The oldest and youngest boys were nervously exchanging glances, voices trapped in their throats. The Elder motioned at the youngest first to dismiss their uncertainty. “Grimaldus.”
Then the oldest. “Wuxius.”
“Do you like them?” The boys still had no words as the Elder returned palms to his knees, an eyebrow raising. The old man honestly wasn’t sure. They weren't making a sound, and that made it terribly difficult for him to get any details.
“They love it,” Lunella replied as she was wiping wet cheeks with the back of her hand.”
The boys then agreed in a hurry.
“Oh, eh… Yes! I just don’t know what to say,” chirped Grimaldus.
“I just feel really heavy.” Wuxius was nodding in firm agreement as he found his voice. “I just… It’s so solid. I don’t know what it means. The name just sounds like it’s filled with more than I can get a hold of.”
That statement was echoed by the others as well, and the Elder filled in, “Well, that’s part of the point, isn’t it? You’ll grow up with this, you’ll shape it, people will recognize your name based on what you’ve done and what you say. However, unlike a simple meaning, I’ve given you complicated ones.”
His hands drew visualizations of his words in the air. “Another secret for you. Certain things in life may look complicated, but really, they’re made from a large number of small things that are simple. Coming together, small things look like a big mess, as we’re only used to seeing the whole. When you have a good grasp of the small things, the big one will suddenly make sense too.”
“I’ve given you this weighty, unknown thing that you’re probably not sure what it is or how to carry. However, little by little, you’ll discover details that paint a bigger picture, and when you finally have all the pieces, you’ll find the truth hidden in a small hole in the ground surrounded by people you love.” The Elder’s voice faltered, and he cleared his throat. He tried not to dwell on how cold and hazy he was getting. The chilled Elder did the usual handclap to clear himself of his thoughts and rubbed them together.
“Well, I’m freezing and starting to shiver; shall we go home and go eat?” His facsimile of a smile didn’t get the expected reaction; the sproutlings had grown and were holding back sobs.
They had been so happy about their names a few moments ago; why the somber air? He had to relent and looked to Lunella since she was going to be the one to speak regardless. Sure enough, her tone was bleak as she asked with displeasure. “How long do you have?”
If it hadn’t already been chilly, the old man would certainly have lost feeling in his fingers after this. They had assessed that the clock was ticking down, and he supposed it was better to give them time to come to terms with however long he had left. He maintained eye contact with Lunella and gave the dreaded knowledge with a clenched heart, “Maybe a season.”
The kids winced and bit their tongues at this. He wasn’t sugar-coating the pain and just hit them with bleak truth. The anchor of knowing was an additional weight they didn’t want to carry, and it made them feel terrible. They didn’t want him to leave either, but that abyss-cursed serene expression on his face told them he was content with the impending end.
Seeing them muck about had been a joy. These children were an alternate reality of a life he’d never been blessed with. What had been closest to this contentment had been ripped from him as a young adult. This world was cruel that way. Cruel and unrelenting in the wake of the eternal unknown. It was normal to fear and shy away from what you didn’t understand. He grasped this well as he found his voice.
“I’ll begin my final lessons shortly. I suppose as a preamble, I’d like you to keep hold of this. It’s a bit of knowledge that I hold very close.” He cleared his throat again, but it throttled in significant need of some fresh air. “You’re going to make mistakes, and that’s okay. You’re going to fall, and that’s okay. Get up. You’re going to question yourself and wonder if you’re doing things right. That’s good. Keep asking! When you make a choice to go forwards, don’t waver. Only one choice is worth making, and that’s the one you should live by.”
The Elder leaned in, hands strong on his knees, emphasis carried on the provided wisdom. “Everything is either a choice you can live with or a choice you cannot. There is no reason to second guess; merely pour all your effort and being into the world you wish to see around you.”
His back fell against the wall, eager to end it as he felt finished with the conversation. “I would have felt such regret if I didn’t grant your names. Though, one day you will find that the best names are the ones you’ve chosen and made for yourself. Regardless of how long I have, if you fall and stumble, I’ll come for you. I’ll always come for you.”
With a push to the floor, he was up and ready to go. “Now, let’s go get warm. All of you first.”
Chapter Twelve
The Elder knew something was off as soon as he resurfaced. A smell in the air… it was wrong. His first breath of what should have been crisp air instead filled his tongue with the flavor of smoke. His hearing picked the muffled cries alongside the crackling *whips* of wildfire. Something was burning, falling… breaking.
The crashing tear of wooden supports caused a puffy *scrumph* as the unstable home collapsing on itself hit the ground and oppressed the senses. It also ended several muffled cries. This experience turned what should have been a peaceful morning gaggle of hungover groans into tortured screams.
The Elder had been the last to come back up through the stream, yet could not locate a trace of his young group through smoke so thick it forced his eyes to swell. The children had gone ahead of him, so the expectation was for them to be present when he resurfaced. A high-pitched screech cut through the rumbling, ambient mess of fire-wrought sound. No. He knew that voice! “Lunella!”
With significant effort, he dragged his old bones from the stream and on to the dry bank, worming his way from the water with all the elegance of a landed fish. His lungs burned; nasty smoke clogging the thick air made it all the worse. It reminded him of times he’d rather never recall.
It seemed that as much as he’d run away from conflict, strife with its endless reach had grasped him again. Life would not let him go silently into the night; it was here for the pound of flesh it was owed—or rather, from the rebellious voices that were dragged further and further into the distance, those of his children! The surrounding blares of activity made it a nightmare to determine who was where.
Accented, foreign screams echoed from the apiary as the crashing buzz of a destroyed hive split the air. A panic-fueled cry screamed out, “Bees! Bees!”
It wasn’t any adult voice the Elder recognized, so that confirmed outside forces were at play. Total, howling disarray and fear sirened from uphill, so the Elder moved as fast as his feet would take him—which was admittedly rather pathetic and frustrating. He was useless like this! That his heart rate caused his hands to shake was nothing new, and old mantras chimed with military repetition in his mind.
Keep steady.
Keep moving.
Stay alive.
His shambled pace brought him back to the pile of robes the children had ditched. Creeping, wet cold still clung to his skin, and the cold-sickness was going to get his claws into him before his age did if he didn’t bundle up. So, on went the robes, while a sack was repurposed as an anti-smoke face mask—a trick picked up in a desert long ago. He looked ridiculous and couldn’t begin to care as his mind laid the foundations for action.
The Elder couldn’t assess the threat. The amount of smoke meant the majority of the village was on fire, so this was a raid. His priorities in this battle boiled down to survival and retrieval of the children. That second objective was going to be difficult in his current state if there was so much as a toothpick-armed weasel in his way. He’d told the kids to stay alive. With hope, they would cling to those words. That’s all he wanted them to do.
Stay alive.
Just stay aliv
e.
Anxiety was squashed under absolute need as he throttled his worry and self-doubt by the throat. A season to live? No, old man! A day was fine! One day was more than fine, so long as he could see the safety of the children! The *clang* of metal clashing with metal put a hearty and swift dent in the chances of that plan. Thieves were bad; thieves with weapons were worse.
However, there wasn’t a sword in the village? The *clangs* repeatedly rang from the wood storage direction, but there wasn’t a… realization struck him like a brick. “Choppy’s axe!”
The Elder then crumpled inwards like a potato sack as a pain spread from his stomach. A slung rock had struck him at speed and taken the wind right out of him, forcing an unexpected *ooof*! The earthy slam to the ground wasn’t so bad, but it sure felt like it was. He remained there, unmoving. A crass voice called through the dense, smoky haze that hung low. “Hah, got another one! That’s two hands for me in the lead!”
The Elder held his stomach with both hands but couldn’t move, just gasping in air that came difficultly at a soundless wheeze. “Looks like that one’s not moving. I’m calling it dead, and a point for me!”
The same crass voice then gained excitement as it spotted moving prey. “Are those runners?”
“Yes, they are! Let’s get ‘em!” After a murderous laugh, the thudding impact of several boots promptly vacated the location. The vibration was so heavy that the Elder could feel it through the ground he laid immobile on. This pattern of footfalls felt incredibly similar to the… to the thrumming they’d experienced while in the cavern!
“Abyss!” It took at least a full minute for his breath to even out, and he was forced to hear the community around him burn to ash. The syrupy coughing of people choking to death filled nearby homes, only to be silenced as the buildings burned and collapsed down on top of them. Anyone who wasn’t trying to run had attempted to hole up, and neither choice ended happily.
The Elder barely got to his hands and knees as a pained whimper cried from the logging section. It sounded like Choppy was in severe pain; pain that he couldn’t understand. Infantile whimpers and sobbing, bubbling cries told the old man there was liquid in the boy’s lungs. The familiar sensation of strained muscle twisted in the Elder’s legs as he got up and forced himself to move on.
While he was certain an arrow whistled past his head at a certain point, he winced and ignored it. The old man found the woodchopper on his back with a face stained by pained tears. The Elder fell to his knees to support the lad, momentarily skidding to a halt. “I’m here, Choppy. I’m here.”
Firmly taking his calloused hands, the old man attempted to console his boy by being up close and personal. He could see the damage, and he knew the end was coming for this lad. A deep cut from the right shoulder raked down into the lung, but it hadn’t been shallow where it vitally mattered. There was going to be no recovering from an injury like this, not even if the big man found immediate attention. The remainder of the woodcutter’s short life was going to be agony.
The Elder knew Choppy wouldn’t bleed to death from this wound; he’d choke on his own blood first—a fate he wasn’t about to let the boy suffer. Choppy’s good arm held the Elder firm as needing, glossy eyes cried for help as the boy stammered begging words, “*Gllrblpain*. Pain. *Glpain*. Hate pain. Pain.”
This good boy had used his wood logging axe to fend off the invaders. A swift glance in either direction showed not one but two split melon heads. For all the harsh times the village had given this big lad, he’d always been amazing with his aim. From the angle, the axe must have gotten stuck in a spine. It seemed to be protruding from the slain raider, but the Elder had no time for that now. He slid forward and detested that he knew what to do.
A familiar, practiced grasp firmly took hold of the suffering boy’s head, and the old man pushed a knee forward to press down on that wide chest. This was the kind of injury that left a man to suffer for as long as possible while still being fatal—purest suffering until the final gurgling took the agony to a crescendo, finally coming to an undeserved end.
“I know, my boy. I’m going to take the pain away, Choppy. I’m going to make it stop hurting now.” The old man needed to suck in a breath, tearfully ignoring the bite of the smoke. “Hold me tight, my son. Hold me tight.”
The Elder’s voice was trembling, and his jaw was clenched shut. His eyes burned, and wet streaks lined down his cheeks. He had to do this for a prized child once more. His breath quickened, and his dry mouth swallowed to cope. The good boy did what he was told to do and clung tight. The psychological harm the Elder did to himself that next moment was unspeakable, as he shattered the happy illusion he’d built for himself over these many, many years.
The physical exertion was just… a simple…
*Snap*.
Chapter Thirteen
“Alright, recruit. Once again, from the start.” Armored fingers drummed with delicate impatience on the extended table in the salt village longhouse. This entire mess of a report had more holes in it than his favorite cheese, and Head Cleric Tarrean had not been able to acquire said cheese for far too long. He shook his head and forced himself to refocus. The bags under his eyes were reminiscent of crescent purple moons, and still, he couldn’t take the liberty to rest; duty demanded the task be seen through.
His faith would carry him, as it always did, but this whole endeavor had been a repeated set of annoyingly convenient events. Bothersomely convenient. He went over how he just knew his superiors would be reacting:
‘Where are the raiders, Tarrean?’
‘Oh, I don’t know! We have this intercepted vellum with a surprisingly detailed troop placement plan. Well, now we’ve arrived at the abandoned settlement, Tarrean. Where are the wanted men?’
‘It appears that they’re just taking their sweet time walking right over to us without a care in the world! Sure, we’re already occupying defensive emplacements and are the wolf waiting for lost lambs to walk into our open mouth. Those raiders never saw it coming!’
‘Why, Tarrean, where are we supposed to go from here. The map isn’t very clear.’
‘Recruit, if you look in the distance, doesn’t that look like an awfully large funnel of smoke rising into the sky?’
‘Why, yes. Yes, Head Cleric, we should rush to that position post-haste!’
‘Tarrean, are we certain these are the raiders we thought they were? The last group seemed exhausted and in retreat.’
‘Well, recruit, there’s an awfully large number of buildings on fire, people screaming, and sharp, metal objects being stuck rather deeply into what seem to be awfully innocent people.’
Head Cleric Tarrean snarled and slammed his armored fist on the table, startling the man giving him a report into silence. Whoops. He hadn’t heard a word the man had been saying. To top it all off, this mess was in the celestial-rejected Fringe. As if the history of this place wasn’t enough of a nightmare for the Church!
Tarrean almost wished he could have just a sip of wine again, but his vows prevented him from such pleasures. The bridge of his nose received another squeeze, the shining metal of the gauntlet not injuring the cultivator in the slightest. A circular *go on* motion of his hands restarted the report. Acolytes and a Keeper were seated around the Head Cleric, pouring over stacked documents. Their gear was far simpler than his, though most of them had a weary expression that matched his own.
A new day was already starting to rise from the horizon, and silence laid on the wreckage that used to be the prominent village of Salt. Beams of sunlight funneled through the gaping holes in the longhouse walls, and a collective grunt heralded eyes being squeezed together to cope with the sudden brightness.
The next recruit in tow cleared his throat; ready to give a near-exact replica of the report with differences based entirely on the viewpoint of where he was at the time. Acolyte Tibbins fingered through the vellum to find the beginning of his report, and everyone worked to hold in a sigh as it began.
&nbs
p; “As mentioned in the other reports, we found the settlement under raid rather than under siege. A poorly organized force arrayed itself against us and flung itself on our spears. The consensus I agree with—the intention was for a series of waves to greet us and that the utter lack of coordination altered that to a loose stream of individuals charging into a defensive line. Our casualties were minimal, and according to Acolyte Jiivra’s more knowledgeable report on the matter, entirely due to an uncommon venom coating the arrows our squad was attacked with.”
“We caught the effects too late since the poison was crystal clear and just made the arrowheads look shiny, which caused affected troops to not pay attention. The majority of the village was on fire before our arrival, and it seems that the idea was to pillage and burn.” Acolyte Tibbins drank some water from a recovered local cup and retraced his fingers to where he was on the report.
“Losses for the village are… borderline total.” The young adult motioned a thumb behind him to the still figures lining makeshift resting spaces along the wall.
“Recovered individuals of note are two old people. The catatonic woman hasn’t spoken and was found seated in frozen horror at the head of this very table. As of yet, we have not found an explanation for why the longhouse is one of the few buildings not burned to the ground. From the stains on the floor, we can easily put together that people were executed here, but the old lady appeared to have been spared. From the complete inability to communicate, we are guessing that she was made to watch the ordeal.”
“This also led us to think that we could not locate the leaders of the raiding force because they were simply not part of the main assault and escaped during the confusion while our forces were tied down with consecutive attacks. Cowardly, to be sure, but there was no doubt of that. We did find carriage tracks, but any more effort on our considerably exhausted forces was essentially impossible. No chase was given.”
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