The Chosen - Rise of Cithria Part 1
Page 15
Chapter 14
Aiden trudged along the narrow, tree-lined dirt path that led to his house in the woods south of the Silver Hills. The sun had set long ago, and the forest had completely surrendered to darkness. The trails out here could be a dangerous, twisting maze even in sunlight; in the dark they were just short of treacherous. But Aiden knew this one intimately, and he could wander it without thinking and still make it home in good time. And that worked out well for him, because he wasn't thinking about where he was going. He thought instead about where he could have been.
All he’d wanted was hope. A glimmer of it, even. Just enough to let him know that the Goddess hadn't completely forgotten about him, or that she wasn't playing a cruel joke with his life. He'd wanted little from tonight, just enough to prove to everyone that he was a better person than what his brand showed, and he didn’t even get that. He had nothing left. Nothing to strive for. Nothing to live for. But he'd always kept on, persevering through all of his trials, waiting for the moment to arrive where he could take back his life. He was sure that moment had come tonight. And he'd let himself believe in it, only to see everything yanked away from him at the very end. He hated himself for that, for thinking he was more than a useless, cowardly old soldier.
The path faded back into grass and the trees around him opened into a small clearing where he could see the moonlight shining down on the roof of his small house. A shack, really. It was a single room, with enough space for a bedroll, a small table, a stove, a cupboard and some shelves. No one would ever call it fancy, or even quaint. But it kept the rain off and the wind out, and it was remote enough that few people ever bothered him. The wood was old and bent, and the roof constantly needed repairs, but Aiden didn't mind since it gave him something to do when he grew tired of feeling sorry for himself.
A bark greeted him from the darkness, and a moment later a skinny, gray-haired dog wandered up to meet him, tail wagging.
“Hey, Bastion,” Aiden whispered, holding his hand out for the dog to sniff, then scratching absentmindedly behind his short, scruffy ears. Bastion was an old hunting dog that once belonged to a Grunlander nearby who'd died of old age. He'd found Aiden shortly after that and decided he liked it well enough around here that he'd stay for a while. Aiden couldn't afford to keep him well fed, but he didn't mind having the company some days so he gave him what he could and let him chase off the rats. The dog was far past his prime, partially deaf, and rarely did anything except lie around and watch for forest critters to run by, but Aiden didn't care. He had someone to talk to who didn't care about the brand on his face, and that was enough for him.
Aiden stepped inside, threw off his cloak, dropped his pack on the table, and leaned the goblin spear against the wall, while the dog followed him in and settled down in his familiar spot near the stove. He fished for the lantern sitting on the cupboard, lit it and then kneeled down near the foot of his bedroll to unlock the heavy iron chest nestled in the corner. Inside the chest were all of his weapons and armor from his time in the wars. At the bottom, face down, was his shield, with his armor pieces stacked up neatly on top. Lying on either side were two swords, one long, used for open field fighting, the other short, used in the brutal shield walls. He frowned at his weapons and armor, wishing he'd had them when fighting the Warshield. But really he wished for any chance to use them again. He pulled out the bent merchant's sword hanging from his belt and tossed it into the chest. He closed it and locked it, then laid down on his bedroll, letting out a long, slow sigh. All he wanted was to clear his mind and go to sleep, and hopefully forget everything that had happened tonight.
But he couldn't forget. He never did.