Mr. Colin said he could manage without me today, seeing as I have to get ready for your celebration.”

Drac grimaced. “Don’t remind me. Did you see that list of chores last night? We’ll be out all day!”

Spirit gave him a sly grin. “Well, we have to get ready for your important day. After all, you will be a fully eligible man by tomorrow evening, and you’ll need a job, a house-”

“I know, I know. Cut it out.”

Spirit finished dressing just as Drac got out of bed. Turning, he walked out onto the landing and down the stairs into the living room. A cheery little fire burned in the fireplace, and shelves lined the walls. All types of mementoes and knick-knacks sat on them. His Aunt loved to collect things, such as the first fish Drac ever caught (it was too small to eat), and the first picture that Spirit ever painted (Spirit winces every time he sees it). One of his Aunt’s most prized possessions hung upon the wall near the hearth, a full length mirror from a Storm Elf merchant in the market, who had surely made a pretty penny off it and its cousins.

On a small table lay the list of chores their Aunt had outlined for them. Spirit groaned as he scanned some of the tasks she had set. Muck out the chickens? Drape ivy on the fences? You’ve got to be kidding. He shook his head and walked into the kitchen. His Aunt was already at the counter, preparing meals for the coming event.

“Morning Aunt Keira.”

“Morning honey. Your breakfast is on the table, and so is your cousin’s.”

“Okay thanks.” He turned his head and yelled into the den: “Drac, breakfast’s ready.” He sat down and began to eat his food. After a few moments Drac came into the kitchen and plopped himself down in front of his breakfast. The rest of the meal passed in the silence of those still shaking sleep from their muscles.

Once he finished, Spirit took his dish out into their backyard. The house was situated on the outskirts of town, with fields of barley and wheat stretching for leagues to the north, and green grass to the south. The blue skies were empty of any clouds, and the trees whispered and sang as a cool breeze set their leaves a flutter. Their house was about twenty strides from the fields, leaving them with a nice grassy expanse for parties or blastball games, whichever came first.

Spirit strode over to the chicken pen. As he approached they began to flap about in a frenzy, until he finally reached over and dumped the crumbs of his meal over the fence. Immediately they began fighting amongst themselves for the bits of bread and lettuce. Laughing, he left them to their antics and went back into the house.  

Pausing only to hand Aunt Keira his dish, he motioned to Drac and together the two of them marched out into the yard and set upon the chores.

Drac held the list in front of him, his cousin staring over his shoulder, and began to deliberate. “Okay, so the chickens need to be cleaned out-”

“I can do that. You don’t want to be smelly for your big day tomorrow!” Spirit elbowed Drac.

Drac rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Alright, so then I can put up the decorations…”

And so they began. The tasks weren’t easy, and Aunt Keira often stuck her head out of the door to shout advice or instructions. Once, just after Spirit and Drac had finished setting up the heavy wooden trestle tables, Aunt Keira came out and had them completely rearrange them all. By the time they had most of the chores done, the sun had risen past midday.

Sweaty, dirty, but satisfied, the valiant workers staggered into the cottage for a noonday meal. Towards the end, Spirit made a surprising announcement.

“I need to go out.”

Drac was confused. “I thought Mr. Colin gave you the day off.”

            Spirit grinned shiftily. “Well, it won’t hurt to go and check on him will it?”

            Drac’s confusion disappeared. “Oh okay.”

            Spirit pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” Turning, he walked out of the house and onto the street. Trusting his feet to take him to town, he let his mind wander. His real reason for going into town was to pick up Drac’s birthday present. He had asked Mr. Colin to make Drac a dagger. Due to the rough and unpredictable ways of life on the plains, daggers were a useful thing to have, for both around the home and in the wide world. A stout knife could be used for defending oneself against wild animals or cutting rope. Drac had never possessed a knife of any kind, so Spirit thought it would be a good idea to get him one for his passage into manhood.

That was another thought. Drac, a legal man! Once he turned sixteen, a boy was considered to be a full-fledged adult, able to sit in on the town meetings and voice his own opinion, become a journeyman in whatever craft he had apprenticed in, and marry. Within a month of their manhood celebrations, young men were expected to leave their mothers homes and begin to live on their own. Spirit shook his head. It was hard to imagine his cousin gone. He would miss him when he left.

The stinging slap of his bare feet hitting the cobblestones of the village streets brought his mind back to the real world. Grinning, he began to thread his way through the streets of town.

The merchants section was on the far side of town, meaning Spirit had a good quarter leagues distance to walk every morning. But he didn’t mind. It was refreshing to get out and breathe the cool morning air. And it kept him in shape. On his way to the smithy, Spirit passed the marketplace. Although it would have been quicker to go through, Spirit chose instead to take the slightly longer route, rather then jostle his way through the crowded square. Eventually the hubbub of bartering merchants faded away behind him, and it was peaceful again.

But that peace shattered like a pane of glass when Spirit heard a jeering voice call out to him.

“Hey, twigman!”

Spirit’s pulse quickened. It was Belzy, a tough, meaty Larcen boy that took a perverse pleasure in beating Spirit up. He had hoped that with the harvest so near, Belzy would be out in the fields. But obviously Belzy had gotten finished early, and had come to administer Spirit’s weekly punishment for existing.

His only hope was to run, and so run he did. Without a backward glance, he sprinted down the street. He sensed rather then heard Belzy break into a sprint behind him. The chase had begun.

Spirit swerved into an alleyway, trying to lose his pursuer in the labyrinth of twists and turns. His breath came in short gasps as he dashed along, the gray stone walls fading to a blur. Right, left, another left, another right... He had memorized this maze after years of playing hide-and-seek with the other children of the village. He just hoped his knowledge would be enough to escape.

Slowing, he finally stopped between a tavern and weaver’s shop close to

Guild Road

, and listened intently. After a moment or two he sighed with relief. He’d lost him!

“Looking for someone, snotrag?”

Spirit whirled around and slammed straight into Belzy’s massive chest. The impact threw him off balance, and he toppled to the ground. He jumped back up again, his head spun around, searching desperately for an escape. But nothing presented itself. There was nowhere to run. Slowly he turned back around to face his tormenter. I really hate being helpless. He raised his fists, a useless gesture of defiance. Belzy began to laugh, a disturbing, mirthless sound, as he advanced toward the helpless boy.

Hello World

Hello World!
So, this post marks my first tentative step into the vast and mysterious world of blogging. The inspiration to create a blog struck me as a great way to reveal my writing to others, so here I stand. On a slightly random note, I promised several of my friends that I would explain why my blog is called "Squire and Knight", so here goes. The phrase comes from the series "Dragons in Our Midst". The verse of poetry goes something like this:

Darkness shall become light
Squire shall be made knight

The phrase struck me as a very basic truth, a glimpse into the journey to manhood every young boy must make. A quest must be undertaken, a dragon slain. The squire shall be made a knight.

Every great adventure starts with a single footstep, and since I moved, I have felt on a deep, subconcious level that God has some huge plans for me here, and I eagerly await my initiation.