This is a day, much like any other, yet still different than all of them.
This day, I shalt write down my thoughts.
I am the shaman for my tribe in north part of Canterbury, my mentor-teacher
died 25 years ago today when a roman legionary he healed did not want the
disgraceful way he got his injury to be known. 'Tis true that men are little
more than wild animals to those whom they consider not to be men at all.
All this sorrow aside, I see great things for my student, she at the willful
age of 19 is wise far beyond her years. If only she could find a calling to
fit her hearts desire. May the spirits guide her on her path. Just recently
we were strolling around the market in Londinium looking for some spices from
the Egyptian provinces. This young lad, scythian by the looks of him, was
working as a slave for a fat city merchant. The boy obviously spoke not a word
of Latin or Celt, only knowing enough that when his master points at a box he
wants it lifted up. I could see in the eyes of that boy that he is broken,
utterly and completely, but when he took but one look at my dear niece his
eyes lit up in such a way as a injured deer's does when it knows a druid is
there to help it. Alas the savior he was looking at noticed non of this.
It has not always been such. When she was younger there was never a bird, animal
or a fish she did not see or try to help. Once long ago, when her father was lying
in bed dying, I set out to get the elk liver we needed to ease his pain and
help him die with dignity. She got up as I was leaving to stop me, saying that
I would needed not take a life to help an old dying man. "Let the elk live, my
tears are enough to carry him home." My brother turned in his bed to look one last
time at the one he held most dear, cherishing her voice and holding her face
in his heart. Then he died. My niece was 7 when this happened, I did not have
the heart to tell him that the elk was already dead. This old memory bothers
me greatly now, with the events of the past few days still clinging to me.
Perhaps that boy was much like the elk, she wanted to let him live but in heart,
he was already dead. Alas, when I saw his face it reminded me of the stories
the "Fish worshippers", or "Christians" tell, that the son of God died and then
was resurrected 3 days later when a fair lady was coming to visit her grave. Perhaps...
Ah, these be but rambling thoughts of a old man. While we were in Londinium
I got an ox's horn of the finest dark gallbladder powder this side of the channel,
it will be quite fine for those nasty wounds a few of the hunters have, if only
something as simple as sun dried, grinded sheep gallbladder would heal the heart
of my dear niece. Ahh it seems that I am unable to think of nothing else today
than my dear student and niece. Perhaps if her dear departed mother had given her
heart to me instead of my brother, things would have been different, I hope in
my old years non shall say I'm angry at her for it, no never angry, never as
long as my niece still draws breath. On the way back home from Londinium, I once
more wondered what will become of her, will she follow me and become a healer,
will she follow her mother and aspire to lead. Ahh, her mother, how I longed for
her hand, I would have given up my abilities, even my god to be with her, but
she chose differently. Perhaps if she had chose differently, we would have never
been in that forest road that night. I wouldn't have had those meads to drink and
picked a fight with those legionaries, sour loosers they were, following us into
the forest glade like that, had I been even a blink of an eye faster they would
be the ones.. Ahh, but it is always pointless to mourn about the past. She could
even decide to follow her father and become a renowned hunter, the way she has been
acting, it would not surprise me one bit. But one thing is for sure, a housewife,
she will never be. I remember once when it was her chore to cook food for me and
a visitor from the shaman council in norsland. I was almost banished from the council
because he thought I had tried to poison him, it was only her cooking, took me a while
to convince them of that. She is a fair lady, that is true, but she is no Freyja,
virtuous, wise enough to know when to do as being told and when not to.
Now, my dear friend, you know me, as such you also know that I tend not to write
without reason. So by now, you must be wondering why is it that I've decided to
write to you? While we were traveling home, I felt that we were being followed,
I tried my best to discreetly see who it was, there was naught behind us, or around us.
So I decided that it was the spirits were playing tricks on me. When we were less
than a mile from the village gate, a man jumped out from forest 50 feet or so in front
of us and looked straight at us. In that moment my memory played back that whole night
in the forest not so far from here. I immediately drew my scythe, it would be of little
use against someone determined to kill us. Before I had even gained a good footing on
the ground he took of his cloak and I immediately noticed it was the Scythian boy from
earlier. He looked at me and the scythe in my hand then kneeled down on one knee and
bowed down. He lifted up scroll in his hand obviously wanting me to take it.
You, my dear friend, who knows me, knows by now that I'm suspicious of people
by nature. So I gave my scythe to my niece and told her to make a run for the village
as soon as we were near him. I would see what he had in mind, if he got up and ran after
her I could push him to the ground and she would be able to run to the village. If he
jumped at me she would be behind her with my scythe. As we approached I took the scroll
from his hand as we agreed and she started dashing towards the village. To my mild
surprise he didn't move a muscle. The scroll read that the owner of this slave noticed
that we left one bag at his shop and decided to send the slave to return it. This is
one of the perks of being a shaman, people tend to treat you nicely and don't steal from
you out of fear of being cursed. Once I had finished reading I rolled up the scroll and
handed it to him, he reached into his bag and took out a small purse. I looked at it for
a moment and realized it wasn't mine. I looked at the Scythian and told him it is not my.
To my surprise the Scythian grinned and nodded. He spoke in a combination of Scythian and
Latin. Just enough for me to understand that he stole the purse from a fat merchant who
was buying grinded elk horn as a aphrodisiac. Then he had claimed it belonged to me, to
use it to come after us, his old master was by now in deep trouble, he made sure the
thievery would be linked to him. I, at that point looked at him quite stunned and asked
why would he tell me this? After a few moments of difficult conversations it became
apparent that he wanted to marry my niece, and thought I was her father so it would be
within my rights to allow it. I told him I am not nor would I allow it without her consent
even if I was, but that I would take him to see her to see how things work. Before I had
the chance to finish I saw a group of villagers running towards us with weapons. I rushed
to explain that there was no danger that this person was now my quest. One should never
underestimate the running speed of a young woman in a hurry! I took the Scythian to my
village and took him in as slave, he would have accepted anything to be near my niece.
Later when the 3 of us were visiting londinium the trader whom had previously owned
the Scythian had been publicly lashed and shipped out. Apparently he wasn't rich enough
to buy his way out of the trouble he was in. As time went on the two of them got
closer together, which brings me up to the point of this letter Dear Friend.
I invite you to come to the wedding of Alicia Petros and Sogdian Al Terenozhkin to be
held at the village hall in Canterbury on the summer solstice of the coming year.
Bring gifts for the new couple to receive a blessing.
-Gregorius Petros
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