Before you read, a little challenge. Figure out where in the Western Hemisphere this takes place, right down to the province/territory if you can. As soon as you've figured it out, quote the line in your response. Enjoy!
Jamilla Albertskid stared out at the beautiful vista from the top of Plummer Hill. The pine and maple trees reminded her of home, but so much was different here. Rather than the Northwoods forests melting into the beach of Lake Huron, the forest hugged the Zumbro River, a much less remarkable but serviceable waterway. She knew that just a few miles out, the land was flat and dry, like the lake she grew up with but with waves of grass, not water. She nodded decisively. Yes, this place would be familiar in some ways, but different in others and full of new challenges. She would make something of this hamlet on the edge of nowhere.
“Impressive view, eh?”
Jamilla cringed slightly as she heard his voice. He had the sound of an undecided tenor with the velvety rasp of an adolescent. She had expected nothing less than this from a sixteen-year-old boy, but was it so wrong to hope for more? Putting on a cheery smile, Jamilla turned and faced the youth who intruded on her thoughts.
“Well hello there! Yah, it’s really nice up here. Ya must be Lars.”
“Jamilla!” barked her brother, Constantine. “Pa taught you better than that. Greet yer liege lord and promised husband with some respect.”
“Oh fer gosh sakes, I’m sorry!” Smiling a bit wider, and a bit more forced, she curtsied low. “Well met, Chief Lars of the Rochester tribe. I am Jamilla, daughter of Albert The Terror of the Lakes and late king of Superior. I greet ya and look forward to our upcoming wedding.”
As she rose from her genuflection, she studied her future husband closer. True, he hadn’t managed a beard yet, and still had a little of the baby fat of youth in his cheeks, but she could see some potential. Although obviously no warrior, his broad shoulders were those that came with hard work from a life of farming and chores. His eyes gleamed with an intelligence that belied his farm boy appearance.
“No worries, my lady,” said Lars with a confident smile. “I should expect that meeting the man ya’ve been waiting for all yer life is a bit overwhelming. Yer manners do ya credit.”
So that’s how it was, eh? Her manners did indeed do her credit. She refrained from rolling her eyes. Lars continued.
“I thought perhaps we might go on a walk along the trails as we enjoy the vista and ya could get ta know me better. Chief Constantine has agreed ta accompany us as a chaperone.”
Constantine scowled at the two of them. Her twin was good at scowling. She remembered that same scowl on his face as they approached the gates of Rochester earlier that morning. “Sister,” he he had said, piercing her with his eyes as though she were an enemy on the field of battle. “This alliance is important. I am not afraid ta stand alone against my enemies, but I cannot win without allies. I have but one county ta my name. I need Rochester’s levies. Ya must make a good impression, and that means keeping yer mouth shut and yer secrets where they belong.”
Jamilla turned toward her brother and spoke with deliberate, exaggerated calm. “Ya’ve got nothin’ ta worry about from me, Constantine. I’m not gonna ruin this chance ta leave you behind. Just remember, I’m not the only one with secrets ya don’t want out. You behave yerself while we’re here, too, or yer stuck with me.”
Predictably, he’d scowled at that. He didn’t disagree, though. He knew that she knew.
However, he was right. There were a few things she wasn’t ready for her soon-to-be husband to know yet. Fortunately, he had provided her with an easy out. All she had to do was let him do all the talking.
“What a marvelous idea! Lead the way and tell me all about yerself. I wanna know everything.”
She saw Lars stand up a little straighter. He extended his arm, which she took, and strutted down the walking trail with Jamilla at his side and Constantine trailing behind, still scowling.
“Well, where ta start?” He paused and thought for a moment, “I suppose the best place ta start a story is at the beginning, eh? I was born here in Rochester.”
Oh fer gosh sakes, thought Jamilla, this could be a very long walk.
“It’s not like yer Great Lake, but it is a place full of history and magic. Fer centuries, Rochester has been a place known fer its healing powers and a gatherin’ place of scholars and men of great vision. It has shaped me inta the man I am today, and now I will shape it into a place worthy of some new sagas. My parents recently passed on, with my pa leavin’ me as chief of this tribe with additional holdings in the county of Shakopee. The people of Rochester live ta serve the legacy of Dramaticus in all they do and as his direct descendent, I intend ta not only build on that legacy, but surpass it.”
“My oh my, a descendent of Dramaticus,” said Jamilla, pretending to be impressed. “I didn’t know that he had children.”
“He did, but that part of his history isn’t much known outside of these parts.”
Jamilla’s smile was more genuine this time. She always had loved a good story and the Legend of Dramaticus was one of the best. “I’ll be just tickled pink ta meet with all yer elders ta learn more. Can ya imagine what it must have been like back then? The Event. Death and destruction raining down upon ya and everyone ya know. He must’ve been an amazing leader to form one of the first tribes, eh? And ta think that the Rochester tribe lives on today! Fer gosh sakes, he must have been clever, tenacious, and inspiring.”
Lars stopped for a moment and stared at her, apparently stunned by her words. His swagger transformed as he leaned in close to her, his entire body was energized and tense, like a string on a violin about to be played by a virtuoso. “Yer interested in the ancient legends? Truly?” His question was very softspoken, obviously so her scowling brother couldn’t hear the question. In that moment of quiet query, though, there was something more than just uncertainty: there was a true sense of wonder for the Old Stories. The little boy who still had residence in some small part of Lars shone through, but not in the off-putting way of a strutting young peacock compensating for lack of experience with bravado. No, this was the guilelessness of a child at night listening to sagas around the campfire. It was the first completely genuine thing he'd said so far. She was disarmed by his excitement… and intrigued. She also realized that her answer would matter to him.
“I mean, most people aren’t,” he continued, talking far too fast to continue the pretense of suave confidence he had adopted so far. “Everyone knows a few of the stories, but most don’t want ta
really know them. They just think they’re tales ta help the little ones fall asleep at night. Me, I wanna know what really happened.” In the silence that followed his confession, he looked away, and a blush crept up his cheeks.
Jamilla could scarcely believe the glimmer of insight that this jumped-up lordling gave her into something he truly cared about. Gathering herself together, Jamila let go of his arm and turned to face him. Lars immediately pulled back, startled and perhaps afraid of what she might say, but when her eyes locked on his, she knew that he saw the intensity that she felt building in her soul.
“Ever since I was a little girl, the sagas have spoken ta me deeply. Odin, Freya, Thor, and all the rest of the Gods connect with us through the stories. They push us ta be better people than we are today. Sometimes, one of us mortals is Chosen by the Gods to do great things and has their favor. One such man was Dramaticus. Ta study his tale, ta know how it truly goes is ta understand what the Gods demand of all of us. These old tales have power. Those who ignore the wisdom of the Gods and dismiss it as bedtime stories fer babes may find that, when they arrive at their final sleep, they don’t wake up in Vallhallafame. They are not worthy of the honor. Yes, Lars, yer stories are important.”
She extended her arm, which he took in his as they started to walk down the path toward the gates of the tribe’s encampment. “By the way,” said Jamilla, breaking the companionable silence, “yer kinda cute when you blush.” They said no more as they walked together up to back to the tribe’s encampment.
