The Beacon: The Corner (5)
Episode 14: "The Oldham Legacy"
Adon rubbed his face. The sun told him it was only noon, yet he already felt the need to sleep, his mind sluggish. Why do I feel so old today of all days? he asked himself, but no answer was forthcoming. Sighing, he forced himself to think through what Mat and Mia had just told him for the third time.
The siblings had been astonishingly patient with his questions, never showing any exasperation as he led them over the same ground again and again. Smiling at what she thought was Adon’s incomprehension, Mia slowly explained her desire to see her parents, whom illness had taken five years before when she was just eleven. She missed them terribly, asking Adon, “Why did I have to lose my mother and father when all the other children around here have theirs? What have we done to deserve this?”
The captain had no answer for her. He had asked himself a similar question many times since his wife, Cassindra, had died three years earlier, succumbing to a deadly fever in the heart of winter. Complaining of a headache and fever on Sunday, she breathed her last as Moonday passed into Earthday. Her death had stunned and distressed him, making him question everything. What good is living if you die after just a few decades? All your plans and accomplishments just end. Life seems so futile.
Sometimes, he was fine and eagerly moved forward with his life, but the grief returned at the most inopportune moments, making him mull the unsatisfying answers to his questions. Most of his doubts remained. If I have no answers for myself, I cannot blame Mia for her desire to see her parents. She’s mourning, too. He shuddered, sobbing internally. I wish I could see and hold and talk to Cassi just one more time! I have not been myself since that day—I’m a shell of what I was. Grief is slowly killing me, I think.
Watching her father—as she had gotten into the habit of doing over the past three years—Artema recognized the signs of his sorrow and took up the questioning. “Did you realize you were acting like a madwoman while it was happening?”
“No,” Mia answered after a brief pause. “All I felt was an irresistible urge to see them, and it was blinding, if you know what I mean. I think if I’d’ve realized what I was doing was insane or wrong, I could’ve stopped myself. But it didn’t feel wrong. It felt right, natural, necessary—I felt a pressure to do it.”
“That’s what the evil in the wave does,” Mat added, speaking toward the floorboards, head between his hands. “It coaxes out what you really want to do deep down. I think it suppresses a person’s conscience, and so he can’t resist the urge to follow his desires.”
“You’re what, eighteen at most?” Mast said, staring at him. “How do you know all this?”
Mat shrugged. “I’m seventeen.”
Realizing her brother would not explain further, Mia said, “Since it happened, he’s done nothing but think about that wave. He’s asked me some of these same questions. He reads a lot, too.”
Adon coughed, signaling his return to the conversation. He shot a quick smile of thanks toward his daughter, which she returned. “Speaking of reading, I saw your study when we came in. For being way out here, you own a lot of books.”
“My father’s collection,” Mia said, her pride shining from her face. “He inherited most of them from his father. He often called them the Oldham legacy.”
“What did he mean by that?” Artema asked, curious.
“Some of them have been passed down from generation to generation since the Taurani landed on the shores of Osegra,” Mia replied. “Father said the family had a sacred task to preserve them because they contained the only true history of our people.”
“Your people?” Bandrick asked, sitting forward. “Aren’t you Margonni like us?”
Mia took a moment to order her thoughts before answering. “We were born in Margonne, and we are loyal subjects of King Lorens, so yes. But the books teach us we Oldhams are the descendants of the few Penthori who fled the old country and migrated here with the Satelens and Aertellans.”
“Penthori?” Ren said, standing and pacing restlessly, eager to get back on the road. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“I can’t remember ever learning anything about the ‘old country,’ as Mia called it,” Artema said, eyes following her husband as they often did. “Perhaps scholars at the Royal College know about it.”
“I guess your mother and I failed you in that,” Adon said. “To most, it’s just ancient history. It has nothing to do with our lives in Osegra.”
“True enough,” Mast said, speaking around the unlit pipe between his teeth, which he removed and waved about as he spoke. “I recall learning that the Taurani fled the old country because a slew of disasters struck in short order. Many thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, died. The stories speak of volcanoes, earthquakes, massive sea waves, plagues, terrible windstorms, and such. Our ancestors believed the end of the world had come. So, they built several small ships, crowded aboard with hardly any of their possessions, and set sail for a new land, not knowing even if another land existed. And just as they despaired they would all die on the ocean, they sighted land to the north and soon dropped anchor near where Delphino sits today.”
Adon nodded, remembering. “My Satelen mother taught me something along that line. They take a certain amount of pride in living at the landing spot.”
“Our books tell a similar story,” Mia said, “but they add many more details—like a Penthori aristocrat who owned a large swath of forestland supplied the wood for the ships. He traded the wood for permission for him and a few other families to join the small fleet. The Oldhams descend from him.”
Bandrick scratched his head. “All this is completely new to me. What I don’t get is, if your people landed with the fleet, where did they go once the ships landed? Do the books tell you that?”
“Of course!” Mia said, eager to tell the story. “The Penthori were just a few families, so they were all on one ship. When the Aertellans sailed from Satele to find their own land, the Penthori went with them. Back in the old country, the Aertellans and Satelens were from two different nations, the Kingdom of Stibar and the Federation of Free Cities, so everyone knew they would eventually separate. The Penthori were from a third nation, the Kingdom of Penthor, and they left the Aertellan fleet at the mouth of the Cailun River in Tanjar Bay. They crossed Tanjar and went into the Spruce Hills. We Oldhams have been in this area ever since.”
“Do other Penthori live in the Spruce Hills?” Ren asked. “I thought there were only Leitani tribes there.”
“Some,” Mia said, “but not many. The Leitani knew we were there, and mostly, they didn’t bother us, and we didn’t bother them. The tribes out here are more peaceful—not like the Red Hawks. Since the conquest, most of the Penthori have left the hills and live among the Margonni, like us.”
“Do all Penthori families keep libraries of old books like this?” Artema asked.
“No, just us,” Mia said. “My family are their caretakers. A few of them have been passed from father to son for over a thousand years. Some are so old that we don’t touch them anymore for fear of destroying them.”
Adon cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “I have a proposal for you two: Come to Palisade with us so you can speak with the king about the evil wave. I’m sure the Master of the Royal College would like to discuss your family history with you. We’ll bring you back here when you wish to return. I know for certain the king will wish to talk to you. He sent us here to find someone to enlighten us about these waves, and we found you, Mat.”
Both the Oldhams were silent. Mia’s eyes were wide as she tried to picture herself traveling to the capital, a trip she never imagined she would make. Her brother, however, wore a frown and deep lines across his forehead.
“No,” he said flatly. “We have crops, animals, responsibilities. We can’t just abandon them. Who would guard the books?”
“We could ask the mayor for help,” Adon replied. “Perhaps he knows someone who could care for your animals and tend your crops—even harvest them, if need be. Perhaps the sons of the innkeeper could do it.”
Mat looked up sharply at that but said nothing. It was clear what he thought about the farming skills of the Stennis boys.
“As for the books,” Artema suggested, “we can bring them with us.”
All eyes turned toward her.
“What?” she exclaimed. “If we could get our hands on a trunk or two or perhaps a couple of small crates, we could haul them in my wagon. Or we could split the load between mine and Mast’s. Perhaps the College or palace scribes could even copy the oldest ones before they fall completely apart. Or the agency scribes.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Ren said, tapping his chin with a finger. “It’ll help preserve their legacy and give the College new knowledge about the Taurani migration to Osegra.”
Scowling, Mat said, “I don’t even know you. You might kill us out on the plain and take our books for yourselves. I don’t know whether I can trust you.”
Adon leaned forward and looked him in the eye. “Go ahead. See if you can find anything untrustworthy in my suggestion and my promise that we mean you and your sister—and your legacy—no harm.”
So challenged, Mat returned a steady gaze, holding it for two minutes before looking away. “It’s the same as before. You are sincere. You aren’t hiding anything.” He shook his head. Looking at the floor. “I am just reluctant to go. Our lives are here.”
In the silence that followed, Mast produced his tobacco pouch and began filling his pipe. With Mia watching avidly, he went through the entire process, finally asking her to fetch fire for him. She returned a few minutes later with a lit candle and a few thin pieces of kindling. He soon had the draw he wanted and sat back to enjoy his vice, blowing a sweet-smelling drift of smoke into the air. Mia’s mouth hung open.
He grunted. “Thought so, Missy. You’ve never watched a man pack and smoke a pipe before, have you?”
“No, sir,” she admitted. “Never. Father never did, and no one in town uses one either.”
He nodded. “I’m not saying smoking a pipe is a good thing. In fact, it’s a nasty habit I picked up years ago when sailing with the captain yonder. I can’t see how breathing smoke into my lungs can be healthy, but I’ve had the dickens of a time quitting!
“But my point is, stuck out here in these woods, you haven’t seen a lot of things. It’s a nice, peaceful existence, sure, but a little boring for my taste. Perhaps for yours, too. There are many things in the world you’ve never seen or heard of, most good, some bad. But if you stay here and farm for the rest of your life, you’ll never experience the finer things.”
Adon rose and stretched. “We’ll let you think about it. We can even go back to The Corner and stay another night while you mull it over, but we’ll need your answer in the morning.” The others stood, too, and began to make their way toward the front of the house. Adon was last, and he winked at Mia as he left the porch.
“Wait!” Mat said.
Adon stepped back onto the porch, and he could hear the others returning, crowding at his back to hear what he would say.
“We’ll go,” the young man said, though his expression still showed uncertainty. “I was being selfish. I like the routine we have here. You see, I don’t take to new things well. Mother used to laugh and call me her ‘old child.’ But Mia needs to see what’s out there and figure out what she wants to do with her life. I could live like a hermit, but she would hate it after a while. So, if Mia goes, and she should, I will go, too.”
Mia clapped excitedly, and Adon nodded his head. “Thank you,” he said. “I think you made a wise decision—for both of you. The king will be pleased and perhaps even reward you.” Mat’s eyebrows rose at that, but he said nothing.
“I guess I need to find some trunks or crates,” Artema said without enthusiasm. “My idea, my job.”
“No need!” Mia said brightly. “We have trunks for the books. As Father said, ‘You never know when you must move them quickly to keep them safe’!”
A note:
Mat and Mia’s ancestors took “Oldham” as a surname during the first decades after the Penthori landed on Osegra. It is an ancient version of “old home,” taken to remember the perilous but deeply loved country they fled. The aristocrat who provided the wood for the ships and led the Penthori to their new home in Osegra was a man named Sweyn Rinstead, a scion of the line of the kings of Penthor, likely the equivalent of a duke. Those he took with him were members of his household, servants whose families had served his line for generations, and a few close friends who believed as he did that flight was a far superior option to hoping the natural and societal upheavals of their world would miraculously leave them unscathed.
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