Anrik’s past seems like a blur

Only now does he understand. It all makes sense.

Now he knows why they lived so far from the village, why his mother would rarely go there, why his father Kahrl would escort them there, and then wait outside in the forest. It seems odd now that his father’s craftmanship was well known and yet his father wasn’t. People brought things to Allysia for repair, not to Kahrl. Kahrl taught Anrik how to repair the gadgets such as locks, clocks, and even some gnomish werks. The boy and his father would often work at the small forge just outside the kitchen door, ankle deep in snow, heads deep in concentration.

Anrik remembers the lessons taught by his father. Even the earliest lessons take on different meaning now; “Always move downwind from the game trail and in the shadows whenever possible day or night.” “Set your snare near the water and don’t leave it unattended for long, no need to cause undue suffering.” “Use a stick to measure the stride while tracking.” “Never ever sit with your back to a door.” “Always keep the tip of your weapon between you and a charging foe.” “Beware people who avoid eye contact.” “Avoid making fires unless you are absolutely certain of security.” He taught Anrik how to fight with wooden swords and when they hunted Kahrl pointed out different kinds of tracks.

His mother Allysia taught him to read and write. She thought that he was rather smart and supposed he took after her in that. She was a stoic unassuming woman, beautiful in that respect. Anrik learned early that his mom could see directly into the heart of people and she didn’t put up with foolishness. She allowed him to be a child for awhile. That while is over now.

Once when his parents thought him fast asleep Anrik spied his parents moving the table in the kitchen. They rolled up the rug and lifted some boards from the floor. Kahrl reached in and pulled up a large box that was quite longer than wide or tall. He dropped some coins into a bag inside, tied it tightly and then spent a moment looking at the other contents. His look was somewhat wistful as he paused and looked through the things inside, hidden as they were from Anriks view. Allysia pushed Hahrl on the arm smiling, “Oh, don’t get all nostalgic you old scamp. Put that away before you get any ideas.” Kahrl smiled back, mumbling, but did what he was told. Anrik wondered at this spectacle but then it was soon forgotten. Now the memory of this simple event brings tears to Anrik’s eyes.

With his father’s tutelage Anrik became a decent shot with his bow and was proud when his father gave him the responsibility of hunting game for the family. Often he would leave in the afternoon, returning the following morning with his kill, if not the next day after. By the age of 16 he could survive off the land. The tiny family was self sufficent. Only occassional trips to the village for materials were required. Anrik grew quickly and was as large as his father in no time.

That idyllic existence seems so far away now even though it was just a matter of days.

Anrik returned with his kill, it was a three day hunt; his mother was bored with venison. He knew something was not well right away, though in truth there was no way he could have been prepared for what he found. He was downwind, but the comforting smell of the hearth was gone, replaced by another scent. He dropped the antelope and ran. His home was gone…razed to the floor. The tracks were everywhere…Orcs. He found what was left of his parents. These orcs were vile creatures, they fed on his mother and father then cast their bones aside. Seven orcs lay dead, the tracks told Anrik another 6 survived.

Each shovel was full of anger as he dug his parents' grave. It was deep before he realized it was getting dark. Anrik filled the hole by torchlight and the dirt was soaked with his tears. When the task was done, he moved away from the house, climbed a favorite tree where a hammock hung and slept.

Morning came quickly, the orcs did not return. Anrik spent some time trying to determine what had happened. It looked almost as if the orcs were lost, or on a raiding party with no clear objective. They had taken a few baubles and his mother’s jewelry. It looked as if his parents had moved away from the home when the orcs arrived, and then Karhl had returned in a seemingly senseless effort. Anrik was amazed how Kahrl had moved from each now-dead creature to the next until four of the orcs were slain. Each had different wounds, a single mortal strike aimed precisely at the brain, the heart or a cut throat. It seemed as if the fifth one raised an alarm before dying and Kahrl still took two more before they were able to stop him. A kitchen knife lay where he fell. Allysia, unable to turn away or remain hidden, rushed to Kahrls aid, but it was too late. Anrik imagined they cut his mother down as she was wrought with anguish over Kahrls dead form. Anrik’s anger built once more.

Just then he spied the loose floor boards, and remembered that night so long ago when his parents had pulled the box from that hole. He pulled up the board and found the box intact. He laughed at the orcs, overcome by the irony. His father’s greatest treasure remained hidden from the destroyers.

Anrik noticed that the box had a somewhat intricate device guarding it. After a few moments studying it he realized it was his father's design and he easily disarmed it. Only the lock remained. Anrik worked for over an hour before he was able to release the hasp. He sighed deeply and opened the box. Inside he was amazed to find a note addressed to him in the rough manner of his father right on the top. It read:

Son,

One; I am either dead, or two; you shouldn’t be doing what you are doing. If two is correct, I want you to close the lid, put the box back, and come to me. We will discuss much. I will then let you decide if you feel that you are ready to find out what is inside. If one is correct I can’t help you with this decision and you are likely ready although it no longer matters to me. I loved your mom and I gave it all up for her.

A tear rolled down his cheek and his heart ached as he was touched by his father’s wisdom. Anrik spied a corner of another piece of paper folded and tucked under the bag of coins. On the parchment was a rough charcoal drawn sketch of his father, but the name was wrong. This said his father's name was Kahlrik, last name unknown. It also said he was sought by the Kingsmen and a small reward was offered. This couldn’t be right; this piece of paper made his father out to be a criminal, a wanted man, a thief, a crook.

Anrik sat dazed for a moment. Then other things inside the box caught his attention. A suit of leather armor, worn but useable, a sword in scabbard wrapped in an oiled cloth, and an ornate dagger. There were also three jars of an odd unguent, not unpleasant, likely a potion of sort. The sword, armor and dagger showed signs of use and they smelled of his father.

Suddenly it all fit into place. His whole life was defined by his father's past. The letter was true. Kahlrick took his bride and left his former life, moved to the mountains and sired Anrik. His father was a criminal, a hunted man on the run. He took his family where no one would find them and then sacrificed himself to keep them safe.

Anrik was overcome by these realities. The orcs had yet more to answer for, they had stolen his future and murdered his legacy. He didn’t want to admit the truth but he realized his torment was not only fostered by the orc raiders. He had lived a life of deception. Again the anger swelled up, this time garnished with resolve. Anrik found a cloth sack and filled it with the contents of the box. He searched and located as many arrows as he could and grabbed his bow.

Anrik travels the roads now, not really following the trail of the the orcs. He only needs to leave it all behind him. This home was a lie. He has no past. An unknown future opens before him. Does he really have anything worth living for besides the memories of lies?