The
first of summer means the first of labor. Citizens of Vashti have migrated in
droves of tens of thousands west of the Welson River. This land is absolutely
breathtaking. The forests are so lush, the air is so fresh, and food from these
near virgin farmlands has flavor like nothing grown in Vashti. For the
last four years I have looked forward to summertime with Erickson to learn of
architecture and the perks of lordship.
Erickson has taught me to read and write, and last night he gave me this
journal and told me to put an entry in it every night. Well, judging by the
number of pages, he must not expect me to live out the year, so I’m only going
to write about important things.
As Erickson's paid laborer, I do well, but I think this is because he knows I send a fourth of my wealth home to help my parents. My dream is to build a home out here, at this site for all of us, where we can escape the hardships of Vashti, and that dying farm, for something a little more...free.
After a hard days work, we spent the evening at the pub drinking and
feasting. Unbelievable, there serenading the drunkards was Maria. I’m 16 so she
has to be 15, we have grown so much since my first summer here five years ago.
She’s pretty. I wonder what she thinks of me. She sang and danced so
wonderfully with her hair tied up in blue ribbons.
Erickson elbowed me when he caught me gawking. With his head against a whore’s breast and his meaty hand around his stein, he told me a woman had
never loved him, thus he had no sons. He’d been a friend to my father for so
long he thought of him as a brother, and me, a nephew. As he put it, ”should
the drink take me before a lonely heart, I’ll leave my business to you.”
Pleased, I bought him another drink. I don’t know what he meant about the love
part, but he gets wild when he starts drinking. Just after the stein I bought
him, he led the bar in song himself.
This
gave me a good chance to talk to Maria. Before I could get to her though,
Norman burst into the bar. He’s so serious, but he had such a look of
urgency that I thought he was going to slug Erickson when he hollered at him
to stop singing. When all was quiet he unfolded a letter from the Vashti
Capital. King Rames had passed away. He was a great man. The last war with
Genzak took all the old king had left in him. It left the country poor and him
deathly ill. Still we were shocked at the news.
Ever leery, John and Beck began to speak ill of Prince Eduard who was to
take the throne. In all the commotion, I missed my chance to talk to Maria. She
had already gone home. I must admit, I have always ignored the skepticisms of
those gaffers, but tonight they left me with the unease to write.
-Gerrik of Vashti
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