ribbon and handing it to Dera, he opened the package and looked inside. It was a knife, the blade copper, the handle silver, and the runes of a spell covered the length of the blade.
He looked up at Rob. “Where did you…?”
“I read a description of it in the Saga of the Winter King, the Gathering Knife of the Healer. It was a little difficult to find someone to work the spell into the blade, but it is there, ready for you to make your own.”
“This one.” Galen couldn’t wait and handed Rob a square package. “They actually go together, so open the top one then the bottom one.”
“Okay.” Rob pulled the ribbon with sparkling stars off and handed it to Dor, then tore the paper off. He pulled the small harp out and looked up at Galen and without waiting ripped open the other package, gently turning the ancient book over in his hands. “The Songs of
Taliesin
?”
“It’s only a Thirteenth Century edition. They are meant to be sung, like all the Sagas, and you always do sing. I thought you should have a harp to accompany you.”
Rob was squinting at the harp an odd unfocussed look Galen recognized as his brother trying to use the Gift of Sight. Rob looked a moment longer then up at Galen, his eyes shining. “You made it.” The smile that lit his face reminded Galen of his brother as a child, his heart light, and the laughter that rang out through their apartment was every bit as joyful as it had been. “My harp. I…”
“It’s Tradition isn’t it?” Galen asked. He knew it was, and knew that for his brother the Tradition would make it mean that much more. In times past, as Rob was fond of saying, the elder brother bestowed a harp on the younger brother. Symbol of his role as holder of history, adviser, bard. The harp had magical qualities as well, the longer it was used the more power it gained. At his death the harp would be destroyed and the pieces buried with him.
“You made it?”
“Yes, I chose the wood, and the spell, made the oils and tuned it for your voice.” Galen smiled gently. “You keep the Sagas, Rob. You keep Tradition.”
“Yes.” Rob took a somewhat unsteady breath, tears bright in his eyes. “Well, I should have given you this first, since there is no way I can ever top what you just gave me…” Dera and Dor chuckled. “But here.” He pushed a package across the table. “Because of everything that’s happened this year, I thought you should have something special.”
Galen picked it up, it was obviously a book. He glanced up at his brother, Rob and the ravens looked back with suspicious innocence. Not sure what the looks were about he carefully untied the ribbon and offered it to the ravens. They refused it and waited. Galen unfolded the paper and turned the book over in his hands. Sixteenth Century judging by the look of it, although he could be off by a century.
“You got me a copy of Galen?” Galen cleared his throat. He had several, but none this old.
“Look inside, at the inscription.”
Galen carefully opened the cover and stared at the name scrawled in the book. His hands started shaking.
“It’s genuine, Galen, I checked and rechecked.”
“But Rob…” He looked up at his brother and smiled, ignoring the tears on his cheeks. “It’s real?”
“It is. Seemed fitting, you know? You’re named for them both.”
“I….” Galen swallowed. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.”
“Happy Birthday, Brat,” Galen said, brushing the tears away.
“Happy Birthday, Galen,” Rob said, gently running his fingers over the harp strings.
The downstairs door banged open, breaking the mood. Galen reverently touched the signature “Nicholas Culpepper” before gently closing the book and putting it carefully on the shelf.
“Get down here! There’s Clang to carry!” Flash called.
Rob groaned and Dor and Dera took off with a happy noise. Galen knew they were headed straight for Flash’s car.
The End
About the
He looked up at Rob. “Where did you…?”
“I read a description of it in the Saga of the Winter King, the Gathering Knife of the Healer. It was a little difficult to find someone to work the spell into the blade, but it is there, ready for you to make your own.”
“This one.” Galen couldn’t wait and handed Rob a square package. “They actually go together, so open the top one then the bottom one.”
“Okay.” Rob pulled the ribbon with sparkling stars off and handed it to Dor, then tore the paper off. He pulled the small harp out and looked up at Galen and without waiting ripped open the other package, gently turning the ancient book over in his hands. “The Songs of
Taliesin
?”
“It’s only a Thirteenth Century edition. They are meant to be sung, like all the Sagas, and you always do sing. I thought you should have a harp to accompany you.”
Rob was squinting at the harp an odd unfocussed look Galen recognized as his brother trying to use the Gift of Sight. Rob looked a moment longer then up at Galen, his eyes shining. “You made it.” The smile that lit his face reminded Galen of his brother as a child, his heart light, and the laughter that rang out through their apartment was every bit as joyful as it had been. “My harp. I…”
“It’s Tradition isn’t it?” Galen asked. He knew it was, and knew that for his brother the Tradition would make it mean that much more. In times past, as Rob was fond of saying, the elder brother bestowed a harp on the younger brother. Symbol of his role as holder of history, adviser, bard. The harp had magical qualities as well, the longer it was used the more power it gained. At his death the harp would be destroyed and the pieces buried with him.
“You made it?”
“Yes, I chose the wood, and the spell, made the oils and tuned it for your voice.” Galen smiled gently. “You keep the Sagas, Rob. You keep Tradition.”
“Yes.” Rob took a somewhat unsteady breath, tears bright in his eyes. “Well, I should have given you this first, since there is no way I can ever top what you just gave me…” Dera and Dor chuckled. “But here.” He pushed a package across the table. “Because of everything that’s happened this year, I thought you should have something special.”
Galen picked it up, it was obviously a book. He glanced up at his brother, Rob and the ravens looked back with suspicious innocence. Not sure what the looks were about he carefully untied the ribbon and offered it to the ravens. They refused it and waited. Galen unfolded the paper and turned the book over in his hands. Sixteenth Century judging by the look of it, although he could be off by a century.
“You got me a copy of Galen?” Galen cleared his throat. He had several, but none this old.
“Look inside, at the inscription.”
Galen carefully opened the cover and stared at the name scrawled in the book. His hands started shaking.
“It’s genuine, Galen, I checked and rechecked.”
“But Rob…” He looked up at his brother and smiled, ignoring the tears on his cheeks. “It’s real?”
“It is. Seemed fitting, you know? You’re named for them both.”
“I….” Galen swallowed. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.”
“Happy Birthday, Brat,” Galen said, brushing the tears away.
“Happy Birthday, Galen,” Rob said, gently running his fingers over the harp strings.
The downstairs door banged open, breaking the mood. Galen reverently touched the signature “Nicholas Culpepper” before gently closing the book and putting it carefully on the shelf.
“Get down here! There’s Clang to carry!” Flash called.
Rob groaned and Dor and Dera took off with a happy noise. Galen knew they were headed straight for Flash’s car.
The End
About the
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