Disowned

Month of Trete

Year 23024, Early Tech Era

Maurrem Devoy

(age: 13)

He smiled in the warmth of the sun and the sprinkling rain of speerin. The near constant rings of metal on stone no longer filled the air as evening approached. Maurrem listened to the crunch of the dry dirt beneath each step. He rested his hands in his pockets, and kicked at small rocks to abate his boredom. His father was out of town the last two days, due to return home. He thought of the timeline.

He’ll likely be home tonight. He sighed.

His father hardly spoke to him the last week, all over a one-time incident. Maurrem wove. That was it.

He kicked the next loose rock harder. It bounced and tumbled until it fell into a hole. A shout returned the action. Maurrem froze and felt his body run cold. He couldn’t be sure, it sounded like his friend, but if it wasn’t…. Even the adults gave Maurrem looks of distain since he’d first woven in front of his parents. He didn’t see the harm in it. All he’d done was turn simple flowers into garden snakes.

“Maurrem?” A head popped out from the hole.

Maurrem smiled. It was Marco. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were down there.” His shoulders shrugged and the stiffness within him loosened.

“Just digging to pass the time.” He hoisted himself up and out of the shoulder-deep pit. “Do you think we’ll find any today?” Marco asked. His dirt covered face smiled at the idea of finding another glyph covered slab, like the one they had found last week. Unlike Maurrem’s father, his friend found weaving fascinating.

“Maybe we should move to a different location.” Maurrem suggested.

He moved on, passing Marco and the hole. His sights were set on the mines, a quarter mile from where they currently were. He heard the fast-paced steps of Marco jogging to catch up.

“You know, my father said you got the Elders all upset. Did you show your father?”

Maurrem nodded.

“No way! And he let you keep your well?”

“For now.” Maurrem thought on it for a few seconds. “I don’t know if he can actually take my well away. I’ve never seen him weave.”

“You think he already used his up doing it?”

Maurrem nodded. “Likely. The only way he can take mine away is through someone else.”

Walking past the mine entrances, he saw one boarded up. It was sloppily done. In several places the nails weren’t hammered all the way in. Reaching up, Maurrem felt Marco’s hand pull back on his shoulder.

“What?” Maurrem glanced back.

“Not that one.” Marco shook his head. “My father and several other miners were all upset about that tunnel. They boarded it up real quick then left. I heard bits and pieces when my father stopped by at home earlier. They plan on blasting it at the end of the day. Something bad is in that one.”

Maurrem folded his arms. “How bad?” he was getting a hunch it was something his father would disapprove of, like the weaving he had done.

“I don’t know. Just that you can’t go in there. It could be poison gasses.”

Maurrem heard the specific direction at him. Looking to his friend he frowned. “Or it could be another stone with glyphs, right?”

Marco shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to respond. Maurrem turned and marched over to the mine. He slipped his fingers between the boards and holding tight he started to yank on it. All the adults were on break for supper and wouldn’t be back for a while longer.

“Maurrem! Don’t do that!” Marco ran up to him and tried to pull him away. “What if you get hurt?”

“Then I’ll take responsibility for it. My father looks at me like I’m some kind of demon for weaving. He’s hardly spoken a word to me since he saw me weave. Now, it sounds like everyone knows. That would answer all the stares and glares I’ve gotten.” He ripped a board free and tossed it aside. “He’s gone and convinced everyone that weaving is inherently evil.” Another board fell to the ground and he stared into the darkness, his shoulders heaving with deep breaths to slow his rising heart rate.

“It has done bad things.” Marco noted and rested a hand on Maurrem’s shoulder again. “Maybe this one really is bad. It sounded serious.”

“You really think that?” Maurrem turned, pulling his shoulder free of his friend’s grip.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” Marco started. “But, if my dad said there’s something real bad in there, I’m going to listen. And, you’re my friend. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I’ll be fine,” Maurrem looked inside. “I don’t see anything dangerous. It looks like any other tunnel.” Maurrem leaned in past the boards. “Smells like dirt.”

“Maurrem, please,” Marco tugged on his sleeve. “Don’t do it.”

“What? You going to tell on me?” Maurrem pulled back out, the look on Marco’s face was confirming.

“I’ll be in and out within a minute,” He climbed inside. “The tunnel’s probably just a dead end, so it’s not like I’ll get lost.” He walked deeper inside, leaving Marco behind.

“I’m sorry, Maurrem.” He heard Marco running off.

Maurrem’s face fell as he was starting to realize that nobody trusted him. He felt angry. He was going to find out what it was they were willing to destroy to keep from him.

The deeper he walked, the darker it got. He stretched his hand out until it met the gravel-textured wall. His fingers brushed along it for almost a full minute before the surface became smooth. I may be more than one minute. He smiled as his fingers fit into the carved grooves. He brushed both hands across it. Eyes wide open to the darkness, seeing nothing physically, but mentally. Sight would often leave you baffled. The language of weaves was more than simple reading. True understanding came from within.

After tracing his fingers along the edges, he could mentally picture a half-covered slab of stone. He estimated hundreds of glyphs carved into it, some more faded than others, and a lot that he recognized.

Using what he understood, Maurrem began making out several more characters. The words filled his mind, but he dare not speak them without knowing how much it would draw upon his inner well. That, he was careful about. Taught more than the dangers of using Parsuit, was the danger of weaving beyond one’s capability. Death was the outcome.

He didn’t know how much time had passed. He didn’t care. Maurrem was more than happy to stay here and learn the root word behind each character for hours. His fingers moved through another one repeatedly. The tips of his fingers were raw. He was sure they were bleeding.

He heard footfalls at the entrance. “Maurrem!” The deep voice shouted. “Maurrem, get out here now!” it was his father.

Maurrem cringed. He could feel the anger in his father’s voice. He was going to get it at home tonight. Once more, he traced his hand over the inscription. The root word came to mind, as if given in reward for his determination. His eyes widened as he understood it, what it had taught him, what he could now do. A shiver ran up his spine. The root word felt different than previous weaves. It felt dirty somehow. Maybe Marco was right. He rested one hand on the slab. These don’t feel like weaves.

“Maurrem get out of there!” His father seemed more worried this time. “Maurrem there’s explosive powder in there and the men are back!”

Maurrem froze, and looked at the ground. He tapped his foot out around him and felt it hit the sticks jammed into the ground and tied together along the base of the wall.

“Maurrem you need to run!” his father shouted again, he even started to climb inside. “They’re lighting it from the other side!”

Maurrem looked behind him. The tunnel was not a dead end. It ran through to the other side of the hill. He felt the ground tremble as the chain of explosions began. Fear gripped his chest and he couldn’t move.

Footfall sounded in rapid pace. They drew near, along with a lantern, bobbing in stride with his father’s hurried steps. “I’m coming!”

He felt the arms of his father picking him up, slinging him over his shoulder and running back the way he’d come in. Maurrem could see each blast light up the tunnel for a moment before it burned and started the fuse of the next stick.

Maurrem felt the shake of each step as his father ran for the exit with all his might. Why would he come for me? He had convinced himself that his father didn’t care for him. They reached the end. His father set him down and climbed between the boards, back outside.

“Hurry, boy!” his father pulled at his arms.

Maurrem’s eyes were stuck on the blasting light from each stick as it exploded, coming ever closer, only a matter of seconds.

He felt his father shake his shoulders. “Maurrem! Snap out of it!”

Maurrem looked at his father’s face, genuinely filled with concern for him in that moment. He now stood outside the mine and offered his arms to him. “Grab hold.”

He heard the harsh blast that broke through the slab, only a few seconds between each thunderous BOOM. He reached out and took his father’s arms, feeling him pull hard and fast through the boards. His footing was off and he stumbled to gain his balance, as his father yanked him off to the side of the opening. The final blast collapsed the entrance.

The blast broke through the boards. A stray piece scraped across his face, drawing a thin line of blood from him. The dirt above came crashing down, filling in the tunnel and coming to a stop a few feet from him and his father. The dust was still settling as the rain began to fall harder. His ears rang and sound failed to reach them as he stood. His center of balance was off.

“What were you thinking?” His father shouted, but the words were like a whisper.

“I wanted to see it.” Maurrem didn’t have much of an excuse.

He saw the look of disappointment in his father’s face. “It’s dangerous!” he let go of Maurrem’s hand.

Maurrem watched his father pace. He held new scratches across his arms and face. Surely, marks of concern for his son, self-sacrifice to protect. Or, just a result of him having to step in. Maurrem felt it was the latter. He took a step towards his father. His balance still a bit off, but sound was returning to his ears.

“What am I to do with you?” His father stopped and looked down at Maurrem.

“There’s nothing you need to do.” He clamped his jaw shut and looked away from him.

“I’ve spoken to the other Elders.” His father paused, adding weight to his words. “I’m taking you in.”

Maurrem looked up in horror. “You can’t take it away! That’s not your choice to make!”

“Things like that should be destroyed. And nothing good will come of you weaving and messing around with such evil!” His father looked at him sternly.

“You can’t even read it!” Maurrem recalled what the slab had upon it.

“I don’t need to read it to know it will corrupt all who use it!”

Surely, his mother wouldn’t approve of such a drastic action. Maurrem marched past his father, not wanting to speak any longer with him.

“Maurrem.” His father caught hold of his arm, stopping him. “We leave, now.”

“Doesn’t mother get a say in this?” Maurrem pulled, but he was physically weak in comparison to his father’s iron grip.

“It won’t make a difference. I’ve already decided. If you are to continue dwelling with us, and we provide food and shelter to you, there will be no weaving.” He gripped Maurrem’s jaw and turned him to look him in the eye. “Do you plan on weaving again?”

Maurrem knew the easy answer. He could say no. His father would question him, and there would be continued tension between them. He would keep weaving to himself, not even Marco would know. He couldn’t trust anyone. Maurrem looked to Marco, who stood silently off to the side, barely within sight. Marco dropped his head and rushed off towards home. On the other hand, he could speak the truth, that he did plan to weave again, and that nothing would change his mind.

His father sighed. “Are you going to weave again?”

Maurrem looked away, but he could still see his father’s face in his peripheral. The grip upon his jaw left. His father stood up tall and pulled on Maurrem’s arm, towards home.

“The Elders have agreed to come to Tortiaine. We will meet them at the city capitol at noon tomorrow.”

A deep despondent feeling rose from within Maurrem. His life would become like everyone else’s around here. Stale. Deprived of any thrill. He couldn’t go through with it. He lifted his free hand to his father and opened his mouth, speaking out one of the few weaves he had learned from the slab in the mine.

“Speka!” His voice cracked and his eyes watered as the weave drew upon his well.

A strange magnetic force pushed his father away from him. It ripped his grip from Maurrem’s arm, leaving sore muscle and stinging skin, and tossed him several yards away.

He watched his father slowly stand up. His eyes held fear. His hands shook as he brushed the dirt from his clothes. “I don’t want to see you come through the door tonight.” He turned and marched toward home.

“You’re going to disown me!” Maurrem felt tears brimming over his eyes.

His father stopped, not turning to look at him. “Are you going to weave?” he repeated the question.

“Father. I can’t just let it go. Weaving is a part of who I am. It’s a part of everything, why can’t you see that?” Maurrem felt his composure crumbling.

“You’re no longer my son.” His father left.

Maurrem stood there for several minutes in shock. The rain soaked through his clothes and chilled his bones. Mustering strength, he trudged through the muddy ground and out of the mining site.

He looked towards home. The light inside no longer looked inviting. Disowned. He recalled the snakes he had woven the week before and the glyphs upon the slab that now lay as rubble beneath the dirt. “Weaving is the way of life… weaving is life….” His thoughts twisted. Weaving kills life. The cycle renewed.