by S. K. Ng
“But darling, it wasn’t your fault! You were attacked. You had no choice!” consoled Whisper.
Oak shook his head. Tears were still flowing down his cheeks.
“No, you don’t understand! When I did the body count of the dead, I dis… discovered them! My pa… parents and my… my younger siblings. They were in the kitchen. Their heads were… were not on their bodies. I didn’t know that the other battlelord had forced them into servitude! I didn’t know that they were there! But I gave the order to kill, and now they were all dead by my hands,” he explained.
Whisper was speechless. She knew her husband had some dark secrets. But she had never expected this. She could not even begin to think of how to console him.
“See, I was consumed by greed! I though that if I had slaughtered everybody in the fortress, it’d make my battlelord look fearsome and impressive, and he’d reward me richly for it. But I was rewarded with the death of my family. No amount of gold, land or slaves is worth that! So I left. Abandoned the Serpentian way and snuck across the border to start a new life here. But the nightmares follow me. They follow me and they catch up with me every night! This is my hell! And I’m trapped and I can’t get out!” cried Oak.
“Shush darling! You’re here with me now. You’re safe!” said Whisper as she pulled his face to her shoulder and kissed his head.
The sad sobbing of an old man haunted by his past was the only sound to be heard in the darkness and stillness of the wheat-growing village of Whiterapids that night.
The morning sun of a new day shone through the office window. In the town of Southnode, Southern Falls Province, a young bureaucrat smiled at himself. ‘Opportunity! Opportunity! Opportunity!’ was what he whispered to himself every morning, including this one. He looked down at the document on his desk. His smile turned into a frown. The villagers at the outskirts of Southverge Town had paid, for the purpose of tax, the total amount of only 100 sacks of wheat flour, 100 sacks of rice and 500 gold coins. He felt the anger rise in him. The collection was way short of his target!
‘The opportunity is now! Provincial Governor Sheppal will be promoted soon and he will name a successor, and that successor has got to be me!’ he said to himself. A hundred lousy sacks of wheat flour!? What an insult! These villages had the potential of paying three times as much!
The young bureaucrat began scribbling a stack of angry letters. When he was done, he walked out of his office and yelled at his secretary to get him a despatch rider. She nodded in obedience and rung a handheld bell out of her window.
A few moments later a young teenage boy ran up into the bureaucrat’s office. He knocked on the door and entered when told to do so.
“Good morning, Deputy Governor Greel!” greeted the teenage boy.
“Right, whatever! Now listen here! Get these messages to the mayor of Southverge and these ten village headmen,” said the young bureaucrat as he handed the teenage rider a stack of letters and then dismissed him with the wave of his hand.
The despatch rider bowed, turned around and exited the office in a hurry. The young bureaucrat sat back in his chair with a bitter frown on his face. ‘I shall get you yet, you dumb farm folks!’ he whispered in his heart.
A horse-drawn cart pulled up alongside two brothers in a sea of wheat plants. The elder brother looked up.
“Good morning, Rake! Look at these,” said the guest as he got down off the cart, produced a bunch of wheat stalks and showed them to Rake
“Good morning, Pine! Looks like stem rusts,” replied Village Headman Rake Breven as he examined the brown spotted stalks.
“Yes, I thought so too. I had to burn off a third of my field just to contain this. I can’t deliver the five sacks of wheat flour that I need to pay as tax, Rake. I barely earn enough as it is,” pleaded Pine.
“I understand. I’m sure Provincial Governor Sheppal would too. I’ll explain to his subordinates when they come around again to collect the remainder of our tax payments. They should be coming around next week,” assured Rake.
“Thanks for understanding, Rake, but are you sure the Provincial Governor will understand? His collectors looked very unhappy when they came over last month. I saw the heated argument Headman Sorrin had with them. Threats and abuses hurled out freely at each other. It wasn’t pretty!” doubted Pine.
“Well, Pine, we do what we can,” said Rake.
“Guess so!” said Pine.
The guest who went by the name of Pine turned his cart around and went off. The newly elected village headman went back to harvesting his wheat plants and cursing himself for accepting a job that sounded good but felt the exact opposite, with pathetic remuneration and perks. He felt he was walking with a bull’s-eye painted on his back.
The bright morning sky began to darken. The wind began to pick up. Wheat stems started to sway back and forth. Rake and Tiller looked at each other, both mirroring the look of utter surprise that the other wore on his face. Up overhead, thick dark cauliflower-like cumulonimbus clouds collided with each other. There was a brilliant flash of light and then the loud explosion ensued.
“It’s too early!” said Tiller.
“I know,” said Rake.
“But this doesn’t make any sense! What do we do?” asked Tiller.
“What else can we do? Secure the granary and shelter up!” concluded Rake and both siblings gathered their tools and baskets of harvest and ran back to their house.
The first drops felt cool and gentle. The gusty winds brought comfort to their exhausted bodies. But pretty soon, the heavy downpour burst from the skies and came smashing down on them. Root and Bud Swerrell hurried to secure their granary. The wind was causing its windows to swing violently. Grains were being blown away from their storage pots. The brothers secured the window, replaced the lids of the pots that were blown off earlier and then ran out to lock the wooden door.
“It came too soon,” said Bud.
“Yes, it did!” agreed Root.
“But what about the rest of the harvest? The rain will ruin it all!” stressed Bud.
“Not much we can do about it, little brother!” commented Root.
“If we keep working, we might still salvage a few pots worth of grain!” argued Bud.
“I’ll run back to the house and get the raincoats,” offered Root.
So the brothers Swerrell kept harvesting despite the gusty winds and torrential downpour that soaked their bodies wet and embedded them knee-deep in sticky mud.
In Hopecreek Village, Venom Collart sat down on his chair by the fireplace. He stared at the flickering flames, its swaying dance soothing to his heart somehow. Suddenly a loud explosion of thunder startled him and woke him up from his dreamy daze.
“The rain is coming early this year,” said Pearl.
“Yes, it is,” answered Venom casually.
“Will our harvest be sufficient?” asked Pearl.
“Just barely,” answered Venom.
“Why do these bad things happen to us?” asked Pearl in desperation, barely containing her tears.
“I don’t know,” replied a hollowed Venom.
The creaking sound was loud and long. Venom looked up at the ceiling. So did Pearl. The loud billowing of the wind outside was intimidating but their attention was fully focused on the main beam of their roof. The beam creaked again. Then there was a snapping sound. They could see the crack line that formed in the middle of it.
“Run out of the house now!” shouted Venom as he ran to grab Hay, who was playing with a toy nearby, and ran towards the door.
Moments later, another long and loud creak followed by a short and sharp snap could be heard, and then the loud rumbling of the entire roof collapsing deafened them.
“Our… our house!” said Pearl in disbelief as she stood with her husband and son outside, in the freezing rain and gusty winds.
“Forget about it! It’s gone! Get over to the tool shed. Stay in there with Hay while I build us a shelter,” instructed Venom.
; The Collarts headed towards their small wooden tool shed. Venom emptied it out and then Pearl and Hay squeezed in. The shed was so small that Pearl and Hay had to stand side by side and could not even sit down. Venom secured the door in an almost closed position with two small rocks and then went to work building a shelter. Three hours later, the Collarts were lying down soaking wet and shivering in a simple triangle shaped wooden structure made of planks, poles, beams, broken-off tree branches, large stones and whatever material Venom could find. In the middle of the shelter, there was a very small fire burning in a makeshift fireplace, which was really just a deep hole dug into the ground with stones planted at the bottom and along the side walls and channels cut into it for ventilation purposes.
Night found the misfortunate people of Leafdreams Village on the outskirts of Southverge wailing and crying. The rain and winds were still lashing out in full force and some of the less sturdy houses ended up in a similar fate as the Collart’s home. A fair number of people were seriously injured and a few were killed.
A frantic knocking sound was heard at the door of the home of the Swerrells.
“Oh, Moss, it’s you! What brings you out this late at night in the middle of a storm? Come on in,” said a surprise Bud Swerrell as he opened the door.
“No, Bud. You guys have to get out!” yelled Moss.
“What? What’re you talking about?” said Bud in disbelief.
“Bud, listen to me! I’ve come from the Grennell’s. The roof of their house was blown off and the walls had collapsed on them. Ambience Grennell and two of her kids are dead! Stork and the remaining kids are seriously injured. The same thing happened at the Groven’s as well. Luckily, they had managed to get out in time. They were the ones who rode out to warn the rest of us. Then they discovered what happened at the Grennell’s and called the rest of us to help. You need to take whatever provisions you can muster, along with tents, blankets and whatever spare wood you have in your tool shed and get everybody out, now! Headman Kinden says we’re all to congregate at the village hall and we’re to build our shelters there. This way, we can pool our resources, tend to the injured and rescue each other if our shelters collapse or anything of that sort. See you all at the village hall,” said Moss in a firm tone, after which, he mounted his horse and rode away into the darkness of the night.
Bud briefed the rest of his family. Within half an hour, the Swerrells were riding their cart on the way to their village hall. But as they left their home, a loud crack, followed immediately by a thunderous smash and a low rumbling sound made their hearts skip a beat. They turned their heads to look at the house and their jaws dropped in shock to see that only three of the four walls remained. The entire roof was missing, no doubt smashed in by the uprooted trunk of a huge tree that used to grow a few paces from their house.
The next morning was as dark as the evening before. Howling winds, bright flashes of lightning and angry thunder dominated the ambience of this gloomy morning.
“You’re worried!” said Tiller Breven, looking at his brother.
“Yes, I am,” admitted Rake Breven, who sat near a window and was constantly staring out of it.
“What worries you? We’ve endured the first night. Everything that could go wrong would’ve gone wrong already,” said Tiller.
“No, not really! We’ve been lucky so far. Two collapsed houses. Everyone got out in time. No injuries. I’ve arranged for them to stay with their immediate neighbours. But it’s not over yet. The patches on the ground are beginning to turn into pools. If this keeps up, it’s going to flood,” disagreed Rake.
“What’s your plan if it does flood?” asked Tiller.
“What else can we do? Tell everybody to pack up and move to the mountains. Let’s start packing things up now. Tell Fragrance and Drizzle to get ready to move. If this gets any worse, I’ll need you to ride out with me to warn the rest, so the girls must have everything packed and secured when we get back. If we’re to head for the mountains, it’s best that we do so early, before the flood waters reach dangerous levels,” answered Rake.
It was already midday, but no one could tell. The people of Wheatparadise Village congregated at their village hall, standing in ankle deep water. Their carts were loaded with all the necessary essentials. Their facial expressions were gloomy and subdued.
With a silent wave, Rake commanded his villagers to move out. He had two teenagers walk up in front of their column, one looking forward to make out the outline of the submerged road and to look out for any danger while the other gave guidance signals to the carts to follow. The first ‘scout’ would determine the boundary of the sunken road and position himself in the middle of the road as he walked. With one of his hands, he grabbed on to the belt of the second scout, who was facing aft, and placed him in the middle of the road as well. The second scout would manage the progress of the column as well as guiding them to stay on the submerged road. And if the column was getting too slow or catching up too quickly, the second scout would ask the first scout to slow down or speed up. It was a slow and tedious process, but it was safe. If any of the carts went off the road by accident, their horses would be injured or the cart could get stuck in the mud. Therefore, staying on the even-surfaced, obstacle-free gravel road was absolutely essential. Most of the cart-driving was done by the women folk as the men walked along the back of the cart and helped pushed them along so that they did not get bogged down in the mud.
After half a day’s travel, they reached the base of the mountain range. As night fell, it became pitch black. The scouts were now using lanterns to signal the column, and each cart had a set of lanterns lit to indicate their position and to illuminate the path for the carts behind them. They were all exhausted, cold and hungry; but Rake would not let them rest. They had to reach some sort of relatively flat plateau so that they could safely park their carts.
It was close to midnight when the villagers finally found a suitable place to stay. They were then divided into groups. And for each group, the villagers parked their carts in a circular manner to form some sort of boundary or fence. This was done to break the intensity of the blowing winds and for protection against predatory animals. Within these ‘fences’, the villagers set up their tents and shelters. They had also kept their horses within the fence as well, to give them some protection from the elements. Cooking and eating was done fast. The horses were fed quickly. Then everyone got into their shelters and fell asleep. Some of them were so exhausted that they slept through to the next evening. Almost all of them never knew that sometime just before the break of dawn, columns from the villages of Farmhaven and Whiterapids had joined them.
The rain was relentless. So was the wind. It was midmorning, and the column from Leafdreams Village was travelling in waist deep water. Bud and Root Swerrell pushed their horse-driven cart along. Daisy was driving. Crystal was seated beside her. Bud’s mother was seated on top of some planks at the back. In front of them, a good 30 carts were trudging along towards the mountains. Behind them another 20 struggled to catch up. Also behind them were 30 carts from Greensoil Village and 35 carts from Sunbright Village. The columns from the two other villages had caught up with them at dawn earlier.
“We should’ve left earlier!” regretted Bud.
“We should’ve, but what’s done is done. No sense in crying over spilt milk!” agreed Root.
“Root, watch out!” yelled Bud.
Silently and without warning, a huge wave of brown, muddy flood water swept into the column’s flank. All they heard was a loud splash before everything sounded muffled. Everything turned dark.
Bud felt himself being propelled at high speeds. Unidentifiable debris brushed past his hands and body. His lungs felt like exploding. He swung his arms frantically to rise to the surface. There was a moment where some light broke through, but the surface was elusive. The pain in his chest was unbearable. He held out as long as he could. But the pain was unbearable. He gave up. He exhaled, and then inhaled. Water rushed into his n
ose and mouth. He coughed violently while being submerged in the vast body of brown, muddy water.
With one last, all-out effort, Bud managed to break to the surface. He struggled frantically for air. The burning in his lungs subsided. There was a strong taste of earth in his mouth. But that was nothing compared to the taste of fear and panic in his heart. Where was Root? Where was his mother? Where were Daisy and Crystal? Where was their cart? Where were the rest of the village? Bud looked around. All he saw was brown! Dirty, wavy, brown water!
Bud called out his brother’s name. There was no response! He called out for his mother. No answer caught his ear! He called out his wife’s name. There was only silence! He called out his sister-in-law’s name. Only the splashing of water responded! His heart sank as he then realised that he was alone, all alone to face the challenges of a cruel world!
Bud was not sure how long he had been drifting. The big piece of log that he had managed to cling onto was his only companion these past few hours. The sky was now dark, just like the void in his heart. He was not hungry, although he should be. He was not thirsty, although he truly was. He just felt empty, an emptiness that he just could not get rid off. He closed his eyes and his mind wandered freely in the darkness of the subconscious. And then he let go…