Technical writing and ghost writing

Dann the Druid

A short story

    Hebbn walked along slowly contemplating his inner self rather than where he was walking. Consequently he tripped over a root and fell on his face. Without moving, he let the dust billows from his breath puff away and settle downwind. It was a nice day, so why move. Besides, now he knew which way the wind was blowing. There wasn't much traffic on the path, since it led into a band of copses and the area populated by Dann, and since very few came to these parts because of Dann he could rest a bit before continuing on his way. He visited Dann, on occasion. It gave him great personal pleasure to do so. There was also a faint hint that Dann enjoyed the visits too.

    Hebbn thought of himself as hard to please, even though the others in the community thought he wasn't. His perpetual smile and good nature was accepted as "simple" and his thoughts were assimilated into any conversation as "nice." No one ever paid any attention to his words, even thought they were well-practiced and built on premises laid out logically by Dann. On the other hand, when Dann talked, everyone listened, assuming he took the time to talk to them at all. He was a Druid, and that was something to everyone.

More of the morning passed, and still Hebbn lay on the path. He had dozed a bit, watched a rabbit, was studied by a passing creature of undetermined specie, and was actually passed by his father, who did not acknowledge his son nor his predicament. I could be dead, Hebbn thought, as his father passed into the distance. Oh, well, he continued, life and death are only a nod apart. I might just be dead.

Since he wasn't sure whether the inadvertent fall had ended his life or not, he tested his fingers; they worked well enough. He raised his head slightly, and found it workable. In a moment or two, he lifted his whole body and sat. There, in the distance, ensconced on a rock, sat Dann studying him. Hebbn smiled; Dann smiled back. "Rested?" asked Dann.

Hebbn laughed and stood. With great purpose, he dusted himself off and struck a contrapasto. "I was coming to visit you," Hebbn began. "I am alone in a crowd and feel not alone with you." He moved forward and settled on a fellow rock. "And how are you?" he asked pleasantly.

"Fine," Dann answered, "just fine." The Druid grinned, and Hebbn thought his friend’s face would crack and break apart. It was clear this large man did not smile much. His hood was thrown back, and his bare legs were angled outward. "I am taking time off today; it is a fine day to feel fine, don't you agree?"

"I agree with everything you say," Hebbn answered. "I don't know enough yet to disagree, but I am working on it." He laughed out loud, and so did Dann. "You seem less pensive today," he added.

"Well, my young one, I get caught up in my own self at times, and occasionally, I have to develop some perspective, so I stroll the woods, kiss the bark, pick a few things, munch, cool my face in the stream and relax." Dann assumed a greater repose. "I have added a few poems to my repertoire, and I am quite pleased."

"Would you be kind enough to recite one?" Hebbn studied Dann's face to see if he had assumed too friendly an attitude, and was pleased to be radiated by a broad smile. The face had not fallen into pieces yet.

"Yes," Dann answered and sat up. He stood and moved about as if to plan his presentation. He stopped and turned. "Hebbn," he began, "you are always so enthusiastic, so pleasant. I like reciting my verse to you." The Druid stopped as if to study a distant event, then returned his attention to Hebbn.

"It is my pleasure to listen, since what I say has no meaning, but what I hear does. Hearing my own words doesn't even interest me. My statements not only bore me, they bore others. I am not the Druid you are."

"No one is the Druid I am, because I am not anyone other than myself. You cannot be me, you must be you,” he insisted. “Remember that being a Druid is to be of a certain level of knowledge and practice, not a person of a certain lineage or blood, even though I do descend from others like me, like you do of your father and mother. Besides, we all come from the same place, more or less."

"In my case," Hebbn began, "I am of my mother, but my father? That is another matter."

Dann laughed. "Yes, I see what you mean about our mothers’ choices of fathers. We all have our doubts, since that is the way it is today. Wars take fathers away, and mothers remain. Fathers do not return, mothers become wives of others and mothers of others, not necessarily of the same line. Fathers come home from great wars and quests and find they are devoid of mothers, wives, lovers, children, and for the most part, have no idea of who they are. They do have an inkling of who they were, but not who are they are, nor who they will be, assuming they decide to move forward." Dann became reflective for a moment.   “Some decide not to move forward,” he mumbled.

"That is true," Hebbn agreed just to be agreeable. "My father just walked over me on the path like I was a root."

"Well, your father does not have to acknowledge your presence on the path, but he might acknowledge that you are his son, or is there some doubt?" Dann said this to be humorous. It didn’t work.

"I have many doubts. I am not even sure I am alive."

"I have those doubts too, but I am certain of my mother and father, since the King and Queen live quietly at the end of the village like they are supposed to. They have little else to do but keep track of who is who." Dann looked off into the distance. "Unfortunately, I do know where I came from, what I must do today, and what I must do tomorrow. My wife, Tensin, is quite loyal, and our children are of are own loins. Any man who wanted to lie with my wife would have to survive his own quest to reach her, then he would be too old and too exhausted to do her any harm, even if she welcomed him. If he survived the experience with my wife's wildcat propensities, then I would have to kill him."

"And if any children came of the moment?" asked Hebbn.

"If any children came of the moment, and he were a male child, I would have named him Hebbn." Dann smiled widely. "Just remember that the mother provides the blood; the father only contributes characteristics to the blood. He is not necessary for life; a mother is."

Hebbn was flattered. "I would be proud to be your bastard child," offered Hebbn, "and what would have done with your wife?"

Dann thought for a moment. "I would have taken another wife, and left her to take care of the family alone."

The answer satisfied Hebbn. "Imagine how many wars, crusades, quests and other events have taken the men away. How can we tell our bloodline?"

"You can't. There is no way, at the moment, for anyone to track their past blood; it is anyone's guess what blood runs in your veins even though a way of reading does exist; it is just not applied. We are not ready for it yet, and what difference does lineage make when it doesn't matter. Just think of the future when people try to find their roots. It won't be as easy as falling over one on a path to knowledge." Dann liked his analogy, and so did Hebbn.

"I liked that, Dann," Hebbn offered.

"So did I, Hebbn," Dann responded. "Do you want to hear my latest poem?"

"Yes, I would."

Dann struck a pose and looked at Hebbn.

The trek of the fathers leads to unfounded glory for those who move in ranks and follow.

The glory belongs to those who accept the mantle and gather those who move in ranks and follow.

The plight of the mothers leads to unrecognized glory to those who are born and gather at their feet to play.

The glory belongs to those who accept the responsibility and carry generations within them for a time.

The battlefields are the plains, valleys and mountains that take the men and absorb them.

The battlefields are, in turn, the men who remain to share the women who are absorbed into themselves.

The children know not their fathers, nor their father's fathers, but their mothers by class of roll.

The children know their fathers as those who act like fathers and ensure their survival and futures.

The blood is mixed in all instances, whether by father, mother, brother, son or daughter.

The blood is mixed in all instances where fathers carry and distribute their seeds by the mile.

The battlegrounds mix the blood with the plains, valleys and mountains and those who save the warriors.

The seeds are carried great distances to those who become vanquished, and therefore those who defeat them.

The future determines the strength of the seed and the blood, and war, crusade, quest and more by evidence.

The strength is self-evident and is historically noted, as are the weaknesses, which deplete the numbers.

The end is the beginning and always will be, for an end is only an end if nothing follows.

    Dann fell silent and walked away without another word. Hebbn respectfully did not follow, nor comment, but he found it profoundly interesting that a poem written some time ago could sound so immediate. It was as if Dann had just composed it. Perhaps he had, and Hebbn was out of time. Dann lowered his head and turned away from the copse and the rocks, the wiggling weeds and the swaying grasses.

    In moments, Hebbn found himself alone, but he was happy. His head was full of images, and it did not matter that his mentor had left and was walking slowly back to his situation. Hebbn knew that Dann had pulled his hood over his head and was stepping in time with his walking stick, still walking after so many years. Maybe he was only a short distance away cloaked behind the fabric that made him invisible. Could his clothing simply reflect the world around him, and therefore an observer would not be able to distinguish from the surroundings, and as a result, be invisible?   He was proud to be Dann’s friend and to have heard his latest poem. It was interesting that his latest poem involved the very subject they were considering just moments before, but that's the way Dann was. He seemed to build from the moment.

Without further consideration, Hebbn began his trek back to his village. A few steps further, a man stepped out onto the path. Hebbn stopped and considered the individual, who was mighty and in some sort of regalia he was not used to seeing. The large red cross on his tunic was magnificent and bold. The man came forward and blocked his way. A large hand came out and grabbed his hair. Hebbn flinched and bent over backwards. With a swift move, the large man threw Hebbn into the grasp of another man. At that moment, Hebbn could see the rows of men in the distance on foot and on horseback. It was at that moment, that a strange silence fell on the area. The individual holding him let go, and the large man on the path stood motionless. A few feet away stood Dann, staring at the man with the cross.

"This is my only son, and he must apply his blood here." Dann spoke quietly.

The large man seemed strangely held in place. He dipped his head slightly, and turned to those with him.

"This boy is this man's only son, and his blood must be applied here," he repeated as if his words and his decision were his own.

    Without further incident, the intruders left and moved off toward their people-in-rank. Hebbn did not move, and when he did, he noticed that Dann was not present. He hurried down the path as he had never done before. He now had to do something he knew he had to do.

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