LAKE OF THE SWANS
Book 2 of 3
Chapter 43
It is said that success breeds success, and perhaps it is not so uncommon that after great human effort, success snowballs, and the one who made the effort finds themself looking around and wondering, ‘How did I get here so fast?’ So it was with Emma. The rain ended, the sun came out, and a row of wickiups sprang up in the Emerson meadow.
‘Batcher Row,’ as Harley had nicknamed it, extended to the back where Weya’s area had been fenced off. From there, going towards the front stood Mr. Fischer’s wickiup, Harley’s wickiup, Anders and Julian’s wickiup, then John and Laureal’s wickiup, and the wickiup of brothers Kale and Levi Emerson (more on them later). Also, at the very front and near the back of the longhut, a small wickiup belonged to Cody, who, being fully into adolescence and under no small impression thanks to the men, decided it was something of an embarrassment to live at home with the women.
Centrally located in the campgrounds, a big tent had been erected as a meeting hall for the elders of the rendezvous, who were twenty-seven in number, counting those who had come to the lake solely for the meeting. Elders who came exclusively for the meeting were usually accompanied by warriors, often their sons and grandsons with whom they had traveled to the lake. The meeting was to begin at mid-morning that day, and no one under the age of fifty was to be allowed in the council tent. Mr. Timmerman arrived with his wife, sons, and daughter, as it was protocol for campers to accompany their patriarchs to the door. Mr. Timmerman entered the tent alone. Emma Emerson came next, which caused a few newly arrived elders to look twice in surprise and wonder, for it appeared that the old Emerson clan had risen from the ashes. Like a war wall, a column of warriors, complete with battle axes, spears, and bows, walked behind the Matriarch. Harley, well known from boyhood as the strongest, fastest, and most daring of all the frontier youth, still held his youth at thirty-eight. Anders, one of the ‘Famous Fifty-Five,’ the battle-hardened ex-mercenary turned to God, a tree trunk of a man willing if given the right reason to strike blows with greater passion than ever before. John, the horseman from the west, was uniquely trained for the execution of a singular task. He had charged into the great unknown only to get roped and bound by the all-powerful hand of love. Kale and Levi Emerson, a pair of warrior brothers, had come to the rendezvous at the Matriarch’s request. And Julian, a stout young warrior on the hunt for adventure. Just behind the warriors came Laureal, carrying her and John’s unborn child. The young mother-to-be had a glow that no moon, star, or planet could match. Walking alongside Laureal, Mia appeared like a swan in her magic dress. Jessie brought up the rear with Cody, Noah, and Sophie, all in their best garb, rounding out the family procession. And last but not least, Mr. Fischer stood at Emma’s side, looking much revived with his satchel in hand. But alas, no more had they come before the entryway when an elder named Carl stepped forward to block their path—
“What is this?”
“Do not let him pass!” ordered a second elder, referring to the scribe.
“Indeed, he shall not,” stated Carl, stepping directly before Fischer. And having halted the scribe, he turned to the Matriarch, “Emma, what have you up your sleeve?”
“I’ve nothing up my sleeve…Carlton.”
Opening his mouth to speak, Carlton fell silent as the founder of the rendezvous appeared in the opening of the big tent.
Rutin Elkhart had never been a family man, and yet he was seen by all as the protector of the frontier people. A fearsome warrior turned to God in the middle of life, he was a sight to see. For even if somewhat bent by age, he bore such presence as to fill the entire entryway. Tall and imposing, his long grey hair like the mane of a lion, his piercing blue eyes turned upon the Matriarch—
“Emma, what is this about?”
“Mr. Fisher is a scribe. And he is going to keep a record for me.”
“No, he is not.”
“Rutin…as I understand it, I am to be reprimanded. I will soon know the reason why. Then I can give my replies, and I will receive answers. Therefore, knowing how things often go regarding people and their memories, it only seems prudent that I keep a written record to prevent future confusion.”
Rutin turned to the scribe, “What is your name, sir?”
“Robert Fischer, sir.”
“I’ve seen you before,” bending his brow.
“Yes sir, about four years ago, as I recall, in The Great Hall of the People, in the chamber of your friend, Maxwell Taylor, of the Taylor and Bailey Clan.”
On hearing the name, Rutin’s lips hinted at a fond smile, although scarcely discernible. He stood still as an oak, even as he traveled fast in his mind, back into days gone by, days of high adventure and fellowship born from the fires of youth—
“There was no braver warrior,” he said at last. “And later, a statesman. May God rest his soul.”
“The last of his kind, if I may say so, sir.”
“Have you come from the Great Hall?”
“Yes, sir.”
“For what purpose?”
“I heard a rumor.”
“I’ll bet you have.”
“Yes, sir. A rumor of a horseman from the West, said to be at the Lake of the Swans, gathering men suited to the challenge of the far north, and the reward of the treasure that waits there. That is what brought me here. I hope to become the expedition’s chronicler.”
“Did you hear this rumor in the Great Hall?’
“No, but not nearly far enough away. A fellow scribe passed it to me not a stone’s throw from the Hall, in the Great Grove of the Maples. He said he’d picked it up on the road to Red Deer. And if I may risk stating the obvious, nowhere on earth does news of treasure spread so fast as on the streets of Grandal.”
Elkhart shot a look at Carl and the others, “This man may possess knowledge that is of value to us.” And returning his eyes to Fischer, “If you are of a mind to share what you know, sir, we will allow you in. But be warned! What you learn in this tent will bind you to us in such a way that you will never be able to return to the place from which you came. Therefore, the decision must be yours.”
Glancing from one man to the next, Fisher met their eyes in hope of gaining some unspoken insight into the nature behind their intentions. Believing himself a man of logic and reason, it wasn’t like him to rely on instinct alone, but in truth, he had already thrown caution to the wind, and he knew it—
“I’ve come this far, sir. And if it were not for Mrs. Emerson here, well…I would not have made it back anyway.”
Emma gazed at Rutin Elkhart in wonder. And Elkhart, stepping beside her, bent and lowered his voice, “You are not the only one in trouble…it may be that we all are.”
While the elders took their places in the big tent, their families prepared for a day of cooking, playing games, and relaxing, followed by an evening of food and drink, music and dance around the bonfire. There would be moose ribs and caribou ribs, slow-cooked for more than ten hours. Bacon-wrapped venison tenderloins, grilled lake trout, and roast duck, along with a panoply of delicious side dishes. A great cookout, not woman’s work alone, but one in which men took proud part, particularly in preparing the ribs and tenderloins. Congruently, young men would wrestle while young women gathered around to watch. Teams would square off in tug-of-war matches. There would be archery contests and swimming races. People who normally worked all day at tasks requiring such focus as to forbid distraction, would play and talk to their heart’s content. Little children ran like dogs on the loose amid the legs of adults. Men who were too young for the big tent, but nonetheless with some years under their belts, told stories of adventure. And occasionally, as was always the case among young warriors, a push or shove would become a bare-knuckled brawl. But all of that was just beginning. Presently inside the big tent, Rutin Elkhart was the first to stand and speak—
“Friends, if I may begin by speaking for those who have not yet had the opportunity, we extend our heartfelt condolences to our dear friend, Emma Emerson, Matriarch of the House of Emerson. We all know of the tragedy that befell Emma and her family. And now, having risen from the ashes…we honor her, and we welcome her to the Lake of the Swans.”
“Hear, hear!” as the men rose. The last among them being Garrison Lakewood of the Lakewood Clan who, on account of his great age, could not easily get up off the floor. In fact, he would not have made the lake had it not been for the great importance of the meeting, along with his five grandsons and great-grandsons who brought him. Meanwhile, one of the newly arrived elders stole looks at Emma, for he had not seen her since she was a young woman back in the day when everyone traveled at least once in their lives to participate in the annual rendezvous at Grandal. There he had seen Emma, a true beauty of the realm, seemingly not so long ago, although a present she sat before him, weathered and worn like driftwood.
Except for Elkhart who remained standing, the men seated themselves on mats laid out in a large circle before the interior walls of the tent.
“Friends,” Rutin began, “I had originally hoped to resolve a few campground issues before moving on to the business at hand. However, as God would have it, an unforeseen development has arisen. And such is the gravity of this new development, I believe it is likely to increase the challenge before us more than any of us can presently imagine. Therefore, I propose we put aside minor issues, some of which have recently resolved themselves.”
“I second the motion,” stated Carl, after which a vote was taken in which the ‘Yeahs’ were unanimous.
Rutin then took his seat in the circle, which just happened to be next to Emma, “Ms Emerson,” he uttered lowly.
“Yes,” leaning a bit, so that she might hear.
“How’s that ‘magic dog’ of yours?”
Several men, close enough to overhear, laughed lowly.
Emma did not reply, save to grin painfully while shaking her head.
Garrison Lakewood then rose to speak, his voice feeble but clear, “Gentlemen…seeing that we are all here for the same reason, which is to hold on to what we hold near and dear. I propose we agree to have no arguments as to who is the most honest, lest we hold a contest to resolve the issue...the winner being whoever can tell the most jarring story about himself.”
Laughter broke out, “We’d be at it all day!”
“All day hell…more like all week!”
As the laughter subsided, Erving Black-Spear of the Black-Spear and Bergstrom Clan stood up, “Friends, just one thing before we move on to the business at hand. I propose we move the campground next year, either to the opposite shore or to the north along this shore, and forbid the use of this area until it has had several years to recover.”
The proposal was seconded, voted on, and unanimously approved.
Being old, tall, and stiff of joints, Carl Johansen of the northernmost Johansen Clan rose slowly, “Friends, the original reason for this meeting has not changed. However, as Rutin has said, our situation has been complicated by an unforeseen development. Still, we are here with the same hope: that we may strengthen our autonomy by better allying our clans. This would include our curtailment of trade with Grandal and the populated east…choosing instead to trade among ourselves, to the greatest degree possible, without provoking retaliatory action from the High Council.”
Again, on account of great age, Garrison Lakewood’s effort to rise was painful to watch, but rise he did, for it was the rule if one wished to speak, “Friends, I ask you, what use is trade for the sake of trade, governance for the sake of governance, and morals for the sake of morals? The trapper that trades for the sake of trade…trades away that which sustains his grandchildren. The governor who governs for the sake of governance…imprisons his prodigy. The moralizer who moralizes for the sake of morals…finds himself apart from the realities of his people. This, my friends, is what has happened to the High Council. And because they no longer see us, they stand on our throats while preaching about how folks ought to treat one another.” Finally, looking around the circle, his feeble eyes moving from one man to the next, Garrison extended his clenched fist—
“I say to hell with them!”
“Hear, hear! Garrison!”
“Amen!” said another as the tent suddenly came alive with voices and whispers—
“These new trade routes with the world beyond the Five Seas have brought the High Council wealth and power never known before.”
“It has corrupted them!”
“Agreed, and it is terrible. And yet, it has also brought us many new and wonderful things. Things that are helpful to our lives.”
“‘The wise rabbit knows, the snare is placed on the easy path.’”
“Easy or hard, a frog can jump as much as it wants, but it cannot become a bird.”
“Nor can a butterfly return to its chrysalis.”
At last, all fell silent as Elkhart stood up. “Friends, I think we all agree that if we are to hold on to what we love, we are going to have to take a leap of faith. And I know, I know, I said this very thing last year, and the year before, and the year before that. But this year, in light of this new development, it would appear the Great Spirit has decided to help us with a ‘good kick in the pants.’”
Looks and whispers, and even some laughter went round, albeit low and somewhat painful. For all knew that Rutin had not spoken to impress them.
“Should I send for him?” Carl asked.
“Not yet,” Elkhart replied. “I would like to ask Mr. Fischer a few questions first.” And turning to Fischer, “As I understand it, sir, you have left the employment of the High Council?”
“Yes, sir.”
“May I ask, did you give notice, or did you pick up and leave?”
“I would like to have given notice, but…I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid that some technicality would be found as a basis on which to disallow my departure.”
“You worked for Maxwell when he was living?”
“Yes, when I first began in the Great Hall, Maxwell’s secretary was, well, my mentor. I worked under him for all but my final few years there.”
“So you got to know, Max?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And based on what you have said, you admired him?”
“Yes…very much.”
“Old Max,” chuckling, “as polite as could be until lied to. He would rather throw a man across the room than be lied to.”
“Yes,” grinning painfully, knowing that such a thing had actually happened.
“And you worked for him?”
“I worked for his secretary…so yes.”
“You were part of his team?”
“Yes, albeit only an underling under an underling.”
“Were you proud of that?”
“Yes, most certainly.”
“Are you a man of God, Mr. Fischer?”
“No, sir…I cannot say that I am.”
“And yet, Max employed you, and you looked up to him.”
“Yes, sir.” And glancing around the circle, “Max did not have many friends in the end. Not among the Council members.”
The scribe paused, his mind’s eye looking through time, “Max took such pains to ensure our continued employment when he was gone. And, when he died,” struggling with emotion, “the frontier folk came out in such droves, I do not know how I could ever forget.”
A pall fell over the men.
Rutin, yet standing, his eyes to the ground, his lips pursed tight, shuffled dirt around with his boot until, at last, lifting his eyes, “Friends…the time of hoping and waiting on the High Council to have a change of heart is over. As for those among us presently doing brisk trade with Grandal,” glancing at Emma and a few others, “I understand you have your reasons. And if you wish to continue your relationship with Grandal, that is your business, but you will not do so from the Lake of the Swans.”
Rutin turned to the only woman in the tent, “Emma, your clan has long guarded the western flank of our frontier. Even after the disaster at the river crossing, your family led every stand against incursion, for which we are ever grateful. And now you have once again proven the greatness that flows in Emerson blood. With you among us, others will be inspired to follow. Therefore, it is with great hope that I ask you to cease your business with Grandal…and join our alliance.”
Rutin then turned to the other newcomers, “It is my great hope that all of you will join our alliance.” And stepping to the center of the circle, he turned slowly to one and then the other, “I do not ask you to shoulder any burden with regard to this new and unexpected development which we are about to address. Rather, I ask your help in our original quest for autonomy, which, as everyone knows, spurred the founding of this rendezvous. Now, be it the case that you do not wish to join us…that is your business. I only ask that you leave this tent now. And next year, you can do your trading at the rendezvous in Grandal, or Dullahan, or one of the other trading centers in the populated east.”
To Emma, it seemed that for all of Elkhart’s bearing and well-deserved reputation as a courageous warrior, it was plain to see by his expression and tone that he pleaded as much as he demanded. And in the silence, after he had seated himself, not one elder left the tent.
Rising, Carl stepped out the door where a pair of young warriors were stationed. Returning directly, he paused just inside the doorway, “Friends…now that we are one in accordance with our original founding, it is time for us to deal with that which, as has already been made clear, is not a burden you are expected to shoulder. However, as part of this alliance, you must keep secret what you are about to learn until such time as this council decides otherwise. Therefore, inasmuch as it is a secret, it will be a burden on you. And because secrets tend to leak, anyone who hears what is about to be said in this tent should expect to sooner or later find themselves under the scrutiny of the High Council in Grandal. Therefore, if this liability, which is considerable, is something you do not wish to incur, it would be wise for you to temporarily remove yourself from this tent, for in doing so, you may not only save us from great pain but also that of yourself and your family.”
All remained, their curiosity, if nothing else, holding them in place. They would not have long to wait, for almost directly, the pair of young warriors returned with a third man going before them, his hands bound behind his back, a leather bag over his head.
Lifting the bag off the man’s head, Carl used the great reach of his long arms to slowly turn the man around so that everyone might get a good look at him.
All rose in a mixture of amazement and confusion. For there, in the center of the tent stood what we would call an Inuk, or Inuit in the plural, although a Kasskatchen would call him a ‘Skraeling,’ as that was the name given to anyone different from themselves. The Inuk was short by Kasskatchen standards, of darker skin and different build, but handsome and well-made all the same. He appeared to be in his early thirties. His dark eyes and brows were not fear-stricken but bore the look of a man who had taken a gamble and awaited the outcome on which he had staked his life.
“From where comes this Skraeling?”
“Go on, Skraeling,” said Carl, “tell them.”
“I come from Grandal,” replied the Inuk.
“Then you are an escaped slave.”
“Yes.”
“Who brought you here?”
“No one, I came of my own will.”
“You came here,” in disbelief, “to the Lake of the Swans…on your own?”
“Yes.”
“Erving,” said Elkhart with a summoning nod, “would you fill them in, please.”
Erving Black-Spear stepped forward, “Two weeks ago, this man called to me from the edge of the wood. I came forth, and, at the point of my spear, he told me what he was about. It was quite a story, and…with all the talk of treasure around here lately, I knew not what to think or do. I could have detained him, but I knew he had no intention of leaving. In fact, I had to impress upon him that he mustn’t skulk about the edges of the rendezvous. Again, at the point of my spear, he told me that he had a hideout some three miles to the east. I told him to wait there, and I went to get Carl because Rutin was away at the time. Later, Carl, Rutin, and I decided it best to keep his existence a secret until this gathering. We worked out an agreement with him. We promised to protect him if he would wait until our council had convened, at which time he would get the opportunity he sought.”
“We cannot harbor him,” an elder stated all at once. “It’s the law…he must be returned!”
“If he knows what he claims to know,” Elkhart intervened, “then returning him might be worse than getting caught harboring him.”
As the elders shared looks of wonder, Rutin turned to Emma, who, be it by fate or providence, headed the most famous of all the old clans, “I wanted you to see this first, Emma, that I might ask you before summoning your young horseman, for you are his Matriarch.”
“Rutin, what is this about?”
“This skraeling...he claims to know the precise location of what your horseman seeks.”
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