shapes and sizes. Small wooden kegs lined the bottom shelves and their dark wood told of the thick substance within. Mugs, tankards and goblets filled the shelves and above, two crossbows hung, one either side of an emblem burnt into the wood of a tree. It wasn’t an ordinary tree that one would expect to see. The branches stretched upwards but they seemed to reach and search and while the trunk was thick and strong, scars criss-crossed its surface. The base of the trunk extended to show the roots, which were tangled and weaved.
Everywhere Devon looked was clean. The place was a credit to its owners and he could tell they poured their heart and soul into this establishment. The floor of the inn was laid with stone, which had been cut flat, and mortar filled the spaces between. The stone had been cleaned and sealed and showed all the colours that it held. There was a rug over by the fireplace and leather armchairs spread out in front of the hearth.
Across the width of the fire a thick wooden shelf had been fixed and it held wooden figurines and strange wrought iron sculptures. A plaque hung above the hearth and burnt into the wood, was a design of the tree the same as the one behind the counter. Wrought iron sconces adorned the walls, their candles melted wax, frozen in time as they sat cold in their sockets and waited for evening to return. There were large windows along the front wall, two sets on each side of the door, which let ample light into the room during the day and thick curtains that could be drawn at night to keep out the cold.
June entered with a tray. ‘Morning,’ she said as she placed it down in front of Devon.
‘Thank you, June. It’s a feast fit for a king. I was just admiring your establishment,’ he said. ‘I can tell you put much love into this place.’
‘Yes, we built this place from the ground up and all our children were born and raised here. It’s our home, not just a place of work,’ she said.
Devon asked her about the design of the tree behind the counter.
‘Well that’s the name of the inn. It’s not so much a name as a meaning. You see, it’s the tree of life.’
Devon was surprised he’d never heard of such a tree before. ‘What do you mean the tree of life?’
‘The tree represents many things. For some it means everlasting life. Once we’re born, we live and we move on to the place where our ancestors now rest. For others it means a binding of worlds—the underworld, the world of life and the heavens that stretch above us. But we believe Mother Earth nourishes the tree. The tree is life and the tree stretches out to the heavens above as we do when we search for meaning in our lives. Life’s a circle and in that circle we live, laugh and learn. We grow, love and cherish, reflect on things that have happened and move forward.
Devon was quite enthralled with this explanation which was new to him. They didn’t have any such beliefs in Reist. You were born, you lived and then you died. He said this to June.
‘Well, Sir, it is exactly the same it just depends how you look at it,’ she said and smiled at him.
Gerard had woken early that morning. He’d bathed and dressed and had gone downstairs to satisfy his hunger. After he’d eaten a quick breakfast he’d headed for the door.
‘Morning, Sir. Where are you off to this fine morning?’ Zeek knew enough about young boys to know Gerard would be eager to look around the village.
‘Good morning, Zeek. I was just off to have a look around before we head up to the Keep,’ he said.
‘Well you’ll probably run into Gustov out there and I’m sure he could show you around. Mind you don’t be too long, or your father will be worried,’ Zeek said.
‘I won’t be. See you soon,’ Gerard said and headed out the door.
Outside the inn the sun shone and Gerard enjoyed the warmth after the few wet days they’d endured. He crossed the street and headed up the road. When he reached the end, he turned and headed
Everywhere Devon looked was clean. The place was a credit to its owners and he could tell they poured their heart and soul into this establishment. The floor of the inn was laid with stone, which had been cut flat, and mortar filled the spaces between. The stone had been cleaned and sealed and showed all the colours that it held. There was a rug over by the fireplace and leather armchairs spread out in front of the hearth.
Across the width of the fire a thick wooden shelf had been fixed and it held wooden figurines and strange wrought iron sculptures. A plaque hung above the hearth and burnt into the wood, was a design of the tree the same as the one behind the counter. Wrought iron sconces adorned the walls, their candles melted wax, frozen in time as they sat cold in their sockets and waited for evening to return. There were large windows along the front wall, two sets on each side of the door, which let ample light into the room during the day and thick curtains that could be drawn at night to keep out the cold.
June entered with a tray. ‘Morning,’ she said as she placed it down in front of Devon.
‘Thank you, June. It’s a feast fit for a king. I was just admiring your establishment,’ he said. ‘I can tell you put much love into this place.’
‘Yes, we built this place from the ground up and all our children were born and raised here. It’s our home, not just a place of work,’ she said.
Devon asked her about the design of the tree behind the counter.
‘Well that’s the name of the inn. It’s not so much a name as a meaning. You see, it’s the tree of life.’
Devon was surprised he’d never heard of such a tree before. ‘What do you mean the tree of life?’
‘The tree represents many things. For some it means everlasting life. Once we’re born, we live and we move on to the place where our ancestors now rest. For others it means a binding of worlds—the underworld, the world of life and the heavens that stretch above us. But we believe Mother Earth nourishes the tree. The tree is life and the tree stretches out to the heavens above as we do when we search for meaning in our lives. Life’s a circle and in that circle we live, laugh and learn. We grow, love and cherish, reflect on things that have happened and move forward.
Devon was quite enthralled with this explanation which was new to him. They didn’t have any such beliefs in Reist. You were born, you lived and then you died. He said this to June.
‘Well, Sir, it is exactly the same it just depends how you look at it,’ she said and smiled at him.
Gerard had woken early that morning. He’d bathed and dressed and had gone downstairs to satisfy his hunger. After he’d eaten a quick breakfast he’d headed for the door.
‘Morning, Sir. Where are you off to this fine morning?’ Zeek knew enough about young boys to know Gerard would be eager to look around the village.
‘Good morning, Zeek. I was just off to have a look around before we head up to the Keep,’ he said.
‘Well you’ll probably run into Gustov out there and I’m sure he could show you around. Mind you don’t be too long, or your father will be worried,’ Zeek said.
‘I won’t be. See you soon,’ Gerard said and headed out the door.
Outside the inn the sun shone and Gerard enjoyed the warmth after the few wet days they’d endured. He crossed the street and headed up the road. When he reached the end, he turned and headed
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