Chapter One

Malcolm’s Cage

From his perch on top of the thirty-foot wooden wall, Malcolm could see both worlds: the cage and the forbidden freedom. The light of the midnight moon danced all over, revealing glimmers of life in the forest in front of him; glowing green eyes of a vermin, or the light-brown fur of a night-raiding cougar.  

This was Malcolm’s haven, his fortress: on top of the wall, in the silence and dark of midnight.  This was the only place he felt like himself.  The world behind him, in the village, was oppressive, strict, and achingly dull.  But what his deep clover-green eyes could see out there, that world excited him.  All the others seemed to be ok with the daily drudgery of village life.  But he couldn’t be like them.

Malcolm sat there for a while, taking in the sounds and smells of the forbidden realm in front of him. The cool breeze of the midnight summer air caressed his shaggy blond curls.  He knew he didn’t have much time.  In a matter of minutes, the night guard patrolling the street below would see his tall slender frame hunched on top of the wall and notify his colleagues.  Then five men would climb the stairway up to the top of the wall and drag him back home.  On the five-minute walk home, the protection squad would tell him about the dangers of sitting on the wall and that it was an offense punishable by the council.  Then the deal.  They always gave him a deal!  They’d say, “If you promise not to do this again tomorrow night, we won’t make a report of it.”  I mean, how dumb could they be?  How many times are they going to make that deal?  Every night, it seemed.  Sometimes, Malcolm wished that they would just bring him to the council and be done with it.  But he supposed that they were squeamish about reporting a teenager.  And maybe deep down, they all thought sitting on the top of the wall and dreaming of adventure was harmless. Not likely, Malcolm thought as he was rudely returned to reality by the knocking sound of a wooden ladder making contact with the wall. Here they come.  Malcolm looked down and saw two protection squad officers at the bottom of the ladder getting ready to mount it.

“Hey, kid, you know you have a gate of your own back in your slum!”

“Yeah, you could just climb that and save us all the hassle of going up there to get you every night!”  projected Garry, the head of the squadron for the night shift.  Malcolm almost regarded these guys as his friends, he had been through this so many times.    

“Hey Gar, you know the slum gate doesn’t have much of a view! I might as well have something nice to look at to break my fall.”  Malcolm answered in kind, laughing at the ridiculousness of this routine.  As he sat at the top of the wall waiting for the guys to come up the ladder, he played with the idea of just knocking the ladder over. That would probably buy him a few minutes and might even result in a laugh if no one got hurt of course.  It’s not like he wasn’t already in trouble.  Trouble didn’t really bother Malcolm. It was as common as his mother’s Saturday pot of soup simmering over their wood stove.

He looked directly down the wall.  It was only about thirty feet to the ground.  He was sick of being hauled down by Garry, so he decided to start his descent on his own. “Alright guys, I’m coming down.”  He turned himself around and using his oversized feet, felt for a footing on the wall and slowly made his way down towards the ground.

Once he was down, the officers jumped off the ladder and launched themselves at him, putting him in the scratchy homemade ropes that he had become accustomed to, and started to pull him down the street towards his slum gate.  

It wasn’t a long walk.  They walked about five hundred meters then turned down a narrow alley that connected to the main drag. About halfway up the alley on the left side of the street, there was a towering ancient gate made of thick wood boards and decorated by rusted iron, that may have looked nice eighty years ago, but now only looked sinister. The guards pulled open the gate, revealing a stone courtyard lined by a U-shaped housing complex, and thrust Malcolm inside.

“Alright, alright, just get in there.  And get to bed.  And try to think about the good things in life, eh?”  Garry teased, shutting the gate behind him. The thud of the wooden door as it closed behind him was immense, and the grisly sound of the rusty six-foot piece of iron sliding over the lock would scratch the inside of his ears all night.

Malcolm walked across the cobblestone courtyard to the most run-down and smallest hovel in the area.  He reached his arm through the broken window so that he could unlock the front door that he knew his mother kept locked. He entered the cold dark of his mother’s one-room hovel and immediately wanted to retreat again, especially since he knew what new restrictions tomorrow would bring.

Chapter Two

Lignum Sedes

“Let’s recite the law of Lignum Sedes,”

“By one we die

By two, we live

All connected in this village to give

Give work, give heart

And most of all

Never depart!”

“Well done! You are all dismissed!” The instructor announced loudly against the sound of chairs dragging through the dirt floor of the school. “Remember to report to the town council in two days to receive your assignments.  Good luck!”  Malcolm was amongst the first of the graduates to leave the classroom.  Man, I hate that song!

 His was a short walk, and really so was everyone else’s. The village was not big.  He passed the wooden shops of the baker, the fishmonger, and the farmer, all about to close for the day.  I hope I won’t end up in one of these god-awful shops!  Malcolm thought to himself as he kept his head down and made his way home.

Malcolm reached the old rickety wooden door to their small living “shed,” as he called it.  His nose was immediately assaulted by the leftover cabbage stew that had been simmering on their wood stove since the weekend, two days before.   His family had been assigned one of the lowest ranking cottages, lowest ranking, meaning smallest.  The main floor room consisted of a hay floor covering, a stone hearth to keep warm at, and a table and chairs.  The only thing that they had of worth, was a large wooden corner cabinet that stood a few feet away from the woodstove.  It was filled with keepsakes from his mother’s past, most of them being his father’s personal effects.  Malcolm had always loved looking at that cabinet full of things linked to his dad, who he hadn’t seen in over eight years.  There was a weighty ball with forest and reindeer that filled with snow.  There was a stand-up clock that didn’t work and a very ancient-looking compass. At the back of the cabinet was a rectangular plastic box that his mother had called a radio.

  “Malcolm!  Oh, good, you’re home!  You can help me finish up the laundry deliveries!  How was your last day?”

“Oh, Ma, it was just as boring as every other day….”

“That’s nice, dear,” she said as she dropped a twenty-pound pile of someone else’s clothes on him.  “Now be a good dear and iron those out for me.  The table is already set up in the corner.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes, not looking forward to the mountain of work that had just literally been thrust upon him.  He fumbled his way to the hearth where the hot iron was sitting and began his assigned work.

“You know, Malcolm, you shouldn’t be so grumpy all the time! Cheer up! The day after tomorrow is assignment day! You’ll finally know your place in the village!  And…”

“Ma, I just feel like I’m wasting my life here.” There was nothing in the village that he wanted to do. He had always felt like that.

“Less moping and more ironing, yeah?”

Case in point.

Malcolm tossed and turned on his shallow and uncomfortable straw mattress. For hours, he stared up at the wooden rafters and wondered where they would put him.  What position in the village could possibly pose enough excitement for a lifetime? Why did they have to make people stay in one job their whole life?  Why can’t anyone leave?  Dread and a general feeling of hopelessness made it all but impossible to fall asleep.  As the night sky revealed tiny shafts of color and light, Malcolm imagined himself playing the role of almost every job in the village.  And he hated them all.

Malcolm slipped on his old and faded blue school pants and buttoned up his off-white shirt.  This was the best he could do.  Malcolm leaped down from the loft with his old leather bag strapped around his shoulders.  He opened the door to the cabinet and very carefully removed the ancient compass.  He wiped the dust from its face, revealing a beautiful copper casing, handmade notches, and an arrow made of tin pointing due north.  It still worked.  Malcolm placed the compass in his pants pocket and headed towards the door.  He felt a sense of relief having a piece of the past with him today as he was told what his future would bring.

“Good luck, son!” Diana waved goodbye to him from the door.

“Thanks, Ma!”

         She was really the only thing he liked about this stupid crowded wood-chipped village!  Malcolm walked down the narrow street outside of his house and then stepped out onto the village’s main road where most of the shops were.  He walked past the bakery, fishmonger, and the farmer’s stale, taking in the wonderful smells of the freshly baked morning bread, the sea salt applied to the fish, and the summer berries newly picked by the farmer.  The smells were tormenting him to the point that his feet changed their trajectory.  He had to make a stop.

Ding! Ding! The door widened, and the baker came out from the back of the bakery with a very red face.  Baking was hard work!

“Ah, Malcolm!  Let me check if your family has any credits….” Damn credits! I wish I could just buy stuff without being hassled. The town council felt the need to control and restrict every aspect of life right down to how many credits each family could have, what they ate, how they ate it, and when.  

“You’re in luck, Malcolm; your family has one extra credit for today, so what would you like?” Lucky, indeed! Malcolm thought as he ordered a freshly baked chocolate croissant.

Malcolm hurried down the street, past the pub to the town council building. He was almost late, which was an absolute sin in the village, just like eating in public was a sin. councilors banned it because people started to want other people’s food, making them go to the food shops more.  And with such a short supply of food and barely any credit allotted to the poor and middling folk, no one could buy food just for the simple reason of enjoyment and pleasure.  So, Malcolm devoured his precious chocolate croissant and opened the door to the town council building.  His future awaited him!

Malcolm hadn’t been in this building since his first year of life training.  He forgot how high the ceilings were and how the light danced off of the beautifully framed windows.  The wonderful smell of a roast chicken. I mean who cooks a roast chicken at 9 in the morning? He knew the smell was coming from the direction of the kitchen that was for the express use of the council members.  An unexplained privilege!

“Sir!” A tall, austere-looking man nudged him from his trance.

“Oh yes, sorry I….”

“Right this way, sir” He guided him down the hall and opened two large dark green doors.  Light, color, and warmth beamed from the room.  It was an immense ballroom where the council meetings were generally held.  But instead of very old boring people, Malcolm saw all his classmates standing around talking excitedly about the positions they’d hoped to get during the ceremony today. What a boring lot of shiftless…

“Malcolm!”  A female voice yelled from across the room. It was his only friend in the world, Roslynn.  Malcolm smiled and pushed his way through the crowd to get to her. Just as he was about to reach her, the town council music began, and the very old and boring men and women of the council emerged from behind a curtain.  The man who had interrupted him in the hallway also appeared and stepped towards the gathering crowd.  

“Is height a prerequisite to be a member of the town council?” Malcolm whispered his silly question to Roslynn.  She laughed out loud, too loud, and was immediately hushed.

Roslynn punched him directly in the stomach in jest. “Always getting me in trouble, friend!”

“Welcome to the beginning of the rest of your lives! From this day forward, you are truly a member of the village!  Shall we recite the village law?”

Let’s not!  Malcolm thought as he stared down at his once brown, now faded and flaky leather loafers, willing himself to ignore the annoying meditations of all in the room.

“Give work, give heart

And most of all

Never depart!”

“Right, let’s begin with announcing the assignments.  Lucy Buttonsworth, you will be our newest school master’s assistant.  Jack Donaldson, you will be assisting the arborist.  Graham Rotterbelly, please report to the minister.”  What a name!  Minister Rotterbelly! Ha!

“Fred Matterston, you will be reporting to the protection squad.  Roslynn Thomers, please report to the carpenter’s bench.”

Roslynn, a carpenter?  That should be interesting.  Malcolm examined his friend’s face for her response.  She seemed to welcome the idea of working with wood.  

“Malcolm Jitterwood, please report to the fishmonger….” A sudden change spread across Malcolm’s face as if a pile of bricks had just landed directly on his stomach.  This was undoubtedly a blow to his system!  The job of fishmonger was known to be the most boring, smelly, oily, yucky job in the whole village!

“Ok, congratulations again!  You are all dismissed.”

“Someone must not like you!” Roslynn whispered into Malcolm’s ear as the other students started to shuffle out of the room.  Malcolm left the room in a state of shock, ignoring all conversation and dodging the faces of his classmates that were only too ready to ridicule and gawk.  

Malcolm opened the shifty door to his house, and just as he had supposed, his mother already knew what his particularly shameful assignment had been.

“Ha!” Diana greeted him with laughter as he entered their one-room hovel.

“You a fishmonger!  Ha! Someone at the town council must not like you very much!”

“That’s what Roslynn said too.” Malcolm moped.

“Well, when do you start your illustrious career as a fishmonger?”

“OHHHAHH!” An uncontrollable moan spilled out of Malcolm, seeping with despair and frustration as he contemplated his future.

 “Tomorrow…. tomorrow, my life ends!”  

“Oh, don’t be such a drama queen!  We need a new fishmonger. Alfy is getting well into his old age.  And why shouldn’t it be you?”

Well, because I’m smart and brave and adventurous and know nothing about fish and don’t care to!  Malcolm couldn’t bring himself to speak his thoughts, no matter how true they were.

Next Chapter: Chapter Two: Lignum Sedes