Vol.6, Ch.1, P.7
Night was now fallen. With the drills done, I walked alone under the stars, but it wasn’t home whither I was headed. Rounding the path, I soon spotted the matron Irma, who held in hand a lantern as she waited afore her orphanage newly built here in Hensen.
“Oh, many, many thanks to you, Herr Rolf,” she said after greetings were had and I was welcomed inside. “This is an ease most great.”
“Think little of it,” I said, setting down my hefty baggage. “It was the least I could do.”
Children’s smallclothes were what I’d brought her, purchased in plenty from Arbel on the way back from the ceremony at Déu Tsellin. It was just as well; they went for quite the reasonable price, for—like the other former fiefdoms of Londosius—Ström was particularly enterprising when it came to the production of like everyday goods. That said, Hensen was catching up. Thanks to the tireless Torry and his busy-bees over at the Concern, the nascent economic sphere of Men and Nafílim was forming apace, giving much-needed vitality to the fólkheimr’s sprouting industries.
Indeed, life here in humble Hensen was bettering by the day, step by step. Well, “leap” might be more the word. Accounting for all that’d been achieved in so short a time, today’s Hensen was, on the whole, as a jewel compared to the coal it’d been a winter past, when a walk down its less-sought ways would reveal want and woe, and withal a reign wishing much to remedy it, but finding itself too few of hands and light of purse to tackle the mighty task. Nay, now there was hope; now were new winds come: the winds of weal, as it were.
Or, as put to me by more practised minds, the “boons of business”. ‘…New deals open new doors…’ they’d expounded to me. ‘…Doors to ideas, to exchange, to the intercourse of cultures… And further on: the birth of new possibilities…’ Knowing little of economics as I did, I’d merely nodded in answer. Hensen was better off for it, at any rate, and that was enough for me. But here again did I owe Torry a wholehearted thanks. Rather than let his mercantile ambitions get the better of him, he’d adopted a delicate but no less devoted approach to fostering trade here, working closely with Alban and the other higher-ups to ensure that, in adventuring towards this new prosperity, the ways of the Nafílim were respected and all that was precious to them was preserved.
‘…I wonder you, Master Rolf…’ the great merchant had said to me some days before. ‘…Of the world you wish to usher in… I trust it would be one of much weal, yes…?’
Ever a lover of discourse, Torry. According to Ina, however, never would her father bother debating with anyone he didn’t believe had the “bean” for it. I veritably fidgeted with flattery then, to know that he thought so highly of me, but I was grateful nonetheless.
‘…You trust well, Guildmaster…’ I’d answered him. ‘…Indeed, weal ought be the due of all folk, from all walks of life…’
‘…Ah…! Good…! We are of a heart, then, you and I…! Jolly good, indeed… Here I was, taking you for a sword-ascetic of sorts… who would love more a grain of wheat than a loaf of bread…’
‘…Temperance I do deem a virtue, yes… But that’s hardly to deny all weal, whether for myself or for the world…’
‘…Agreed, agreed…! Yes, that’s a sage’s head you’ve got on your shoulders, Master Rolf…!’
I remember the brimming smile he showed me next; the smile of a man in like-minded company. And truthfully do I think as such: that gleaning beauty from beggary is but a fanciful folly of those who’ve never once heard their stomachs growl. Albeit I do belong to such a lot somewhat, being myself born and brought up a “silver-spoon” as Sig would term it, and so would’ve drawn the scorn of every commoner in earshot had I said otherwise. Nay; in times of peace and plenty may a man more wilfully wish good upon his neighbour. Hence must all be provided with peace and plenty, that they may at last live not only together, but for one another.
We’d chatted further on, Torry and I, touching upon topics running the gamut. How very keen and wise he’d quickly proved himself to be, and I parted his company quite the enlightened pupil. By his words, just as weal ought be the privilege of all people, so must they relish it in turn. Naturally so, one might think, but therein lies the danger: take it for granted, and in a blink, it’s gone, whisked away into the hoards of the powerful greedy. An inevitability, Torry both sadly and sternly warned, no matter the economic model maintained, no matter how prudently weal is dispensed.
Thankfully, however, such was lost to neither Alban nor the civil leadership of Hensen, that thus far, even Torry could but praise their policies—a fruit of which being this very place: Irma’s new orphanage.
Looking about, it certainly looked and smelt freshly built, boasting a wide berth to harbour many a misfortuned child. Such was ever the sorrow of Hensen: being long beset by war and assault, the fólkheimr bore orphans beyond number. As a matter of fact, so dire was it that when its borders were at last bolstered and its lumber sites secured, especial expediency was devoted to the building of this orphanage.
I recalled then my chance reunion with Lise last year; of the tiny, rickety hut of a house that I found her in; and of the children therein that she so dearly cared for—children lost of their parents, having none but each other to huddle with as they wept. How it haunts me to this day. But now were they all here; here in this new home, where they might never again have to sleep with only the cold winds of night to blanket them.
And as I looked, there came to meet me one such child: Theo. I next recalled all too clear how terribly he’d screamed and thrawt as Lise scrambled to administer his medicine. Yet, it’d been by those same throes that I was led to the tiny home in the first place. What a strange thing, fate.
“Herr Rolf! You’re here!” he said as he saw me.
“That I am,” I greeted, bending down to meet him. “How fares you, Theo?”
“I’m all right. These days, it’s much calmed.”
Theo was infirm with the white-coath, having once drunken waters blighted by the now-defunct Fiefguard of Ström. And the physick he so depended upon had been bought with whole “purses and more”, as Lise herself had attested all that time ago. But through Hensen’s recent betterments and earnest support from the community, even the remedy once worth its weight in gold was now so in but modest wine. Of course, that’s scarce to say that to rely on impalpable plans and policies would solve all problems. We adults, too, must needs mind and help those in our reach—those like these children. They had lost so much; it would be only cruel to have them suffer any further.
“Lo, Theo, the Herr Rolf brings gifts,” Irma said softly to the tough sprout. “A trove of smallclothes! One set a day to wear!”
“Woah! So, so many!” cried Theo, staring in wonder as Irma opened the baggage bigger than he. “Thank you, Herr Rolf!”
I chuckled, but at once pitied the poor lad. “You’re a kind one, Theo,” I said. “Linens are little to rejoice for, I know. I ought’ve brought you all something a mite more tasteful. Nay; next time will be a sure delight, I promise.”
Thinking on it, Lise and the other helping hands here did oft bring sweets of a sort whensoever they visited. What other treats or trinkets might the children enjoy? I wondered next. But Theo, shaking his head, was quick to say, “No, i-it’s all right. I’m happy with anything that comes, help or gift. But…”
“But?”
“…But nothing’s better than a visit from you, Herr Rolf! The great, great hero-chief himself!” Theo said, bright and red as a beet, but as clear-eyed as a cloudless summer day. Boys his age are ever wont to admire men of valour, sure. But for me, old Rolf, to be accounted one… and not least a “hero”, at that. Why, I yet itched at the ears just to be called a “war-chief”.
“Truly a kind creature, aren’t you?” I said wryly. “But thank you, Theo. Though I hardly fit the bill for ‘hero-chief’, I should think.”
To which Irma, brimming with her balmy mirth that the children so dearly loved, then said to me, “But a ‘hero’ you are, Herr Rolf.”
Now was it my turn to shake my head. “Nay, nay,” I chuckled again. “Not as much as yourself, at least, good Matron.” And that was the untarnished truth. Sheltering the children after the havock upon their village; continuing their care here in Hensen—really, if anyone deserved to be sung about, it was the hero-matron Irma.
“Grownups sure love to trade praises, don’t they?” Theo laughed, and very naturally, at that. Indeed, everyone here was merry and full of mirth. But this wasn’t always so. Amongst the orphans, the ones from the foresaid hut had been dreadfully glum for a time. Never could I blame them, however, for they’d lost someone whom they could never bear to lose: dear old Berta. Heartbreakingly, after they were given the grim news, the orphans had wept and wailed, and spent all their days steeping in despondence.
But they had time. Time to come to terms with; time to understand that Berta yet lived, whether in all the wonderful things she’d left behind, or in the great many lives she’d touched. And, I’m glad to say, that time was well-spent and past, and the poor orphans were now finally back on their feet.
Yet, there was one pair of hands that’d given them the much-needed lift. And turning, I found her: another woman, big of body and heart, sat there across the wide hearth, whilst all the many other children frolicked and capered about her.
“Malena! Malena!” chanted one child. “Here! I made this! Just for you!”
“Owah! Why, thank ya kindluh,” the former Salvator gasped in wonder. “An’ my… it’s so, soverruh well made, innit now!”
Smiling ever more sunnily, Malena received the gift: a handiwork of paper, folded lovingly by little fingers. Yes, indeed: our unlooked-for deliverer at Déu Tsellin now called the fólkheimr home. And being so gentle and jovial, one would fancy her ready to retire the hammer and live happily ever after. Instead—or perhaps which is why—she’d decided to join in arms with the alliance. But of course, her spare leisure she spent here at the orphanage, helping wheresoever she might. And that earned a great deal of gratitude from Irma, for there were days like today when Eva would be too tied-up elsewhere to come by.
“Yup, yup!” giggled and gaggled the gift-giving child. “Kurt, he taught me how!”
That was Alma, the youngest of the hut-orphans. Poor lass; she’d perhaps taken Berta’s passing the very hardest, and for such a long time, neither had the spirit to whisper even a word nor do aught but sit and weep quietly to her raggedy stuffed bear. But look at her now: singing and smiling like a fresh spring morning. Then there was Kurt, also, who’d been almost as cut up as Alma. Yet now was he a sprightly little spider, climbing over Malena’s back and laughing all the while.
On and on, the children bustled about the bear of a woman, tugging for her attention to prattle about this thing and that. And for a moment, the scene seemed to me the exact portrait of the night back then at the hut—for as she looked in glimmering awe upon Alma’s gift, the tenderness so aflower upon Malena’s face, I saw, was all the very same as Berta’s. And speaking of flowers, the very gift seemed fashioned after one itself.
“Ah! But this shape an’ shine; where’ve I seen it ’fore, then?” cooed Malena, whose face soon lit up with realisation. “Why, it’s a maiden’air leaf, it is! Jus’ like from the big, yelluh tree out back!”
“That’s the one, that’s the one! Maide, maidenhair!” Alma stammered as she squealed in delight. “It was Kurt’s idea!”
Ah, right enough. The paper folding—it took after not a flower, but rather a leaf. How precious and sensible children are. And how marvellous of Malena to appreciate them so fully.
“A saviour she is, that one,” Irma whispered to me. And quite right. Just by the looks upon the little ones’ faces as they flitted all about her, it was easy to tell that Malena was a woman boundless of love and magnanimity both, for she did not mind at all that the children saw in her the semblance of someone now dearly passed. No; she simply and very serenely accepted the children, and gave to them all the love and support that they could wish for.
They’ll be all right, I thought, from here on out. Sure, the children could not and would not ever forget their beloved Berta. But that was a matter of course, and neither an evil by any stretch of the imagination. For all that they lacked in their lives, they had in each of themselves such a wealth of heart and compassion, that they could both treasure the memory of their second mother and still open themselves up to another. And who to receive and solace them was Malena, like a high and humble tree welcoming into its shade any and all faeries left sad and forlorn. Indeed, with new bonds forged, everyone was at last up and walking again—hand-in-hand towards tomorrow and on.
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