Chapter 1 continuation. ***** That night the stars twinkled brightly in the clear crisp sky and a quilt of quietness was wrapped around the dormant town of Aethelwal. Everyone was fast asleep ... everyone that was, but Kenelm. He lay restlessly in his humble bed, tossing and turning, unable to forget the events of the day. Ever since the departure of the stranger, who hunted fireflies in the Forest of Domgaar and lived to tell the tale, he had been unable to forget that lantern and its captivating beauty. The many coloured butterflies still danced on the ceiling of his mind. The flashes of pure white brilliance still lit-up his thoughts. His desire to own this unique delight had grown stronger with each passing moment until it became an obsession. It took control of both his mind and his body, and under its spell he rose from his tangled bedding, silently dressed and stole into the night. Driven by this unknown force, he subconsciously walked in the direction taken by the lantern maker. The soft meadow-mist brushed against his goatskin clad legs, like hundreds of friendly white cats, as mile after mile purred past. Into the night the spellbound youth followed the trail unaware that he too was being followed. No more than a few paces behind, a vicious-looking mountain grooler dogged his every step. Canine in appearance but the size of a large bear, these solitary stalkers were known to be fearless in attack, able to kill with a single blow of their many-clawed front paws. Step by step, mile by mile, hour by hour, the ever-alert grooler tracked Kenelm. Never more than a few paces behind, it stayed until, on the outskirts of the Forest of Domgaar, they arrived at an untidy coppice where a small stream noisily bashed and splashed over rocks and between trees. The grooler, ears pricked, stopped suddenly. It raised a twitching nose to the breeze, inhaled deeply, confirmed the presence of another being, then vanished into the early hours as silently as it had arrived. On the damp bank of the stream, in front of a fire of dying embers, lounged the lantern maker, his face and clothes painted red by the half-burnt logs. When Kenelm saw him, it reminded him of the stories told by his father, of the devil dressed in red, rising from the flames of Hell and icy fingers scratched at his tensed backbone. "Sir," he said, the word sticking in his parched throat. "I've travelled many hours through the night, to implore you to let me own the lantern of many colours. Tell me that it can be mine and let me know how I can repay you for it." The lantern maker thought hard. He knew that he had created a masterpiece that would be the envy of all, possibly the key to unlock wealth beyond his wildest dreams. He could become lantern maker to the Court of a Duke or even the King. In front of him stood a simple country lad. A lad with no power or money, just the unprofitable desire to own the lantern, his special lantern, but there was still a chance to make a profit. Here was a simple lad who could be used to carry out menial tasks ... a lad to be exploited. "I am called Tayne, named after the god who illuminated the heavens," he said. "Soon I will be renowned as the greatest lantern maker in the land. What is your name lad?" "Kenelm." "Well Kenelm, we will sleep now and consider your wish in the morning ... put some more wood on the fire before you lie down." As Kenelm gathered the firewood, he felt at peace with himself for the first time since he had first seen the multi-coloured lantern. He was sure, that one way or another, he would be able to persuade the lantern maker to let him be the one to own it. Sorry as he was, that he had left his father and brother without saying good-bye, he knew it had to be done. They would understand when he returned and explained that the lantern had cast a spell over him, and that he couldn't live without it. Now that it was close at hand he was contented and he soon fell asleep. **** A sharp jab in the back followed by a gruff voice, rudely awoke him from his short slumber. "Wake up Kenelm! Wake up! We can't stay here all day! There's breakfast to be cooked. You can cook, I hope!" Kenelm waved the sleep away from his half-open eyes. It seemed that he had only just fallen asleep, but the sun had now risen above the mountains and the shafts of its bright light shone through the branches of the small trees. Small birds busily flitted about as they attempted to catch the last of the nocturnal insects. The lantern maker stood over him with the sunlight tangled in his hairy face, a coarsely-woven shirt was patterned in matted grass and his trousers patched with half-dried mud. The happenings of the previous day and night flashed before Kenelm as he slowly regained control of his muddled brain. "Yes! I can cook," he mumbled. "I had to learn a long time ago, soon after my mother died. Please tell me Sir, have you decided about the lantern?" "Not yet," came the crafty reply. "I'm in no rush. What about my breakfast? Cook my oats and I might consider it a little sooner." Kenelm prepared the breakfast, as the lantern maker washed in the cool clear water and then asked. "Have you far to travel today?" "Yes," was the reply. "A three-day journey home, with two villages to visit on the way. I've orders for virtually all of my lanterns and the spare ones will soon sell." They sat together, on the grassy bank of the rushing rivulet eating their meal of boiled oats, a strangely contrasted pair of individuals, the unique lantern their only common bond. Kenelm, young clean-shaven with long flowing hair neatly tied with a leather thong. Tall, upright and slender as a young fir-tree, he towered over the lantern maker who, even in his prime, could not have matched the youth's good looks. During his forty or so years, many of them hunched over a bench working at his lanterns, his shoulders had rounded and sagged. Long periods of work, carried out in poor light, had caused him to squint through heavy puffy eyelids. The many days spent sleeping rough in his nocturnal quest for fireflies had permanently matted his unkempt hair and beard. To those not used to him and perhaps those who were, he was a fearsome sight. Kenelm was unsure of this smaller daunting figure beside him, but the desire to possess the lantern dulled his fears and lulled his senses. Breakfast over, Kenelm helped to pack the cart and harness the horse for the day's long journey. He was afraid to enquire again about the lantern. The lantern maker broke the painful silence. "Kenelm," he said at last. "I have decided to let you have the lantern but you'll have to pay for it by working for me. You must be prepared to work hard and long. I will take you as my apprentice, and in a few years time, no more than say ten, you will become a master craftsman and own the lantern. Then you will be able to make perfect lanterns like me." Kenelm took time to consider his next action. This was not the answer he had hoped for, or even expected, the conditions attached by the lantern maker would mean that he would be away from his father and brother for a very long time and he didn't want to be a lantern maker. He was contented helping at his father's smithy but he had to own the lantern. That very special lantern. The one and only lantern. His lantern, it had to be his. He had no choice but to agree to Tayne's offer and hope that he would not live to regret it! ***************************   Click to continue.