As the council leader, his mother was the first of the elders to speak, as was natural for her to speak for her son. Old Man Alba, the handyman of the village, and the only one to have faced an enemy in battle was always the second to speak. Tianna, the mother of three girls, all married now with children of their own, sat in the third chair. His mother watched him approach with a bland expression, then after a quick headcount to ensure most of the adults were present, called the meeting to order.
She turned to him. “You asked for this meeting, Shell. State your case.”
He may have seen a glint of pride in her eyes as she spoke. Shell decided to remain on his feet instead of taking the vacant chair, the one facing the three, as was customary. Standing gave him status or at least self-perceived status. How should I begin? He had not envisioned the meeting beginning in this way. He had expected his mother to outline his fantasy trip and decry it, and the others of the council follow her lead before asking him a series of questions.
Instead, she put it on him to make his case. While his knees didn’t shake and his hands didn’t quiver, he had thought his emotions would be stronger and his confidence greater.
The first words he uttered could force the elders to take sides. The words needed to be diplomatic and respectful, but he had not planned for this. He had to portray conviction and determination, as well as eloquence in his address.
He’d practiced his answers many times with the sheep of his flock, not a full speech, just the answers to his anticipated questions. To his ears, he sounded mature, and the sheep had mostly paid attention, but he had been answering potential questions. Giving a full statement was unexpected. The sheep had been easy to convince with his glib answers; all of them, but one ewe who rarely listened to anything he said. More time speaking in front of the stubborn goats would have better prepared him, but the council waited to hear his opening statement.
He drew a deep breath and in a calm, clear voice announced, “I’m leaving.”
The words stopped there as if he’d said all that was needed. Shell simply ran out of more to say as his throat squeezed closed and his breathing became harder. His eyes shifted from one elder to another, waiting for them to laugh, or criticize his decision and his speech. The entire flowing speech he wanted to give, the precise points he wished to make, all evaporated from his mind. He stopped the relentless pacing and turned to them, trying to appear calm.
Tianna interrupted the enduring silence instead of his mother, a break in council tradition, but allowed under the circumstances of his mother sitting in judgment, “I think we all understand your decision, Shell. Sometimes it is best just to say what is needed, and no more, and you have certainly done that tonight. I agree to your quest.”
“And I,” Old Man Alba said. “It appears this is something you feel strongly about and must do.”
Shell felt his mouth turn dry. They’re letting me go. The conclusion came as almost a letdown. He had been prepared to fight and argue with them. Shout. Even defy them. He had a right to live his life and do what he felt he needed, but all those words didn’t need to be said. They understood.
His mother cleared her throat. “I have sensed your troubled mind for a few seasons and knew this day would arrive. I expected it earlier, but as much as it pains a mother to agree to let a son leave home, the time has come. You may go. Is there any other business for the council to discuss this night?”
When nobody brought up anything else, his mother dismissed the meeting, and refreshments were served, sweet cakes, bitter ale, and watered wine. It seemed everyone wanted to speak to Shell at once, to offer advice or wish him good luck.
One of the younger boys, standing only knee high, the son of a farmer named Cramer asked, “When are you leaving?”
Shell hesitated. The meeting tonight had been about permission to leave, not determining a date, but the question was valid. It was his next decision. He debated possible answers as the boy fidgeted.
Old Man Alba sipped bitter ale and chewed on crisp slices of fresh apples, but looked up and spoke for him, “Soon. There’s nothing here that cannot be done by others, and too much planning never helps.”
“Why is that?” Shell asked.
“Because as soon as you walk over the first hill you will encounter something you didn’t foresee, couldn’t foresee. A snake will bite your leg, or a highwayman will steal your purse. A beautiful woman on the road may be looking for a protector, or the King needs you to serve in his army. All the planning in the world cannot account for what is right over that little hill behind me.” Alba jammed a thumb over his shoulder.
Shell couldn’t help but look at the small rise in the ground and wonder.
Old Man Alba chuckled, “You see? And there are a hundred more hills beside that one you’ll climb. You’d leave tonight if you had any gumption or a modicum of good sense.”
Tater, another farmer with one foot missing from a childhood accident, caught his attention. “This is good land around here for farming, Shell. Your flocks are healthy and multiplying, and you have a position in the family many envy. What is it out there that draws you so much you’d give this up?”
“Dragons,” Shell said without pause, surprising himself at the directness of the answer.
“It must be more than that,” Tater said. “We’re all Dragon Clan.”
“You’re right; I am Dragon Clan. So are you. But in my entire life, I have only seen one dragon, and that one from a distance so great I barely felt the skin on my back crawl.”
Brace, a tall young man with one wandering eye, sounded almost defensive, “I’m two years older than you, and I’ll stay here and make my way. This is my home, and I cannot even think of leaving to chase a whim.”
Old Man Alba spat the skin of his apple on the ground near his feet. His eyes were locked on Shell. “I’ve seen you practicing your moves with your staff while you’re grazing your flock. I think you can defeat any of your sheep in battle, but there’s one ewe that has a few good defensive moves, and you need to watch out for her. There is always one. Remember that. There is always one.”
That drew a chuckle from all in hearing range, and Shell blushed. But the old man was right. Shell practiced his fighting moves daily, and the heavy staff moved like liquid fire in his hands. Herding the sheep provided unlimited time to practice. He twirled, spun, jabbed, and parried while moving gracefully from one move to another. His strong chest and arms concealed power and speed, a deadly combination with a staff, the traditional weapon of the Dragon Clan.
All that practice with his staff, year after year, but he’d never been in an actual fight. His eyes shifted to the other two in his immediate family, and then to the rest who attended the council meeting. Few of them were now watching him; most had already moved on. A wave of disappointment filled his being. They were going on about their own business, concerned with their personal lives, not with what he planned to do, but how it might affect them, if at all. Children still played tag, women talked to other women, men downed ale and told tall tales, and the dogs watched the flocks this night. None cared. The meeting was over.