Olaf reappeared at his family home a dozen and half years later: he was a lot older and wiser, a lot less bastardy, yet still a man that liked to play with others. The account of his lost years is revealed only partially, in different times and places, and of course to different people, with different context, timing, events, and characters, making the full and actual account practically known by none – including himself, if you ask me. I did an extensive research, read all that I could about his whereabouts and the events that surrounded him, yet couldn’t really make a timeline of what he had gone through. Hence, I ask your pardon not only if my account of these eighteen years isn’t right but also for me skipping almost everything but three things, three major events that changed the course of his personal history. For the curious, I’ll tell about details that I omit here, like the time he helped a crown prince become the crowned king or how he, of course with a price, helped three sisters recover their family fortune, at a later time but for now let’s focus on the matter at hand and learn about the three events that I mentioned:
He came across a band of bandits the week he left home and all his coin was stolen. Hungry and tired, putting his talents for good use for the first time, he managed to join a trade caravan and travelled, for ten and half years, almost all south between the white and blue seas, went all the way south to the Gate of Hell, the hilly cape that hosts a cave from which no adventurer returned, and saw some bit of north, the eastern shores up to today’s Iena, the town than a city which was called Yamuna back then. I as well still wonder why the M was dropped but my extensive research, sadly, returned no results.
He didn’t change profession, no. War broke out and the king called for all able bodied men – need I add that Olaf was among them? He wouldn’t mind fighting, it was one of the things he wanted to try in life but he was caught on the wrong side: they lost, Olaf got captured, and got sold as a slave to a Bourlander, a south-western seafarer. A year and half he spent serving his kind and nice master, but as a slave and serving a master. His former generations had forgotten serfdom already, and slavery? No, man, totally unacceptable. To-tal-ly unacceptable.
The chance showed itself on a cold winter night. His master was sick and the household were busy with him. Olaf slipped from the door and looked behind at the gate to see the son of his master watching him. “Follow me” he whispered and led Olaf to the stables, handing him a horse – a rather old and grumpy one, but a horse nonetheless. “Go, be merry” he said. “I shall” Olaf replied, remembered his last words to his family, smiled and continued. “I shall return and pay back what I’ve left behind. You be merry either, I’m not done yet”.
Free air on a horseback after many months, what else would one want? Some food first, for Olaf fled with an empty stomach, just before the dinner, and some warmth later for, well, warmth. He realized that he needed stuff and returned to steal only what he needed: bit of food and a robe, plus some gold, silver, and coin. This also marked the beginning of his new life: banditry. He didn’t need to look much to find sidekicks, his kind know each other even from their smell. A seasoned guy in honest and not-so-honest work, his band survived six winters and dissolved only when Olaf decided to settle, when they made enough for each one of the twelve to buy titles and live happily ever after – yet not for this reason: The king was dead in the end, Olaf was banished from the land no more. He felt like he wouldn’t see as many days as he already did and the urge to settle, at a place that he knows and likes, proved itself to be a stronger feeling than making more and more coin. “Who cares if my grave will be golden” he thought. “It’s to spend, not spare”.
It was fear in her eyes when his eldest sister saw him coming. She didn’t drop what she had in her hands or walk slowly back with a frustrated face, Olaf didn’t live in Hollywood. She saw him coming and stood and watched him walking towards her. Olaf was a whisper away.
“Remember what I told you when I was leaving?”
“What do you want?”
“Nothing much.”
He walked home with his sister behind, following. He, holding carefully, took the already more than century old parchment. Then he turned back to find all his family, or all that once was and would be his family, watching him.
“You desire to be rid of me, this is the price to pay. Any oppositions? Nay? Good. I fare thee well my dear family. We’ll meet in another life and in better conditions, I’m sure of it.”
Not as great a farewell as many would desire it to be, but it was one that filled the hearts of his family with joy and that’s what mattered the most. Olaf hugged his sisters, their husbands and children, went to visit his mother’s grave, which was laid just next to his father’s, and after a lengthy interrogation, for neither the guards nor then mayor believed that the seal was genuine and they needed to find the scribe, who was searched for two hours and found in the bathhouse, enjoying his time with wenches during work hours. No one knows if to return to the girls fast or from the shame of being caught, he took a brief look at the seal and swore that it was the very same seal he had seen in the archives. Olaf was back between these tall and beautiful walls after almost two decades of wandering in the big and beautiful world.
He wasn’t to retire and enjoy his cart-full spoils yet. Who would prefer city over countryside in that case? No, he was to start a business of his own, the first of its kind. He could easily retire and see his days off in luxury. This business was more for fun and excitement than coin.
He didn’t quite know how things were then, for which rented a room, the most luxurious one with goose down bedding at the Hoppers Inn, and was in the queue the next morning to speak to the mayor. Alas, it took week for him to find the chance and explain his business idea.
“You mad? How would such a thing work?”
“You’ll see with your own two tiny eyes, sir, if you’ll allow me.”
“This needs going to the Lord himself. It’s no bakery or butchery for me to just approve of it. Give me your papers and I’ll send them. Next!”
Yeah, bureaucracy. But there always are ways to speed things up – at least a bit, and of course if you’re willing to. It did cost Olaf a simple golden necklace for the mayor’s wife and a jade-golden bracelet for the lord’s. Another week and he had his permit, signed and sealed by the Lord and his mayor, mentioning the flat rate to pay together with the percentage, both as the turnout and the profit, for neither of the two were informed of the royal edict held by Olaf, and hence meaning all he needed to now was to find a place. You think he was to spend more time for this? Of course not! While waiting for the papers to arrive, he not only found a three-storey but also managed to convince its owner to sell for a really reasonable price, leave old furniture for Olaf’s use, and pay all dues, from city tax to residence tax, before Olaf moved in.
Olaf was in his new home and was looking for three hands, not slaves for he learned how it felt to be one but hands, one guard, one cook and cleaner, and one assistant for his everyday works, and had ordered furniture and appliances by the time the paper had arrived. Things weren’t going as fast as he’d rather but at least were smooth – till finding a good cook proved itself to be a real problem, one bigger than being pursued by the guards.
Olaf had a huge band of twelve I said, one of them was a cook who did nothing but cooking – never did he draw a weapon or track any trace. He was taken better care of than Olaf himself, he was given the best remedy when he got sick and slept at the best bed, all and only for him to make the best hare stew, mushroom soup or honey chicken, the three favourite dishes of Olaf. He had three cooks in his six years, two leaving after six months and the last being around for the rest of the time up until the time of the band’s dissolution. “I’m to see my wife again, boss” the cook had said, mentioning of a wife for the first time. “Take her and remain my cook, I’ll pay well” Olaf said but the cook’s mind was made already. “You’re not the first neither the best, I’ll find another, then” he thought and released the guy. He sure wouldn’t had he known that a good cook was a fortune but it was way too late once he realized.
He increased the pay from two to three silver coins a month, then to four but to no avail. Considering a silver coin was enough to feast a family of five every evening, he was generous beyond his standards. He was sick of passing Hopper’s each time so he went directly to its cook – of course to her home and not while she was working. They agreed on two gold coins a month, five times what Olaf advertised to pay but he was happy with the deal nonetheless.
He slept for a happy morning in the night and found the innkeeper at his door. “None steals my cook” he was shouting trying to break the door. “He who dares will face the consequences”. The consequences? No, not a fight. Years might have passed but Olaf’s fame, at least part of it, had returned with him. The consequence was going to the court. The mayor, right hand of the lord, was serving as the judge. He listened to the innkeeper, then Olaf, then the cook. Hearing was short, as was the verdict: Ten leashes for the innkeeper for bringing such stupid case to the court and two each to Olaf and the cook for not asking the innkeeper’s permission to talk in advance. No one was happy, meaning the justice was served. Isn’t this the case – what’s just never makes everyone happy?
It was two months since he returned the city when all preparations were over. Spring, the best time to be in Surford was just round the corner. He checked each floor and every detail of his work and felt proud. The mission was perfectly executed. All that’s left was preparing the ads for the city and beyond, then wait for flocks to flood. For long had he the idea but writing the ad proved itself to be hard, because of which on it he worked, as hard as he could, for a week, writing in all lengths from one sentence to a paper-full, using a modern language and an antique one, and liking none. In the end he decided to wake up the next morning and write whatever comes to his mind:
“Prophets, fortune-tellers, soothsayers, shamans, priests, and all other sorts of men and women of Gods! Your guild has opened and is ready to be a place where you gather, exchange ideas, hone your skills, preach, and find followers. Come, enlighten the people, save their souls!
Address: Summer Palace Road, Prophets Guild, Surford.
Application: Olaf Briarsson.
PS: Don’t worry if you’re poor! Registration is free, you’ll be charged as per your proceedings.”
