Untitled by Ian Bernardin

Excerpts from Ian Bernardin’s story below showcase Ian’s characteristic detail, character portrayals, and humor.

Untitled

Excerpts by Ian Bernardin

Prologue

Three pairs of footsteps produced soft crackling noises on the rocky terrain of a path.

“What an outstanding sunset!” cried a man, his leather shoes scattering the trail's rubble. “Sometimes, Chief, it sure is nice to just get a break from your duties and spend the day with your two best childhood friends. I'm glad you said yes to this.”

“Remember, Sander, I'm not the chief today,” spoke a man with a bald spot on his head. “Millston is in charge at the moment. I hope he's managing well, as the chief for the day.”

“He's probably doing fine,” said the first man. “You just need to let your mind be at ease, my good friend. You're Quillpith today, not the chief.”

“I'm still not quite used to this feeling,” said Quillpith. “I can't believe that I'll have to go back to wearing my chiefly uniform again tomorrow; it makes me feel so weighed down.”

“Enjoy this moment while you can, Quillpith,” advised his other companion. “It's not too often that you get to wear your animal hide shirt and your straw pants.”

“The thing is, Nordson,” said Quillpith, “I wish I could wear this every day. I mean, I love what I do for a living, but I want to show the tribe that I'm...there for them. It makes me feel good to dress like everyone else, to let them know that I'm not a stranger, that I'm one of them, and I'll advocate for them.”

“Hey, guys,” said Sander, “I think I heard a bear or something down by the water. Let me go ahead and investigate.”

“I don't think we have to worry about bears here,” said Quillpith, “but if you really insist on it, you can take a look ahead.”

With that being said, Sander hurried forward, returning a few moments later.

“Wow,” he exclaimed, “the view by the riverside is absolutely tremendous! You guys have to go down and see it!”

“I'll race you there!” said Quillpith.

“Now that's the spirit!” cried Nordson.

At that, the trio zipped down a grassy hill to the water. Quillpith was the first to finish, and just as he reached the waterfront, he lost his footing and fell into the river!

“Help!” he shouted, splashing and struggling to tread water. “I can't swim!”

“Oh, no,” said Sander. “I can't swim myself! Only fishermen and other such people learn to swim! I only wax floors for a living!”

“I'm sorry, Quillpith,” said Nordson, who was a short way back and had just finished his run. “I can't swim, either. Oh, what can we do for you, Quillpith?”

“Grab that stick! Haul me up with it!” Quillpith cried out.

“Grab that what?” said Sander.

“A stick!” screamed Nordson. “He told us to grab him a stick!”

Nordson hurriedly grabbed a long branch, but Sander stopped him.

“You can't use that! The branch is covered with thorns!”

“There are almost no thorns on it!” snapped Nordson. “Besides, as long as we rescue Quillpith, that's all that matters!”

The two stumbled down to the drowning Quillpith just in time to see him become submerged. It was no use; he had drowned.

“Oh, no,” said Sander. “This is terrible! We can't stay here! I'm afraid! Let's go!”

Sander immediately took off, with Nordson following ...

Chapter 1

During a typical evening in the woodlands of the tribe, few candles remained lit after dark. Today, however, the lines of cottages glowed like fireflies. It was as if a certain uneasiness had swept across the land, a frightening monster.

Inside one dwelling, a young woman peacefully slept on a wooden cot. But, her rest was abruptly disrupted by a frantic knock on her front door.

“Who could possibly want anything to do with me at such a late hour?” she asked herself with a yawn, groping around in the dark. After she successfully struck a match and her candle gleamed, she changed into a skirt and blouse. When she opened her door, she was greeted by a lanky gentleman dressed in a court jester costume.

“Long story, Ellen,” he said, panting. “I stubbed my toe on the way here, and had to hop on one foot.”

“Gerald!” she exclaimed. “What a pleasant surprise! Please, come right in. Make yourself comfortable.”

Ellen's guest, his breath still coming quickly, stumbled into her cottage like a drunkard.

“I come with terrible news,” he said, catching his breath.

“Here,” said Ellen, “let's sit down.”

Ellen, placing her candle on the center of her kitchen table, took a seat; Gerald settled into a wooden chair directly across from her.

“So,” said Ellen, “what do you think of my strawberry-scented candle? It smells good, doesn't it?”

“Yeah,” said Gerald, “but I have something else on my mind right now.”

“What is it about?” she asked, gently setting the candle aside.

“The chief,” Gerald replied. “I hate to tell you this, but...he's dead.”

“Dead?” Ellen asked disbelievingly. “Gerald, you have played one too many pranks on me. Do you seriously think I'm going to trust you, especially in your court jester costume?”

“Ellen,” Gerald said gravely, “this isn't a joke.”

“Really?” she asked, rolling her eyes and smiling. “Please, Gerald, just say you're kidding.”

At that moment, a man darted down Ellen's street, ringing a bell.

“Citizens!” he cried out, “hang your heads in despair! The chief is dead!”

“Gerald,” Ellen said with a quavering voice, “that was the tribe messenger. He never lies about anything....oh my god. I can't believe this.”

“Ellen,” Gerald whispered delicately, “please don't cry.”

“That's impossible,” she said, her blue eyes moist. “The chief was one of the best men I ever met. I can't help but remember one time, back when I was only a little girl, and I asked him if he ever thought that I could lead the tribe some day. He didn't give me the cold hard truth and say, ‘Forget it, kid; females aren't allowed to hold any political position in the tribe government.’ Instead, he wanted to see a smile on my face, so he said, ‘You know, little girl...it's always a possibility.’ ”

“Of course, I faced the truth later on and pursued different goals, but I never forgot what he told me and how kind of him it was.”

“That was an amazing story,” said Gerald, “Now I'm going to miss him even more.”

“At least he died a good man,” said Ellen. “Sometimes, when people obtain power, they use it to their advantage; they can get away with doing anything to their followers. But, the chief chose to reach out to his people and do even more for them than he had to.”

“The chief is dead,” said Gerald. “But the tribe will survive if future chiefs follow his example.”

“Well,” said Ellen, “if you don't want to walk home tonight, you can spend the evening here.”

“I think I'm okay,” Gerald replied. “But, thank you so much for your hospitality. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“See you then, Gerald.”

About the Author

Ian Bernardin is a student at Arlington High School. He reads and speaks French, and takes Latin for its usefulness in helping him “better understand English words.”

He loves to read and write, and enjoys the work of J.R.R. Tolkien and Trenton Lee Stewart.