The First Settlement: Hope Beyond Fear.
1441 Words
The meal ends as peacefully as it begins.
Some of the men rinse their hands in the stream. Others stretch beneath the broad shade of the willow tree. Younger children chase one another along the riverbank until the sharp voices of their mothers send them hurrying back.
Before long, Father rises.
He dusts the crumbs from his wrapper and looks toward the unfinished bridge.
"We have rested long enough."
Irde sighs dramatically.
"I was hoping the bridge would complete itself while we were eating."
Jaesin smiles.
"If that happens, I shall also expect my farm to w**d itself."
Laughter rises once more.
The villagers slowly return to their duties.
Mother gathers the empty bowls.
Adora lifts the clay pot.
Urenna rinses the calabashes in the clear water before placing them carefully inside one another.
Koide quietly arranges the empty baskets.
She does not look toward Father.
Neither does Father look toward her.
Yet, as Mother adjusts the heavy basket upon her head, Father instinctively reaches out and steadies it before she lifts it fully.
"Careful," he says gently.
Mother smiles.
"I have carried heavier loads than this."
"I know," he replies. "But a careful foot seldom regrets itself."
She nods appreciatively.
Koide has already lifted her own basket.
Without waiting for assistance, she turns toward the village path.
Urenna notices.
"I will help you."
She hurries after her.
Koide neither refuses nor acknowledges the offer. She simply shortens her steps enough for the little girl to catch up beside her.
I watch them disappear gradually along the winding path.
Something feels different.
I cannot explain what it is.
Father watches them go for only a brief moment before lifting his wooden mallet once again.
"Come.
"The bridge still awaits us."
Soon the rhythm of labour returns.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
The great crossing beam is finally lifted into place.
Half a dozen men brace it with ropes while others drive wedges beneath it.
Father and Jaesin kneel together, carefully examining its balance.
After a few moments, Father nods.
"It will stand."
Irde wipes the sweat from his forehead.
"It had better.
"I have argued with that beam since sunrise."
The gathering laughs.
Ben and I begin carrying smaller planks toward the bridge.
My curiosity, however, refuses to remain behind.
"Daddy."
"Hmm?"
"You promised to tell me what those people found."
Father secures another peg before answering.
"The elders always said that those who first entered the forest expected roaring beasts behind every tree."
He pauses.
"But they found something entirely different."
"What was it?"
"A silence."
I blink.
"A silence?"
Father nods.
"They said the deeper those strangers walked into the forest, the more confused they became."
"Why?"
"Because nothing they had been told seemed to appear."
Irde joins in.
"My grandfather always laughed at that part.
"He used to say that fear frightened people long before the forest ever did."
Several men chuckle.
Jaesin smiles thoughtfully.
"My grandmother told it differently.
"She always said the forest was dangerous...
"...but not in the ways people imagined."
Father nods.
"That is how I received the story as well."
He looks toward the towering trees beyond the stream.
"The elders believed there were wild animals.
"They believed poisonous creatures lived there.
"And they believed careless men could easily lose their way beneath the thick trees."
He pauses again.
"But they also said that stories had made the forest seem far worse than it truly was."
I remember Father's words from the morning.
"Fear is a venom more deadly than the black viper's strike."
He notices the recognition on my face.
"Do you remember the goat?"
I smile.
"Yes."
"The goat became frightening because you surrendered your courage before meeting it."
I nod slowly.
"The elders used to say the same thing happened with the forest."
I look once more toward the trees standing beyond the stream.
For the first time...
They no longer seem frightening.
They simply seem...
Waiting.
Father smiles quietly.
"That, Stanley...
"...was only the beginning."
He places another plank upon the growing bridge.
"The real story begins after they decided not to turn back."
The afternoon sun begins its slow descent as the villagers gather around the nearly completed bridge.
Only the last few planks remain.
Father drives another wooden peg into place.
Thud!
Jaesin presses against the beam to steady it.
Irde wipes the sweat from his beard and grins.
"I have decided something."
Father glances up.
"What is that?"
"If this bridge survives the next rainy season...
"...I shall take full credit."
The men burst into laughter.
"And if it collapses?" Jaesin asks.
Irde folds his arms.
"Then I shall remind everyone that I warned you all from the beginning."
Another wave of laughter echoes through the worksite.
Father shakes his head with a smile.
"It is easy to claim success after the work has been done."
Irde laughs.
"Then let us finish the work first."
The villagers answer almost as one.
"Lift!"
The final plank is raised into place.
The ropes tighten.
Wooden pegs are driven home.
Father steps back and studies the bridge carefully.
His eyes travel from one end to the other.
Finally, he nods.
"It is finished."
For a brief moment, nobody speaks.
Then joyful cheers erupt along the stream.
Children clap excitedly.
Several women ululate.
Even the elderly men beneath the willow tree struggle to their feet.
Ben grabs my arm.
"Come!"
Before anyone can stop us, we race across the bridge.
The sturdy planks creak beneath our feet but hold firmly.
We reach the opposite bank together.
"We crossed first!" Ben shouts triumphantly.
"You crossed first," Irde laughs.
"But if the bridge had failed, you would also have drowned first."
The gathering roars with laughter.
Father watches us with quiet satisfaction.
When the excitement finally settles, I walk back to him.
"Daddy."
"Hmm?"
"You said those people remained in the forest."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Father rests both hands upon the smooth wooden railing of the newly completed bridge.
His eyes drift toward the forest beyond.
"The elders always said that those strangers found what they had never expected."
"What did they find?"
"They found fertile land.
"Fresh water.
"Trees that yielded fruit.
"Animals for hunting.
"And a place where families could build their lives."
He pauses.
"They also found danger.
"There were wild beasts.
"Venomous creatures.
"And seasons when the rivers overflowed."
He looks at me.
"But they believed hope was greater than hardship."
Jaesin nods.
"My grandmother always ended the story that way."
Irde smiles.
"So did my grandfather."
Father continues.
"The elders said the five who first chose to remain encouraged others to join them."
"Little by little..."
"...the lonely forest began to resemble a home."
I look around our village.
Children laugh beside the stream.
Women gather the empty baskets.
Men admire the bridge they have built together.
It is difficult to imagine that all of this was once only a forest.
"Daddy."
He looks at me.
"What were their names?"
A gentle smile spreads across his face.
"The elders always remembered their names."
He raises one finger.
"Anney."
A second.
"Nelrry."
A third.
"Kirtim."
A fourth.
"Rolga."
Then finally, the fifth.
"Elden."
I repeat them softly to myself.
"Anney.
"Nelrry.
"Kirtim.
"Rolga.
"Elden."
Something stirs inside my thoughts.
I count them again.
Then suddenly my eyes widen.
"Daddy!"
He smiles knowingly.
"Have you seen it?"
"Their names!"
I exclaim.
"The first letters!"
He nods.
I point excitedly with my finger.
"Anney...
"Nelrry...
"Kirtim...
"Rolga...
"Elden...
"Ankre!"
Father's laughter joins the gentle murmur of the flowing stream.
"The elders always said that was how our village received its name."
I look once more across the bridge.
Toward the homes.
Toward the farms.
Toward the people laughing together.
The name no longer sounds ordinary.
It carries the footsteps of those who first dared to walk where everyone else feared to tread.
Father places his broad hand upon my shoulder.
"Remember this, Stanley."
I lift my eyes to him.
"Every home you admire today was once someone's frightening tomorrow."
His words settle quietly within me.
I turn again toward the bridge stretching across the stream.
Only this morning, the water had separated both sides of the village.
Now they stand connected.
Just as the courage of five strangers joins fear to hope...
...the hands of Ankre have joined one bank to the other.
The stream continues its endless journey beneath the bridge.
The wind whispers gently through the surrounding trees.
And as we begin walking home with the rest of the villagers, I find myself wondering...
How many stories still sleep beneath the soil of Ankre, waiting for another curious child to ask?
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