Legend of Ransera

It was a good day to work.

The sky was grey, the land was quiet. Iakovos reached out with calloused hands and straightened the old plow, grunting as he pushed his hips against it and the rusted wheel wobbled and cut through the hardened dirt. They needed to get this garden set before the rain came and turned the land wet and sticky.

“Iako, put that down.” An old man with leather skin stood under the wooden doorway, gnarled fingers shaking uncontrollably as he waved his grandson to come inside, a toothy smile whistling the words of Kokalath, “I want to show you something.”

“Not now, grandfather,” Iakovos grit his teeth and dug his heels into the soil, the muscles of his arms bulging as he forced the plow further through the small garden patch, outlined by four rods protruding towards the sky in a quaint rectangle, “The bugs are gone.” He huffed, strands of gradient hair falling from his bun and into his face.

“The bugs?”

“Listen,” Iako grunted. Sparing a glance at the old man, he was reminded of the frailty and worried for his grandfather’s memory. With a new weight in his chest, the young warrior furrowed his brow and cast his eyes to the plow’s wheel, crouching to grab an old rock wedged in his path and tossed it towards the wood, “Can you hear them?”

It had been a lesson he had learned as a child, one that the older man had passed down in better health. If the wind smelled like musk and the forest quieted, Atinaw was expecting rain. And if the animals were silent? Grab your weapon; Something bad was coming.

It had proven a faithful truth over the years and he hoped it would be enough of a distraction until Halvar’s mind wandered to something else. Plow still in hand, the blue eyed hunter didn’t expect the persistence that followed. “Iako,” his grandfather, a man who had once been both sailor and warrior, with hair as white as fresh washed linen, began to shamble from the front step, each movement unsteady and sparking rich anxiety, “Put that down. I want to show you something.” His jaw shook.

Iakovos’ hands stilled and he stood up, wiping away the dirt from his palms before reaching out to meet the old man with a stern expression but gentle touch, “Alright,” he sighed, steering the elder back to the porch, “What is it?”

“T...This way,” Halvar raised a curled finger, each step shuffled through the old cottage in need of a multitude of repairs and paused every few steps to look over his shoulder as if expecting Iakovos to have vanished, “Look there.” He pointed to the rickety table in the corner, one of it legs discolored and misshapen from having been replaced, “Our history.”

Brow furrowed, Iako looked past his grandfather's hunched shoulders and walked through the dusty sunlight the filtered through the windows. On the surface was an old book he had never seen before, or perhaps he had never cared to. He stood there, his grandfather watching, and then walked over and picked it up. Its cover was wooden, wrapped in a starched cloth and bound to the thick tome. The pages were rigged, yellowed with age and he ran his thumb along their texture. They had no other books in the house; in fact, they didn't much of anything these days, so he found it a miraculous oddity that he had never noticed it before.

Taking a seat with an achy groan, Halvar patted the old wood, "You work hard," the words felt heavy and Iakovos realized that this was not like the other days. His grandfather was aware again, present if only for a moment, "I am proud."

A silence built between them and Iakovos inhaled, "Thank you."

He set the book down but Halvar pushed it forward again, "Your great great great grandmother made this. She could bind many books. So it says." He tapped its corner, "It tells the story of our kinship. Our history." Halvar smiled, "Look."

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Iakovos frowned and started to take a step back, "I can't read. Do you not remember?" Maybe he had misjudged everything. Eyes cast to the ground, he felt his hope begin to fade. More than anything, he felt frustrated at his inability to perform the task at hand.

"Look," Halvar repeated, "This is important."

Iakovos clenched his jaw. He nodded and opened the cover. A blank page, which he turned, followed by some sort of list. Familiar symbols that meant nothing to him, his fingers brushed against the page, turned it. The list continued, some diagram. He turned another page and another. A loose sheet lifted and he stared at the face of woman surrounded by children. She looked tired, hair tied in a bun, but there was a sword on her back and a coyness in her smile. The sketch was well done, discolored and clearly pasted in. More sketches followed, more writing, some scribbles beneath the drawings which he assumed to be names, "Where did you get this?"

Were these his kinsman?

Generations followed, often with pages of text and entire spreads - sometimes multiple sketches throughout their life - specifically for the various leaders. Drawings of weapons or the occasional ships. These were rare, but Iakovos admired the remaining detail, dumbfounded as he cradled the book and leaned over it, mouth slightly agape.

Halvar scrutinized the man's expression, "Saraivyn," he finally announced, "He was my brother. Good man; ran with bandits for awhile, but he grew out of it when he met your aunt. Thank the fate. He joined her kin... oh, some odd... forty years ago."

"Bandits?" Iakovos glanced up. He had figured the majority of them had been minor craftsman, fishermen, hunters. People who lived off the land; the small folks, "Why did no one tell me?"

"Would it have mattered?" Halvar asked, smirking, "Looking to go rogue, eh?"

"'Course not. But..." Iakovos' voice trailed off as he turned the page. Each character in his family's story seemed to have something written about them in ever changing handwriting. It seemed many different hands had worked on this manifesto, adding to the history of their brothers, sisters, mothers. He smiled when he saw an old sketch of his grandfather smoking a pipe, drawn in the bunk of an old ship. The details of the setting were faded, but the ink of the portrait seemed to survive the years, dappled with a few drops of dried saltwater, "This is you?"

"Aye. My time spent on The Kraken's Dagger. It's all there. I've added as much as I can..." his grandfather grew quiet, watching as the younger male turned the page to his grandmother, "...Iakovos."

Stormy blue eyes looked up.

"This is important to us. I want you to learn to read. And write. We need you to, to preserve us. I... I'm sorry your mother and I never taught you. There is so much you do not know, about life, about our history. Our history is registered by the druids, but you must go and show them. The records must be maintained. Soon, before I pass so they know who leads now."

The room suddenly felt too small, "...In Glade? We could go. There's still time, grandfather."

"No... no there isn't. I'm getting old, my boy. You know how my mind leaves me," Halvar's eyes grew distant as he looked out the window but there was a cold determination there, "Which is why we must do this now."

"Do what?"

Halvar's voice was soft, "You know what I speak of."

Iakovos' hand faltered, his shoulders dropped, "Gran-"

"Iakovos," Halvar said abruptly, slamming a bony hand on the table and making it shake, "I, Halvar, the leader of our kinship have watched you grow. I have taught you, trained you, prepared you. Over these years you have surprised me. You have made me and your ancestors proud. If your mother were here..." he took a deep breath, "She would know that this choice is not made by circumstance, but by wisdom. By honor. Our kinship numbers are few, but by free will and remaining power, I pass the title of Kinship Leader to you, so that you may take my place. Do you accept?"

He stood, firmer than he had in seasons and looked the young man in the eye.

Iakovos tried to take a deep breath, aware of everything leading up to this moment. He had wondered if the day would come and he took a deep breath, setting the book gently on the table. He watched Halvar's face for any sign of dementia, but found none. Nodding, his mouth followed, his throat tightening, "I accept."

Halvar beamed, embracing his blood for the last time, "Then it is done."

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