Erot grunts once more, except this particular grunt carries more bile than his others. Sorina twiddles her fingers and my eyes flicker between the two of them, processing.
"Well? Surely you must've heard some tidings?" Sorina says.
"Yes," Erot says with a sigh. "The Forgecrests are the same as usual; cocky bastards lord their iron trade over the other villages. Fangshade has both grown larger and taken some heavy losses. I think their leaders are having some internal issues. But… that's all hearsay from the Cresters." He speaks slower now, the farmer's gruff dropping slightly. At first, I think this is his true voice—but then, I realize that he's simply thinking his words through more. Meaning something about this mayor puts him on edge.
Sorina shrugs. "I told them they'd have issues if they continue abiding by that lifestyle of theirs, but some people just can't adapt I suppose."
Erot tightens his fist. I watch his face contort and twitch, as if he's holding himself back.
Sorina notices as well and holds up a placating hand: "oh don't be so dramatic Erot. I'm sure they'll be fine. Now, come on then: what of Netsreach and Havenmarch?"
He sighs. "Netsreach faced a tsunami recently. Half the village was under reconstruction by the time I got there. According to one 'fella, they spotted it early this time, so no deaths."
"Good for them. Last time was too brutal," she says, clicking her tongue. It's odd, seeing Sorina be empathetic for once. My opinion of her continues to shift. After scrutinizing her smugness further, I conclude that I still don't know a single thing about this woman. And I don't quite like that fact.
"Do they live by the rock-toothed coast?" I ask. I vaguely know of the area and have heard of its volatile climate. Sorina nods.
"It is an area prime for fishing and for catching lingering water bird spirits. But, it comes with one major drawback: it's prone to the rages of the sea" she says, circling her finger along the wood of the table. Quite a fidgety person, she is. But every action seems so calculated—as if meant to draw my attention towards something else. I focus my gaze on her somber looking face. Is this a facade as well? Does she care at all for those people? "Fortunately for them, their trade makes them one of the wealthiest of the villages in central Katal, only second to Havenmarch and Forgecrest. And the clans of course, but I don't really count them."
"I see," I murmur, scratching my chin.
Sorina turns her attention back to Erot. "And Havenmarch?"
He stiffens. "They have been struck with plague."
For once, I get to see Sorina startled. Her green eyes go wide and her mouth hangs open. "What?"
"It surprised me too. And it seems to be a brutal plague at that. They've closed their gates and are eh… isolating. Poor guards looked haggard. Couldn't let me in obviously."
"That," Sorina murmurs, hand combing her hair back now. "Is troubling."
"Apparently they have already sent a request to the Kingdoms, asking for some aid," Erot continues. "But—"
"But the Kingdoms don't give a damn about us at the end of the day," Sorina finishes for him. Erot shifts uncomfortably at this.
I stay silent. I am out of place in this spiraling political game of small-time villages. Still, it is fascinating how seriously these people seem to take these issues. Well, if this is the life they've known thus far, I suppose events like plagues in neighboring villages are quite cataclysmic. I suppress the urge to chuckle. It is tragic, but it is a far cry from the world-shattering events I used to dream of facing—the very same events that I've heard tales of Hui facing.
My face then darkens as I ponder the stupidity of that sentiment: these are people too. What do they care about the larger conflicts if their mothers lay sick and coughing?
I forcibly shake my head.
Regardless, none of them concern me. I do not want to meddle in anyone else's affairs. Their problems are theirs. I am simply biding my time to prepare for the Boar Ranges.
Sorina looks at me with some measure of curiosity before giving one last sigh: "let's stop here for now. I'll gather whatever information I can about Havenmarch."
"As you wish," Erot says. He stands to leave and I follow suit.
"Raiten, right?" Sorina calls, stopping us from leaving. "Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?"
I shake my head.
"Any money?" This one seems like more of a rhetorical question, given my ragged appearance.
Again, I shake my head.
She nods to Erot. "Since you've already picked him up and the two of you seem to get along, why don't you hole up with Erot for a bit. I'm sure he could use more laborers on his farm. What do you think, Erot?"
Erot looks at me and nods. "I already had something similar in mind. Good idea, Sorina."
"You say that as if my other brilliant ideas displease you."
He gives her a piercing look. Her mouth remains upturned. "Well, don't let me keep you. I'm sure I'll be seeing you before your next trip, Erot."
So we leave, heading back for our horses and wagon. As we go back to the pen, I feel as though a pair of eyes are burning a hole in my back. I turn to look back at the mayor, but she is playing with the children once more.
"I do not like that woman," I say.
"You and me both Raiten," Erot responds.
…
We pick up Dandy from the well, after finding her playing some hopping game with the other kids. I expect Dandy to assault me with more questions, but she falls asleep pretty quickly in the front of the cart as Erot drives past the walls of Takemeadow. He explains to me that his farm is on the outskirts of Takemeadow's territory, mostly because he owns significantly more farmland than other villagers.
At first, I take this as him exaggerating his land holdings. However, when we pass the fence threshold of his stalks, I see he was actually underselling his acreage. His crops, corn, barley, black spirit cob, and white nettle, range over several hillocks and across a wide expanse of the valley, running upstream until the land dips into a more barren, rock-sharded area nearer the first set of burgeoning mountains that preludes the Soul Ranges.
His fields are purple, black, white and beautiful, with the sun glinting off the stalks like they are the golden swords gleaming in the dawn of battle.
"How… do you maintain all of this?" I ask.
He shrugs. "I have many grandchildren. And we have a spirit helper."
"Ah. I see," I say, though I don't quite understand. How much help could a spirit provide in matters such as farming? I curse myself for not checking if the village had a library—so consumed I was by the mayor and her strange behaviors.
The farmhouse itself is quite humble in comparison to the vast swath of land Erot owns: two windows, maroon wooden tiling, and a woody smell that evokes a strange sense of misplaced nostalgia. We hitch the cart away and put the horses in their neighboring stalls before Erot carries young Dandy inside, me trailing after them.
"I'm home!" Erot says.
The sound of pattering feet erupts on the second floor and tumbling down the stairs comes seven children, all dirt-smudged and smiling. They practically tackle Erot with a hug, waking up Dandy.
Erot is surprisingly deft with his hands. He manages to set Dandy down just before the other children dogpile him, all giggling like hyenas.
"Grandpa! Grandpa!" they yell.
"How was your trip?"
"Did you see Netsreach?"
"Ooooh! OOOH! What about Fangshade? How are they doing?"
"Aw I want to go next time Grandpa, can I go? Can I?"
"Kids kids," Erot wheezes. "Give me some space would you?" They obligingly let off of him and surround us.
Some take an immediate interest in me. Two older boys, perhaps both teenagers, look at me in awe—as if I'm some story-book hero brought to life. I scratch my head, embarrassed by their reverent eyes.
"Grandpa grandpa! Who is he?" One of the boys asks.
"My name is Raiten," I say, bowing because I don't know what else to do. Even though they are impressed by and almost immediately, they reciprocate with deeper bows of their own. Quite impressionable, aren't they? It's as if they haven't seen another young man of my age in a while. Or maybe I'm overthinking it and I just look so foreign to them, that they're curious about who I am.
Eh, what does it matter? They're just boys.
"Father, you're back," a feminine voice says. A blonde-haired woman enters the room from the kitchen, brow furrowed with sweat, eyes brown and strangely intense. Though, everything else about her demeanor is kindly, comely even—especially the way she favors me with a polite smile.
And I see Erot's face broaden into a grin of his own.
"It's good to be home," he says, but Dandy pushes past him, jumping into the woman's arms.
"Mama!"
"Dandy, oh my, look how much you've grown!" the woman exclaims, spinning her daughter around. Their jubilation makes me uncomfortable. Why was my clan so clinical, so cold in raising its children? From the outset of our childhoods, we were taught only to pursue our desired occupation: warrior, doctor, council lackey, or on the bottom tier, builders and hunters. And of course, the worst tier of them all, slaves.
It makes me strangely sad, watching this sight.
Erot snaps his fingers in front of me. "Come lad, let's eat. We can discuss your situation afterwards."
I give him a nod and head into the dining room, with the two older boys trailing behind me and the other children filing into their seats.
…
Dinner is surprisingly calm. The children settle down as their mother passes out plates and dishes, along with the help of Dandy and Erot. I elect to sit on the floor, considering there are no extra seats available. Erot nearly allows this, but his daughter, the blond-haired woman who introduces herself as Alya, does not—forcing me to take the seat of one of the younger boys. That boy, some lad named Kale, sits atop Erot's lap.
Five boys. Three girls. Oldest boy is thirteen. Youngest girl is four.
May whoever's up in the heavens help Alya—it must be hard to manage eight children.
Right before they eat, the family says their thanks to the spirits of the realm. I do not join in on the activity; I've never been a worshipper of spirits. Nor a worshipper of anything really. I have always had some vague notion of their being a higher power, yet I have given such matters no real thought—too busy was I with killing my enemies.
Still, I respect their discipline. The children wait until their mother finishes a silent prayer. Then, when she takes the first bite, they get to feasting. It's a well balanced meal of roasted vegetables and meat—the most food I've seen on a table in ten years. I make sure to stuff myself but my stomach is so small that I can only keep pace with their young ones—the older boys eat twice my fill.
"I heard you helped my father with his work," Alya says. She grants me a matronly stare, cutting into a beef strip with great delicacy. "Thank you for that. I fear he is getting too old for this work."
I am still reeling from the fact that I am being treated like a normal human being, rather than some… broken animal. So, my words of gratitude come slow. "It was actually he who helped me, not the other way around. I am leeching off of your kindness."
"Oh don't think of it like that. In fact," she leans over in and whispers to me in a conspiratorial tone "Erot has taken quite a liking to you. If you want, you can ride out the winter here with us—we could always use an extra hand on the farm. And, spirits know it would help having someone older"
"I uh—will think about it. Thank you for the offer."
"Of course. Tonight you can take one of the boys' rooms and they'll sleep in the shed near the fence."
I hold my hands up. "It's no trouble. To be honest, I'd rather sleep alone. It's what I'm used to—the shed would do just nicely for me."
"Ah. I see. Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Hmm," she hums, setting her fork down and looking me over more critically. I wilt under her gaze—it is because of those eyes of hers. It also doesn't help that, aside from Sorina, this is the only woman who I've talked to in any reasonable manner since my enslavement. "You look as though you've been through a lot."
"I really haven't," I lie.
She shakes her head. "I can see it in your eyes. My husband used to have the same look—the same faroff stare."
"Your husband, is he—"
She nods her head.
I grimace.
The children's laughter carries over our conversation for a moment. Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of them pulling on Erot's ear, much to his annoyance. Another steals food from the old farmer's plate.
"He died a long time ago. It's been my father and I alone for a while now."
"It must be tough," I say.
"We get by. Especially thanks to our spirit, Umbrahorn. Heavens know what we'd do without him. Though, he can be a handful at times."
"Speaking of this spirit, where is he? Erot mentioned him earlier to me as well."
"He protects our fields at night. He's probably out and about, swimming underground and getting up to all sorts of mischief," she says, smiling fondly at the thought.
I want to talk to this woman more, ask her questions and figure out my living arrangements. But dinner ends in the blink of an eye and she is swept up by the tasks that befall her. I help out as much as I can, with the two teenage boys, Hansel and Ferot, trailing my every move.
While moving about the kitchen my raggedy old shirt gets caught on a drawer as it closes and rips. I stare at its torn folds for a moment, lamenting the loss of my five year old uniform. The great Thunder Watcher brought low by a household appliance—there is a certain irony in that.
I feel like laughing.
I feel like laughing a lot more nowadays. It is a good feeling. It is a sad feeling.
Alya fusses over my shirt and tells Ferot to fetch me a new one. He takes one of Erot's old ones; a tight white woolen homespun tunic. I change and help Alya put the rowdy kids to sleep while Erot warms up some tea.
Erot cups steaming tea as he leads me to the shed now, lantern in his other hand to guide the way through his maze of stalks. Despite how large this place is, I can tell he knows every inch of it by hand. By grit and dirt. He is the old type of man, the hard man. The type of man that would be well respected in my clan, though he would not be prestigious or wealthy by any means.
"Well, here we are," he says. The shed is large, made of faded red wood colored by stripes of muddied white. Inside are a number of hay bales and tools, along with a small folded blanket in one of the stalls. No horses, oddly enough. But then I remember there's a far closer stall near the house. I presume that this is their primary dwelling.
"It's not the most comfortable provision but—"
"It's more than enough," I say, giving him a bow. "Thank you. You and your family have shown me true kindness where others have not." Erot scratches his head and makes a happy grunt. Or an embarrassed grunt. I'm still trying to decipher this secret language of his.
"Eh, it's no trouble. You've helped me out today too, what with our good ol' mayor."
"Why do you do her bidding if you hate her so much?" I ask.
"Hate is a harsh word for it. But—" he stumbles, searching for the right words. "It's… complicated. Don't worry about it lad," he helps me make a bedding area using nettles of barley and hay. Then, he turns to leave. "Oh and Raiten?"
"Yes?" I ask.
"I'm sure my daughter offered for you to stay with us through the winter. To be honest, I don't really mind it either. I need an extra hand. I'll pay you too." Before I can answer, he shakes his hand. "You don't need to give me an answer now. Just think about it."
He leaves with that, and once more I am greeted by the familiar sound of silence.
…
It takes me a long while to sleep. I can't get the images of pure bliss from the farm out of my head—they rattle me. I can't separate them from all the horror of the last ten years. There would be some nights where I awoke to predator birds throttling my legs, cawing in my face. Other nights where I awoke to the sound of cackling hyena-monkeys trying to venture beyond the tower, forcing me to crack open an amulet and smite them down.
I set my bag of amulets in the corner of the stall. Seven lifelines. Seven power-boosters. Seven times I can actually fight someone of significance.
The eldritch wolf antler goes under my pillow.
Eventually, my eyes do flutter close and my breathing slows.
A familiar scratching grates on my ears, echoing from the deepest crevices of my mind. It is the sound of those damn ravens, after my duel against Afrisyab. 'Duel.'It wasn't much of a duel—more of a butchering really. I was just eleven. I twist in the nettles, burying my head in between my knees. I hate that scratching—hate that I'm so afraid of it.
I think that is why I don't recognize the sound of the intruder until it's too late.
Something sharp tingles my neck.
My eyes open.
A voice whispers in my ear: "Don't move a single muscle." It is female and familiar. I strain my eyes up, to look at the visage of the person who threatens me. Green eyes. Killer scowl. Dirty-blonde hair.
She holds a curved dagger to my neck, and slung over her shoulder is a lute. She is dressed in warrior robes—a mix of Western and Eastern blues and blacks, fit for a clan warrior.
"Listen to me very carefully, Raiten," Sorina begins, voice low and dripping with hate. "You're going to answer each of my questions honestly. If you don't, I'm going to slit your throat."