Author: Sam

Story: The Never-ending Story: 12 of 33

Series: none

Setting: Summer 1987: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Sheila- 18, Varla- 18, Jaref- assumed 40's, Marinda- assumed 40's

Feedback: Yes, please? Especially constructive. samwise_baggins@yahoo.co.uk

Webpage: http://www.oocities.org/samwise_baggins/index.html

Jaref wiped his brow, then stooped to pick up the load of firewood he'd been cutting. This was actually an order for the woman at the other end of the village, in exchange for some of her eggs and the occasional chicken. It worked best that way, as she couldn't chop her own wood, and Jaref didn't have the patience to raise animals.

As he positioned the bound bundle on his back, the man called out to his wife indoors. "Going to deliver the order." Thankfully, her voice stopped him from making the long trek unnecessarily.

"She's here with a wagon to pick it up. Came to deliver the poultry, Jaref. Come inside after you load her wagon."

With a sigh, the man headed around the small cottage to the front. He nodded at the sight of the tiny wagon, depositing the bundle neatly in the back. Turning, Jaref took a moment to look at his house. Pride filled him at the knowledge that no matter what had happened, he'd kept his home and way of life... and managed to keep most of his family together as well.

Frowning, Jaref shook off that thought, burying the loss of his other child deep, where it had been for over fifteen years. He was fortunate to have his wife and daughter, and reminded himself of such luck. Wiping his feet on the stoop, the man walked inside and nodded to the four women in the small room.

Varla smiled and ran to hug him. Guiding him more out of affection than necessity, the eighteen-year-old led the way to the table; she offered him his customary chair and sat too. His daughter leaned over and whispered in his ear, "She thinks Sheila's pretty and actually managed to get her to understand what she was saying. She's doing much better reading lips. It's why Sheila's blushing."

Indeed, when Jaref turned to look at the other redhead at his table, the teen was blushing furiously, eyes downcast. He couldn't resist a smile for the Thief, even though she didn't look up to see it. Turning to his other guest, he bestowed the smile on her instead.

"I was just saying how pretty your girls are, Jaref. And a miracle, too, if you ask me. Eighteen years and no one else remembers... but I was friends with Midwife then, and she told me you had twins. Not an easy birth as I recall her saying, either."

The last of the four women, Marinda, turned, hands shaking as she wrapped them in her apron. She made some mumbled excuse to leave the small room. The man didn't blame her; he wanted this subject to end, as well. Instead, he turned his smile to a frown and shook his head, opening his mouth to speak.

The woman cut him off, instead. "Oh, no you don't, Jaref. You'll say either I'm an old fool or should mind my own business. Both, more like. But I know what I know. You had twins and one was taken from you by your sister from far away. And the next I hear your sister up and died and the babe went missing. Well, it's good you've got your child back, and that's all I'm trying to say. She's lovely, even if she don't look much like either of you."

Sheila, who'd looked up in time to see the woman's mouth forming the words, was flushing horribly at the assumption that she was related to her host. She was, after all, a guest in their home. Odder still, she was older than Varla, and had told the woman that when she'd asked. But this didn't seem to have sunk into the elder's head. The Thief looked at Jaref, biting her lip, and was partially relieved when he sent her a small if bitter smile.

Then, he interrupted the rambling neighbor. "We had twins, yes, but the other was a boy, not a girl. Sheila's a guest in our home. You might recall that she was here once before." At that, however, he didn't elaborate, feeling it was better not to draw too much attention to his own business. "Sheila's a year older than our Varla."

Silence fell on the group.

It was some minutes before the woman spoke again, in a more determined voice. "Well, be that as it may, I still say she's a lovely girl... and very pretty manners, too. Does you proud, Jaref, having a daughter like that. She was raised right by whoever got hold of her, I can see." It was useless; the woman refused to believe that Varla and Sheila weren't siblings, that the red hair was a mere coincidence.

Marinda returned to the room and placed some sewing on her own chair. She then hurried to get more tea for the group before sitting and starting on her sewing. At least she'd gathered herself while she was out of the room so there was no evidence of hurt emotions or years of pain in her face.

Their neighbor turned to her causing Jaref to wince. He had a feeling they wouldn't get rid of this woman until she'd exhausted her subject, and that would create a lot of pain to sort through for the entire family. As it was, Varla hadn't known about her brother; she was sitting there staring at her father, stunned.

"I believe it's close to dark and you have far to go. May I see you to the door?"

The old woman looked up, cutting off her own statement at the younger woman's comment. Looking around, she noted the deepening shadows and the tired, strained looks on the foursome's faces. She nodded and left, surprisingly without even another word. The door closing behind her was the only break in the absolute silence.

The sound of the neighbor's cart was barely faded when Varla jumped on her parents verbally. "I have a brother? What happened; why didn't you tell me?" Her mother winced and shook her head, for once the reticent one.

The man of the house took charge of the conversation. "When you were born, your mother near bled to death, Varla. The second babe, your brother, was so tiny and weak, Midwife said he wouldn't last the night. My sister was visiting and said she'd take the child away and bury him when he passed."

"And? What else? How'd he go missing?" The teen was on the edge of her seat, gripping the hard wood with both hands. Her eyes were intent on her father's face, wanting to catch every nuance.

"And my sister was killed in a fire. The babe was never found, though I was told an unknown man was seen there. Either he took the baby for some unknown reason, which doesn't make sense, or the babe died before or in the fire and was buried or burned. That's it. It was a long time ago, and a very painful time for both of us, Varla." His voice held a warning to not push too far.

Varla merely nodded and tilted her head. "Can I know his name, Father? I should at least know his name..." her voice was soft out of respect for her parent's grief. It was obvious she'd drop the subject if this last question was answered.

It was her mother, not her father who answered her. "AelbhUrt. His name was AelbhUrt, Varla. Now, it's time to set the table for supper." The woman looked older than she had that morning, but she smiled thankfully and quickly hugged her daughter when the girl offered to do the work for her.

Sheila moved off to help as well, silently worrying her lip. She should have left when the old lady did, left the family in private to discuss their loss. She should not have stayed to interfere with their grief, even though she'd kept her head down so she didn't know exactly what they'd said... but there weren't many places she could have gone, either, even if for the few minutes the conversation had taken.

Lying in bed, Sheila couldn't find sleep. She worried about the old woman's assumptions and how the rest of the village might react to them, as well as how it would affect the family she was living with. The Thief turned over, nibbling her lip, and froze.

Varla was awake, staring intently at her from the other bed.

"Um... Varla?" Sheila tried to whisper, hoping she wouldn't disturb the couple in the other bedroom.

The Illusionist slipped out of her bed and moved over to Sheila's. She looked at her directly, speaking clearly so Sheila might read her lips. It wasn't an easy task and Sheila usually only caught a few words of a conversation. "I wanted to talk about my brother."

Shaking her head, Sheila whispered back. "Maybe you shouldn't. Your Mom was pretty upset, Varla."

"I know." Varla leaned over to light the oil lamp on the table between their beds. Turning, she smiled. "Let's practice those signs we..." she sighed, realizing she'd gone to fast for Sheila's limited abilities. "Signs..."

Sheila nodded, still biting her lip, and sat up as well. The two girls worked slowly, inventing signs for common words and practicing them over and over to memorize them. Varla went so far as to write them down on some paper she'd gotten in the village. It was definitely a way to pass a restless night, and would hopefully help in the long run. After all, Jaref had admitted a few weeks before that Sheila had been sent to help him in the coming war.

That had been a terrifying night, a long, slow process of writing messages back and forth until the Thief had run out of things to say. The woodcutter still refused to explain what his task in the war was, but he encouraged Sheila to try to fit into the family, obviously planning on having her around for quite some time. Sheila helped around the house, and worried in her bed at night, hoping the others were okay... and wondering if she'd ever get her hearing back.

It was dawn before the girls were satisfied with their newest efforts and went to bed for the last few hours they were allowed to sleep.

The knock on the door went unheard by one girl and ignored by the other. It had to be followed by another knock then the door opening and an exasperated voice demanding they get up and get to their chores. Varla groaned in exhaustion as she rolled out of bed to wake an equally tired Sheila.

The girls barely had time for breakfast before they were doing cleaning and other chores around the cottage. They had started the habit of trying to sign back and forth during these times, but weren't very successful at it, as they kept having to check their notes. This would interfere in work and get them in trouble for goofing off. This day, however, their signs were more recognizable and both girls would inadvertently break into giggles every few minutes.

Marinda didn't correct them for going slow, for once. The sound of the giggling girls made her heart feel a bit lighter. After all, she was still freshly grieving for a long lost child. It took only moments for the quick-witted woman to catch on to what the girls were giggling about.

With a smile, she stepped in between them. "Okay, how do I get involved in this silliness?"

Laughing, Varla skipped off to get the notes and passed them to her mother for review. "We're trying to come up with a way to talk to each other. Sheila said they use their hands in her world, if they're deaf. So, we thought we'd try that. It's hard, but fun." She grinned at her mother, but went back to work.

"Oh... really?" The woman continued to smile as she flipped through the notes, trying a couple of the easier looking signs. Her smile turned to a laugh when she came across the sign for her own name and for her husband's, as well as for both girls. "And what's this?" She made the sign they'd written for Sheila.

Sheila recognized it instantly and giggled. "That's my name. Isn't it great?" She walked over to point out the names for her other friends.

All laughter came to an abrupt end as Jaref's voice intruded. "What's going on here?" He sounded quite harsh. Sheila winced; she'd been looking at the door and couldn't miss his entrance.

"Oh! Father... we..." Varla cleared her throat and tried again. "We were using our hands to speak with Sheila... it's called signing. It's so much easier than reading lips."

The man strode over and took the notes, glancing through them with a frown. He looked up at Sheila briefly, then back at the notes. Finally, with a drawn out whistle, he nodded and looked up. "This is what I've been needing all this time..."

"What?" His wife looked confused, then her eyes widened. "Oh, Jaref! For the mission? But... how could you..."

He interrupted again with a sour smile. "Because I intend all of us to learn Sheila's signing. Then we can communicate without anyone else knowing what we say. It's perfect for what we have to do."

"But they're only children, Jaref! They shouldn't even go..."

"They'll both go because I need them both to go. Dungeon Master specifically sent Sheila to us to help and her cloak may be one of the main reasons. Varla's gift will also help when we finally start."

Marinda shook her head, tears welling up. "But, children, Jaref?"

Varla interrupted gently. "Perhaps, Father, it's time to tell us just what mission Dungeon Master has planned for us... and how signing will help it?"