Timothy Jones: Tibtarnitallimardarian

"Well, he came back," Tarl said. "Just like he said he would."

"Yeah, he did," Orlon said and gulped.

Everything the Parson said last night and this morning echoed in his mind, and what they meant for his future sickened him. He simply did not want to believe it. Yet he felt a responsibility in stopping this Tibtarni—whatever, as he presumably was the only one who could save the world from his evil plan…. His mind turned to memories of Tarl’s youthful fancies of one day breaking free of Dwarf Road to see what was out there in the world. Empty words recent events would give his best friend a chance to follow through on, which made him wonder why he was not the One.

For reasons he could not fathom the very thought of that made Orlon want to laugh.

"So," Tarl said, involuntarily rubbing his hands together, "what are we going to do?"

"What do you want to do?" Orlon countered, certain what his response would be.

"I think we should go," he said. "Like I said last night it might be fun."

Getting the expected response made him add: "And dangerous."

"You said that last night," Tarl said with a wave of a hand. "But I think you’re reading too much into this. Remember what else you said? This is crazy. So chances are we’ll be going nowhere important, but we’ll be getting a chance to break free of this place, to see a little of what’s out there. Come on, Orlon. Let’s do it."

Any other time Orlon would have found his best friend’s enthusiasm intoxicating. He would have jumped right in with him, but not this time. In his mind, Tarl was so naïve for all his worldly boastings and all that roaming around nights for what he called activities—his looking at this opportunity only as a mere game to be played out for fun.

"But what if he is serious?" Orlon asked.

"Oh, come on," he said, running his eyes up and down his best friend’s short, wiry frame skeptically. " You’re not serious, are you? Tell me you’re not really buying this guy’s story. I thought we’d been over that last night. The only question was whether this nut would actually show up this morning, which he did! And, I might add, he brought people with him. A party, he calls it. What could be better for a pointless journey like this than people to party with?"

"He wasn’t talking about that type of party," Orlon’s eyes sought the heavens.

"He wasn’t?" Tarl looked confused.

"A party is a group of people brought together, in this case, to take a journey, and it consists mainly of warriors, soldiers and the like."

For a split second Tarl looked disappointed, dissolving into a sly smile. "So," he said, hands clasped together, "are we going?"

A moment of silence passed.

Orlon sighed. "Okay," he said. "Let’s do this."

With that, he headed to his bedroom to prepare. He was disappointed that his little trick to build up his enthusiasm through Tarl’s was a bust. And he knew why. He just could not shake his worrisome realization this whole thing was actually happening. That he might be the one on whose shoulders the world’s future rested upon. Not even his best friend’s last words as he entered his own room earned more than a roll of his eyes.

"Oh, boy," Tarl said. "This is going to be great."

The two closed their doors simultaneously.

Orlon stood with his back to the door, eyes drifting over the room. The Parson’s desire for quickness was foremost on his mind, but he did not want to start this day any differently than any other day. And the fact he would be away an indeterminate length of time added to his desire to perform his morning duties. They consisted of making his bed, performing his morning ablutions and getting dressed. Plus he was undecided what to wear when going on a journey. He sighed, knowing he would just have to do things faster than normal. He began.

Tarl stood before his washbasin, stripped of his undergarments, performing a cursory clean up. This consisted of a splash in the face, underarms and areas below, followed by a vigorous drying with a towel. He looked in the mirror on the wall before him and seeing his own smiling face broadened that smile. How could he not smile? A lifelong dream of one day leaving Dwarf Road was actually coming true for him.

His smile faltered, however, at the thought of how this opportunity came about. It all hinged on the ravings of that bizarre, spasmodic man who visited last night and returned as promised this morning. All his talk of a journey to save the world from a growing evil, an evil only Orlon…the Pure could stop sounded ridiculous. He started to laugh at that name, but it died when he thought of Orlon’s question as to if Ty the Parson was serious.

Into his mind popped memories of Orlon’s Grandfather’s stories about soldiers passing along Dwarf Road in his own youth. Stories the old man swore were true…. His thoughts turned to the book he had gotten to "help" with his writing effort—the neighbor’s claim of its historical truth as promised by the Buyer. For just a moment this all got him to wondering…

With a grunt, he bundled the towel and dropped it on the table by the washbasin, leaving with it his wondering.

There were times Tarl could be roped in by his best friend’s seriousness. He would see things in an entirely new light, but not this time. In his mind, Orlon was so naïve for all his so called adult thinking about every little thing, like this crazy man’s talk. He was still a virgin for crying out loud!

"Orlon the Pure indeed," he murmured, the smile returning to his face and mind returning to matters at hand.

In quick fashion, he donned his undergarments, procured a fresh set of gray work clothes from the wardrobe and slipped into them. Stepping into his shoes finished the procedure, and patting his plump belly, he felt satisfied he had not wasted any time in preparing. Yet in truth he did not feel fully prepared. He looked around for anything else he might need on this trip. There was not a lot to choose from, but when his eyes fell on the money pouch on the table by his bed they stopped.

"Ah, just what I needed," he said, walking to it. "If there’s a party out there, be they warriors, soldiers, whatever, I might be able to get a game up."

He picked up the pouch, shook it. By the soft tinkle he estimated there were three, maybe four coins within. They were silvers, he believed, the remains of a very unprofitable night with the boys behind Stem Hatly’s shop. A smile touched his lips at memory of the only good thing about that terrible night, the hard cider. He sighed and pocketed the pouch. Not the best amount for a starter fund, but it would have to do.

That turned his mind to one other thing needed to get a game up: dice. These he retrieved from the table drawer, blowing on them before sticking them into a pocket. With these two items in tow, he felt fully prepared for this day’s journey, wherever it might lead. But the feeling faltered when his stomach grumbled, telling him of one other important thing they would need.

At this point, all he and his friend knew of the quest was they were going…somewhere. Why, they could be gone until lunch, for all they knew. Therefore, it would be wise to take along some food. So thinking made him think of Jujay and the likelihood he was preparing for the journey, including foodstuffs. And he blurted a laugh at this. How could that old man be? He was not there to hear about today’s plan—and even if he had been, he most likely would not have heard it anyway.

With the shake of his head, he headed out of his bedroom, aiming for the kitchen.

Jujay sat at the kitchen table, hunched over…a mug of hot chocolate. He could not believe they were up at the crack of dawn, as a normal day started a little thereafter. Further, he could not believe they were up because of a visitor of all things. This fact left him wondering who would call at such an hour. A thin smile added creases to his wrinkled face. The one thing he was certain of was whoever the caller might be was not here for Tarl.