One Moonlit Night

A Fantasy Story

Photo by Luca on Unsplash

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One moonlit night, with the wind blowing gently and hardly a cloud in the sky - a night that was bright and cool, a night that was not yet old - smoke rose softly from a chimney in the sole homestead lying on a broad plain. Tucked into a small cove in the grassy sea, bordered on three sides by a small river which marked the boundary between the vast, untamed forest and the plain that formed the frontier of an ancient kingdom, the homestead was lonely and well-built. An outpost on the eastern boundary of civilization.  

Just over a mile from a small prairie village - the nearest town in this deserted land - the homestead truly lay on the edge of the Wild. Dark forest crowded the far riverbank. Set in the U-shaped bend in the river, the homestead thrust itself into the Wild as the easternmost refuge of civilized men. Towards this homestead strode a traveler. He came from the northeast.

Having just crossed the river and emerged the forest, the weary traveler welcomed the sight of this homestead. Lit up by a full moon in a wide sky, the homestead was clearly owned by a cautious family. ‘As well they should be,’ reflected the traveler, ‘this close to the Wild.’ Having just come out of the forest, he knew what lurked in it. A strong fence surrounded the main house, the small barn, the shed, and a small plot of land. Behind the fence lay a deep ditch, the dirt from which had been piled into a mound between the ditch and the house. On top of the mound was a thick, wooden wall. Just visible above the wall were the roofs of the shed and the small barn. Beyond that lay the house.

‘No doubt there are more fences inside,’ surmised the traveler. ‘Dogs likely sleep in the yard, hunting dogs, alert and tough, several of them.’ He made a habit of sizing up any shelter he found, and he had developed a knack for it.

The house itself was a two-story log cabin, with small windows that gave easy view of the plain and forest, but did not allow for entry. As he grew closer, the traveler could tell that the windows had thick glass, an expense that added security and decorum to the house. There were two doors. The main one faced west toward the open plain and civilization. A broad path led up to the main door from the gate in the fence, passing through the gate in the retaining wall. The side door was smaller and opened toward the barn and the shed.

On a cool, March night on the plain, a traveler strode towards a homestead. He came from the Wild, seeking refuge on the edge of civilization.

****

The younger children had fallen asleep, and the two older boys were in their room. Their father walked his nightly rounds, checking the doors and windows, the dogs and the gates. He latched and bolted the side door, having already seen to it that the barn door and the shed door were locked. Three of the dogs were asleep. The largest, the chief dog, chewed quietly on a scrap of meat. Both gates were secured and the father was preparing to latch and bolt the front door before heading to the bedroom he shared with his wife.

He enjoyed these nightly rounds, when all the candles were blown out and the fire had died down to a memory of coals. The only light was the moonlight stealing in through the tiny windows, throwing shadows on the wooden floor. It was times like these, with the day’s work done, and the house secure, that the father truly felt like a patriarch of a grand household.

It was his dream that someday his sons would build their own homesteads on the ground adjacent to his, and that men would come to marry his daughters, and stay to build farms of their own. With each passing generation, the homestead would grow into a town and the current town, over the plain a ways, would come to him, instead of the other way around. The town would grow into a settlement and maybe someday, long after his bones had rotted away beneath the settlement he had founded, a grand bustling city would spring up to rival the capital and the grand cities in the west of the kingdom. Such were the dreams of a frontier man.

Yet tonight, something interrupted his reverie, something out of the ordinary. The chief dog, nameless yet proud, had stirred. He did not howl or bark loudly. He growled a low, warning growl. The other dogs awoke and stood on all fours, ears up, yet silent.

The farmer had paused at the front door, his last stop of the night. When he heard the growl, he opened the door and saw the dogs. He stood in the doorway, looking out onto the illuminated plain. The tall prairie grass swayed in the gentle breeze. But a little ways beyond his fence, the grass moved more than normal. Someone was walking towards the house.

Closing the door, the farmer moved quickly to his bedroom, the closest room to the front door, where his wife was not yet asleep. As he did so, he called out to his older sons, “Jem, Tristan, I need you both out of your room, right now. Bring your hunting knives.” His wife stood up from the chair by the small window where she had been reading by the light of the moon.

“What’s going on?” she asked him.

“A stranger comes to our door. Tristan and I will greet him at the gate. You and Jem stay here. Try not to wake the children.”

“He may be friendly. But be careful.”

She said no more than that.

The farmer opened a locked closet where he had bows, a spear, and a short sword. He grabbed the bow and a quiver, concealed the short sword under his cloak, and checked the hunting knife he carried on his belt. Following his wife, back into the main room, he met his sons, Jem and Tristan. He gave the bow and quiver to his older son, Tristan.

“There’s a stranger coming up to the house. Tristan, you’ll come with me to greet him. Bring a lantern. Jem, light another lantern and stay here, but watch us through the window. If there’s trouble, get the spear from the closet in my bedroom. When we leave, latch the door, but don’t bolt it unless we meet with trouble. I don’t expect trouble, but this place can be dangerous at night.”

Jem nodded and Tristan slung the bow and quiver over his back. Their mother lit three lanterns, giving one to Tristan and one to her husband, and leaving one on the table. The farmer grabbed a walking stick that lay against the wall by the door, which he opened once more. Tristan followed him out.

They took the chief dog with them and strode to the low wall. Opening the first gate, the farmer instructed his son to stay back a little ways with the dog, close to the wall. He continued alone to the fence. The stranger neared the fence. Holding the lantern high in his left hand, his other hand gripping the stout staff, the farmer stood at the second gate, but did not open it. His light illuminated the path directly before the gate.

When the stranger had stepped into the light, the farmer hailed him.

“Hello there. Who are you and what is your business here on the plain at this time of night?”

The stranger stopped and stood with his empty hands visible. He looked at the farmer.

“I am a traveler who has come far from the east,” he said. “I have crossed over the wild, trudging many more miles than I care to remember. I am tired, and I desire rest and shelter for the night.”

“You’ve come from the forest?” asked the farmer.

“And beyond,” replied the stranger. “I was weary of the road, but knew I was nearing the edge of the forest. I didn’t relish the idea of spending another night in those eerie trees. I walked the final miles in darkness, hoping for rest and shelter at the end. I was hoping you could provide me that.”

“You’ve given me no cause to mistrust you,” said the farmer, “but I do naturally. The frontier is a dangerous place, especially at night. Wary is our way of life here. We cannot afford to be otherwise. We cannot afford to take risks. I asked you earlier who you were. You still haven’t answered that question. I don’t want your name. That will tell me nothing. Where do you come from?”

“I told you already, I’ve come from the east, far beyond the wild. But I assume you mean originally. I am your countryman. I was born in Yunore, the capital of our great kingdom. I fought in the Ilerian War, against the northmen.”

“You fought in the Ilerian War?” interrupted the farmer. “Step closer so I can see you better.”

The stranger did so, attempting to appear non-threatening. He was tall, with a brown cloak over nondescript gray clothing. He had thrown back his hood, revealing a scarred face with a thick black beard and long black hair. But the farmer was mostly interested in his brown cloak. Now that he had a better view of it, his attention was drawn to the small blue insignia over the heart, faded by a decade of wear. It was a well-known insignia.

“You were a Kingsman?” he asked. The Kingsmen had been the military police of Yunore’s army during the Ilerian War. They had been chosen for skill in both armed and emptyhanded combat, as well as their endurance and strength. They underwent the most rigorous and elite training known in the kingdom at that time. While it was possible that the stranger could have stolen a cloak, or killed a Kingsman and taken his cloak, the farmer doubted it. And no Kingsman would part willingly from his cloak.

“You seem surprised,” responded the former soldier, “and I see in your eyes you recognize the insignia on my cloak, which means you must have fought too. Were you in the army during the Ilerian War?”

“I was,” the farmer reminisced, “and, though I was conscripted, I had great respect for the Kingsmen. What company were you assigned to?”

“The forty first infantry. The Comrades of Bleak Point. I was at Bleak Point.”

“So was I. I was wounded there and sent home. The company was large enough then that I wouldn’t have known you. Here, you can come inside. We’ll give you shelter for the night,” said the farmer, opening the gate.

“Tristan, we have a guest. Go and tell your mother, and put the dog back with the others.”

****

An hour or so later, after the visitor had eaten and the boys had gone back to bed, the house was settled. The visitor would sleep on the floor in the main room. Some blankets had been brought for him. The farmer sat up in the main room with his guest for some time after his wife had gone to bed.

For a time, the two of them sat in wooden chairs without saying anything. The farmer drank ale, while the visitor drank water. They smoked pipes. Finally, the farmer said, “I don’t wish to intrude. Your business is none of mine, but I am curious about the east, the Wild.”

The visitor smiled and stretched. He had clearly been waiting for this line of questioning.

He said, “Well, after the war I traveled across the wild lands. The Wild stretches for over two thousand miles, at least here in the north. Far to the east lies a great civilization, larger and more powerful than our kingdom by far. They have wonders you could hardly imagine, and some things that you would not believe at all. The Wild is full of such things you would not believe as well. But in the east, they have halls larger than towns, lined with marble statues a hundred feet high. They have grand cities with golden bridges and soaring towers.”

“Why did you come back then?”

The visitor hesitated.

“Well, that part I can’t say too much about,” he began, “except that it has to do with politics. Also, I missed my homeland. As a former soldier, I love my kingdom. I’m sure you understand. But mainly, it involves business I can’t tell you about, affairs I got caught up in.”

Silence descended upon the main room once more.

Neither man was particularly talkative, but curiosity had bested the farmer into asking about his guest’s travels. The guest, in turn, had been quick to respond, because he had missed the sound of another human voice for months. Now, the awkward pause got the better of them, and lengthened for quite some time. Finally, the guest, starved for conversation, broke the pause.

“You wished to know about the Wild, as well.”

“I did.”

The guest sighed and then said, “At times it is a very beautiful place. It is, however, also dangerous, untamed, and mysterious.”

“I know. I live on the edge of it.”

“I mean to say that there are dangers in there that you cannot fathom as a civilized man who has never traveled in the Wild. To live this close to it, you must perpetually be on guard.”

“My family and I are on guard. You saw our wall and our weapons. The dogs behave themselves, but they’re ferocious and very dangerous if provoked. They’re loyal to our family and any one of them is large enough to kill a grown man.”

“I’m not talking about men. That’s exactly what I mean when I say that a civilized man cannot understand the Wild without traveling in it. There are no men in the Wild. But there are far more dangerous creatures.”

“What do you mean?”

The stranger looked uncomfortable. The farmer shrugged and shook his head, as if to indicate it was unimportant. He disliked the strange direction of the conversation. Still, the stranger wanted to give him something, so finally he said, “There are fell creatures in those woods.”

After a pause, he added, “But the wild is beautiful as well. It has its own allure: miles of untouched forest and mountains. There are beautiful creatures in there, ones you couldn’t understand unless you saw them. There are harsh deserts, but also lakes and rivers. The Wild has a certain attraction. But also creatures deadly beyond belief.”

The farmer was interested, but he said nothing, and soon, he stood up.

“You must be tired,” he said, “I won’t keep you.”

The stranger nodded and rose up too. He went over to the sheets on the floor, and the farmer went into his bedroom. But the farmer did not fall asleep until he was sure the stranger had already done so. He trusted the man, or he would not have let him into the house, but it would not do to take chances.

****

In the morning, the stranger arose early. He found the farmer already awake, sitting in the same chair he had sat in the previous night, drinking coffee. The farmer indicated that the visitor could help himself to the coffeepot.

“I want to leave early, as soon as I can,” said the visitor, helping himself to some coffee. “I have a long road ahead of me. I’m going to the capital.”

“We can take breakfast before my children get up. My sons and I already took care of some chores before the morning light, and they’ve gone back to bed. My wife is reading, but we can help ourselves to food from the pantry,” replied the farmer.

He took oats and bread from the pantry. There was some dried beef and cold milk as well. The stranger ate heartily, for he had a long day of walking ahead. The farmer ate lightly, and gave the stranger a small loaf of bread, more oats, and more dried beef, for the road. When the farmer’s wife came from the bedroom, the visitor thanked her for her hospitality and generosity.

The farmer walked the visitor out to the second gate. They stood in silence a moment, one anticipating the road ahead, the other anticipating a day of work. The sun had only barely risen and the cold morning caused their breath to fog out.

After a moment, the stranger turned to the farmer and said, “I must thank you for giving me food and shelter for the night. I know you trusted me with difficulty, and I know too what a risk you took taking in a stranger who came from those woods.”

The farmer nodded, but said nothing.

“Someday, I will repay you,” continued the stranger, “although you may not know it when I do.”

“Good luck to you on your journey, and safe travels,” replied the farmer. There was another brief silence. Neither man liked talking in these situations. Finally, the stranger said, “Before I go, I feel I should warn you. Last night, I mentioned dangerous creatures in the woods, but I did not say enough. I need to tell you that there’s serious trouble in those woods. There’s more trouble brewing and it will soon spill into this land. Something’s coming. For reasons I cannot explain, I can’t tell you exactly what the danger is, and you wouldn’t believe me if I did tell you. Suffice to say that you need to be ready for more than just nightly travelers in the near future.”

The farmer glanced at him in surprise. The man’s eyes were honest. He told the truth. Against reason, the farmer instinctively believed him and trusted him. And he accepted that the man could not tell him more.

“Thank you,” said the farmer, nodding gravely, “I will be on my guard.”

They shook hands firmly, and then the stranger stepped through the gate and strode off across the plain.