Turning Twelve
Being a man isn't easy
Twelfth birthdays were important. They marked a change.
Children became men and women when they turned twelve.
When a boy became a man, it was called his Yergril.
Today Randulf was a man.
He stepped outside, feeling the warm, dry air of early summer on his face.
Randulf didn’t feel like a man, not that he knew what that felt like. He thought he might look different.
He cautiously faced the world the same as he had every day. Feeling insignificant and small.
There was one small thing that was new about him though. There was a wool cap on his head.
Caps were given as Yergil gifts and were worn until the young grew a beard.
The cap came from his mother. She worked many nights on it. He knew this because she told him. He was her youngest child and only son, so this was her only chance to do it right.
On his Yergil, a young man was permitted to do as he pleased so long as he caused no harm to person or property.
Many young men spent the day playing pranks or causing minor mischief.
Not Randulf.
He wanted nothing more than to sit by the river and watch the water the whole day. Alone.
Just a few steps from his door, a boy from the village appeared.
A few steps more and another came out.
Then another, and another until he was surrounded by twelve boys in all, taunting and teasing him.
This had been his life for as long as he could remember.
Randulf tried to ignore them, but it was no use. It was never any use.
As a man, nothing had changed... or maybe it had gotten worse. Now he had something they didn’t.
The cap.
The boys asked to see it.
None of them had one yet.
Then they asked again.
And again.
And again.
They even made a song of it. An awful, awful song.
Randulf hated them.
After asking fifty-seven times... yes, Randulf counted... he couldn’t take it any longer.
If he let them see it, just for a while, maybe they would leave him alone.
Maybe.
Probably not though.
He didn’t know what else to do.
Randulf opened his mouth to speak.
He hated speaking. No good ever came of it.
“Y-y-y-y-you h-h-h-have t-to g-g-g-g-give it b-b-b-back,” Randulf stammered uncomfortably, pulling the cap from his head.
They said they would.
Well, some of them did.
They took their time with it, holding it up, turning it inside out, ever trying it on.
After each boy had a turn, some more than one, Randulf felt it was time they gave it back.
“C-c-c-can I-I h-h-h-h-have it b-b-b-b-back n-n-n-n-n-n-now?”
The boys mocked his stutter. They always did. He was used to it, but being used to it didn’t make it hurt any less. If anything, now that he was a man, it hurt more.
They didn’t give the cap back.
This was no surprise.
Randulf hated them. He just wanted his cap and to be left alone.
“G-g-g-g-give i-i-it b-b-b-b-b-back n-n-n-n-now!”
Randulf tried to snatch it away, but he was too small and too slow. A vicious game of keep-away ensued with Randulf in the middle.
He ran and jumped after it, but the cap was always just out of reach.
Finally, he had a chance. One of the younger boys tried tossing it over Randulf’s head.
He jumped as high as he could; arms stretched as high as they could go.
Haust was a raven.
He had flown a long way.
A long, long way.
Too long.
It isn’t that he minded flying. He loved it.
Mostly what he loved was that it was something that goody-goody wolf, Varys couldn’t.
Varys was his best friend. He loved her, but he loved teasing her, maybe just a bit more than that.
Varys had done her part for the mistress and now it was his turn.
He was sure there would be more jobs. There always were.
The mistress didn’t say what the prophecy was, but Haust could tell that it was complicated.
The next time around, Haust hoped for something more exciting than stealing a stupid hat.
A hat!
He was fast. He was clever. He could fly. He could argue with a dragon out of its gold.
There was so much he could do and the mistress sent him to steal a little boy’s hat.
Pathetic.
He watched from a rooftop as the bigger, stronger boys took it from him.
Why was he even here? They had taken the hat for him!
Wait. No.
One of them boys was about to ruin everything!
Stupid boys!
Haust leapt from his perch and snatched hat just as its owner was about to catch it.
Varys couldn’t do that, now could she?
Randulf was shocked to come back down without the cap.
Some bird. Big and black. A crow maybe.
It snatched the cap before Randulf could grab it.
Even nature hated him.
The crow didn’t keep it for long, dropping it after a short while into the river.
He just dropped it and flew away.
Randulf pushed through the boys and stumbled down the uneven shore, tripping over tree roots and splashing into the river trying to catch it.
He made one last desperate lunge, but it was just out of reach.
The boys offered no help. Why would they?
Randulf clawed his way up the bank onto shore.
The boys watched in silence, then all ran away.
Randulf wasn’t ready to give up.
He sprinted down the shore, but it was too late. The cap was too far gone.
He fell to his knees and began to weep.
How could he go home?
His mother had worked so hard.
And his father. Oh gods, not his father.
Randulf lifted his head. He wiped his eyes and realized that, in a strange, awful way, he got what he wanted.
He was alone and he was by the river.