by Kai Widdeson
Sage Malach has been having a particularly tough time, as a result he now sits cramped inside one of the carts cradling a few bags of goods. The community spirit among these people is astonishing, all of them have been tied together impossible closely through disastrous times and are on the constant look out to help the group as a whole.
As well as we can given the terrain, the tribe has been organised into a rough formation. The twins and I are a few heads back from the front of the main group where Orrian leads. Before them are only a few scouts ensuring that the path ahead is clear. Bringing up the rear and sandwiching the sides loosely are all fighters not at the front, forming a protective barrier between the outside and the huddle of the families and more vulnerable in the middle with the carts. Bringing up the rear is Jaq and to my great surprise, I spot Faelyn brushing shoulders with Orrian as they discuss travel plans and tactics, still struggling to keep up on his cane but he doesn’t complain or ask to slow down. Since the duel and the parting of the Horith, Orrian’s ex-competitor had thrown himself fully into the arrangements, maybe trying to make the best out of his undesirable situation, or possibly eager to make his loyalties and alliances clear to the now indisputable leader.
I swivel owl-like as I realise what I’m missing. As I search, Ryfon catches my eye giving me a questioning look, but it’s not him I’m looking for.
“Where’s Edwyn?” I ask the twins, but before either of them has a chance to answer an ageing lady in front steps in.
I recognise her instantly as the skeletal lady who had jumped to Orrian’s aid at the meeting. Rags hang off her thin frame, not dissimilar from the bags clinging to her sunken eyes. She must have been tall once, but time has curved her spine and she now stoops over us.
“I saw him and the king a few hours ago, he was heading back into the forest to pick up some more weapons for us,” she replies.
“He must’ve gone back to his den, but he’s got a long way to travel. Is he well enough?” I ask, marvelling at the risk he’s taking. Sure, he has been on his feet lately and he would be travelling either way, but to make such an excursion in his still unhealed condition didn’t sit well with me. There certainly aren’t enough weapons to go around but to risk one of our best fighters and those that accompany him all that way across colony infested land is a bold move indeed.
Over the next few miles the conversation naturally progresses into me revealing mine and Orrian’s journey to the mountain. Horas has heard large portions of it before and so I notice his mind wandering and returning accordingly whilst the other two listen. Medea, the elderly lady, turns out to be a very active listener. Reliving my story enthusiastically, the two of them are particularly keen for details about our encounter with the Halpians in the valley.
“-but thank the gods it was just yourself and Jaq,” I finish, reaching the point where I had first met Astera after the ambush.
“You both looked dreadful,” she comments. “I wish we’d gotten there in time to join in. Would’ve been nice to get some payback against those assholes, not that you two couldn’t handle yourselves of course.” Medea animatedly agrees.
We have left the peaks behind us by now, realising the excess of time I had spared no detail in my retelling of my travels and so the mountain is now far behind us. We are crossing vast flat grasslands with tall grass ahead of us before we reach the forest, this has put everyone slightly more at ease, the flats make certain that we’d spot any attack a fair way in advance from any direction. There are also several pockets of water dotted around, giving hope to the scouts who have taken to scouring the shrubbery dotted around for rabbits and other prey. Nobody’s going to be complaining at putting more food between us and our extremely limited supplies in the carts.
The change in ground had also been a very welcome change from the tough dirt and sharp rocks I have become used to these last few hours, I cannot imagine the relief that must be going through the rest of my company. Our cut feet fall on softened, spongy grass, where stones had used to draw blood and bruise toes. Our only annoyance now are the miniature blades getting stuck between our toes, a small price to pay
Orrian halts the line to have a few minutes rest by one of the larger bodies of water, giving the weaker ones time to rest. Unfortunately for us, the water is much too dirty to drink but it gives the horses a chance to replenish under the fierce sun.
Seeing an opportunity, I make my way over to Orrian. Faelyn and a couple of others graciously give us space as we stand on the outskirts of the group staring into the distance whilst the others collapse on the emerald blanket. I don’t bother asking him where we’re going, I would just be adding my voice to the masses anyway, I’ll find out when I need to, until then I suppose I will just keep following. There is one answer I am tired of waiting for however.
“Why does everyone think I’m a fighter?” I ask. When Orrian doesn’t immediately answer I continue, “Astera called me a warrior, people keep staring at me, I think I’ve been through enough to at least deserve the truth.”
Orrian turns to face me, taking his time and refusing to meet my eyes.
“You’re-” he gestures to the marked side of my face, as if that should answer everything.
Immediately I flush.
“So what?! Yeah, my face is wrong, I get it. Is this all some sick joke then? Or are you all like the rest of them and think I’m part spirit or any of that nonsense,” my knuckles whiten by my side, my raised voice has grabbed the attention of some of the tribespeople resting and I notice their heads tilted in our direction.
Orrian hastily steers me away from his people, manhandling me until we are well out of earshot.
“They think you’re him,” Orrian says.
“Who?!” I hiss, furious at the vagueness of the answer.
“The Akanian,” he says.
“The warrior from the prophecy?” I ask, shocked. If it wasn’t for the seriousness in Orrian’s eyes I’d be tempted to laugh. These people think I’m their saviour? How am I supposed to do that? Most of the tribe look like they could snap me in two without a second thought.
“Yes,” Orrian confirms.
“But that’s ridiculous,” I object, “You’ve seen me try to fight, I’m not a warrior. Why would they even think that?”
Orrian sighs and takes a seat on the cushioning grass below.
“It’s been told that the Akanian will wear a mark, that just from looking at them we will know that they are the one. The stories say that the Akanian’s face, whoever it is, will be decorated with the blood of the forest when the final fight is here,” he says after taking a moment to collect his thoughts.
I do laugh now, incredulous.
“And they think it’s me? Because of this?” I exclaim, gesturing at my face.
“You’ve seen our ink,” Orrian pulls back his hair to reveal the entirety of the elegant tendrils stretching from temple to below the ear. “Most of us get them hoping that we may be the one, that our marks will distinguish us as the hero of our people. The one to fight the Halpha, we spent our entire lifetimes preparing for it, all in the hope that if we are destined for the fight then we should be ready.”
I don’t know what to say, the dots slowly connecting in my mind as I realise the meaning behind all those whispers, all the sly glances and the prolonged stares. Now I know why the tribespeople had accepted me into their numbers so willingly, they are praying that I am the one their people have been waiting for all this time.
“Can you not see the hope that you bring my people? For generations we’ve been inking and preparing ourselves and yet when uprooted from our home and in our darkest times, when all seems bleak as we are slowly hunted down, you arrive. Someone bearing the marks, not inflicted by ink, but by nature, by the forest!” Orrian’s voice rises as he reaches the last part, sounding more and more sure of himself. He looks at me expectantly, despite everything we’ve been through there’s still a glimmer of hope behind those eyes, like he’s almost expecting me to suddenl
y reveal my true identity.
“I don’t- I’m not-” I start.
“You don’t know who you are, and neither do we, not really, but please don’t destroy this for them,” he interrupts pleading. I also get the feeling that he’s asking for his own sake, unwilling to have his hopes crushed.
The idea that I’m the one whose duty it is to ward off the apocalypse and stand toe-to-toe with a demon, all because of my deformity, is absurd. It’s unfounded and it couldn’t have happened to a less worthy fighter. But regardless, a part of me warms to the fantasy, for so many years I have been treated harshly, bullied, treated tentatively and with suspicion, yet I walk among these people and they immediately hold me in such high regard. For once my skin has marked me favourably instead of as someone who should be avoided. Perhaps this tribe is where I really belong, but then of course I would have to resign to living a lie for the rest of my days. My throat tightens at the thought, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself under the pretence of such a false persona.
I know it’s not my place to remove the last hope that these people have. It’s not in me to add to their list of destroyed and broken things. I cannot be the one to tell them, to reveal my doubts, but at the same time I don’t know if I’m willing to lead on their beliefs either.
We sit in silence for several long minutes, Orrian giving me time to process. Behind, the recovering travellers can barely be heard over the orchestra of crickets around us.
“You’ve been making friends. I saw what you did with your shoes, thank you, she’s a good lady,” Orrian says, ready to change the subject.
“Yeah, she is,” I reply, a little surprised that he’d had time to pay me any attention since we last spoke. “They all are.”
“I know,” he says with a smile. “I just hope they’ll leave us alone when they don’t find us in the mountains. I set Faelyn about blocking up the entrance so with a bit of luck they’ll never even know we were there.”
Orrian stares wistfully into the distance. He looks out into the distance like he can see our destined paradise before us, just out of sight but well within reach. He really is the king his people need, even now, on the run and homeless, his presence assures me that all promised goodness in this world hangs ripe and ready for our taking.
“Somewhere out there is a future, somewhere we can go back to being safe, where we can rebuild,” he says dreamily.
I pause, it hasn’t been lost on me that the further we put between ourselves and the colony is added distance between me and my family. Orrian notices the brief rush of air as my words get caught in my throat.
“You can always go back you know,” he says, “I don’t want you to, it’s a tough and dangerous journey. I would never force you to come with us, but I think it’s best for everyone if you stay,” he assures.
“Yeah I know,” I snap, it may be unfair to take it out on him but a part of me still blames Orrian for getting me into this mess. I pause wondering whether I should apologise. I have gotten used to addressing him informally but even still I’m sure that’s not how one is supposed to talk to a king. He seems to have noticed nothing and instead looks at me as if waiting for me to continue.
“You can stay with us if you want. We’re safer together and it looks like you’re pretty much one of us now,” Orrian adds when I don’t continue. “Think about it. Come on, we should get moving again.”
Orrian pats me on the shoulder and begins to rouse his people back onto their feet, leaving me lost deep in my own indecision.
CHAPTER TWELVE
We have been travelling for a couple of days now. With each passing hour we continue our laborious journey onwards, our stores our getting inevitably low and we are having to rely more and more on the hunters who stray from our group and return late in the evening. As each night arrives, we set up camp, taking turns to watch over each other in the darkness.
I knew Orrian’s people were resourceful from looking around the cavern but seeing them at work in person as we settle down each night leaves me in awe. They work together seamlessly, the perfect workforce. One group will go off and collect fruits and berries, another will effortlessly build raised beds to keep us away from the insects at night, some stand guard whilst others go about preparing a meal. The coordination of the entire operation is fascinating, and it’s all largely down to their loyalty and obedience towards Orrian. Their trust in him is to such an extent that anything he says they do without question, working tirelessly and efficiently to get the job done. I am yet to spot a flicker of hesitation or detect an ounce of reluctance when I watch him talk to his people.
I have used my endless time journeying with these people to acquaint myself with as many of them as possible, since the fight I have been welcomed with open arms. I have contributed as much as anyone else, collecting firewood, looking after the young ones, I’m even trusted to stand over them armed as they sleep, warding off predators. Every morning, all bunks are dismantled and carefully spread back around the forest so as to leave as little evidence as possible, and we continue onwards for another long day of walking.
By now nobody has much energy left.
Feet are cracked and sore, everyone’s hungry and more worryingly, thirsty. We only come upon freshwater streams every so often, and the constantly parched throats are beginning to shorten tempers. The vicious heat and long periods without shade are resulting in constant headaches and everyone is always on the lookout for sunstroke. The various loads previously carried by all the elderly have been distributed among the rest of us now and combined with the pained and never-ending complaints of the children, progress is slow. On several occasions we’ve all had to disperse to give Horas time to pacify his sister, Astera I now know gets infamously intolerable on an empty stomach.
Whilst each step takes me further away from my family, I cannot help but appreciate the nature I find myself enveloped in. If Orrian had never stumbled into our village I would have likely never left Avlym’s close-knit community. I may have hunted and ventured a little into the forest, but I would be surprised if any resident in Avlym’s living memory has seen as much of the world as I have now.
Whilst my time exploring is certainly satisfying my curiosity, boredom and gradually increasing pains are refusing to make the experience enjoyable. My feet are bloodied and cracked, toenails bruised, legs aching and knees threatening to collapse under every step. As precious sweat leaves me we all find ourselves longing for the forest, treasuring the moments where we can escape the relentless fire from above.
Since leaving the peaks, our journey has consisted mostly of grasslands with the occasional small section of woodland, it is therefore to great relief when through the last of the trees we finally stumble out onto golden sand. The distant, perfectly flat horizon calling out for the setting sun as gentle waves crawl towards us before retreating once again into the infinite depths. I cannot remember ever being able to see so far into the distance as I can now, I squint as hard as I can but still cannot see a shore on the other side of the water. Travellers have told us about a place like this, an endless field of water which gives them all their salt. I thought that they had invented the place to sell more of their product, it wouldn’t be the first time.
Everyone has paused. After so many hours of similar landscapes the sudden beauty of the scene before us is breath-taking. Driftwood litters the beach, inviting us to begin our fires. Above, deep hues of purple slowly dissolve into blackness, the faintest light of the stars already shining through. Our feet are cushioned and massaged by the sand below, the pleasure indescribable as the gold runs between our toes.
From here we can see the entire beach, having come out roughly in the centre of a long soft bay. Standing back, a few hills emerge above the trees, a couple developing into cliff edges later on. The nearest of these ends in a cluster of boulders close to where we stand, giving the impression that the entirety of the sheer face could collapse at any second. Long grooves weave their way through the rock, mimicking
the curves of the waves that gently roll into them.
Orrian drops his stuff, I sigh with relief. It would be cruel to get a taste of this soft haven only to have to immediately resume our wanders in the forests and undergrowth.
No more needs to be said, everyone is used to their jobs by now and they require no further input from their king to set up sleeping arrangements for the night. Before long, a few long communal sleeping platforms have been created to raise everyone off the ground, hopefully far enough up the shore to avoid the incoming tide. Logs and driftwood planks have been collected and positioned around roaring campfires on which the day’s rations slowly cook, tended to by Horas and several others.
Whilst the food cooks I join others in taking the opportunity to wash properly for the first time in days. I let the dark waters embrace me as I gently cleanse myself of the coating of dried dirt, blood, and dust that has managed to accumulate. I start with my hair, which no longer runs between my fingers but instead catches them in its thickness. Next, I move onto my arms and legs, taking care over my display of uncountable scratches, before finally submerging myself completely and succumbing to gravity.
I disappear into the silence and peace of the oddly salty water, the faint light above me retreating above my head. My hair drifts away from me, swaying with the gentle waves above. My skin tingles refreshingly and I let my eyes close, admitting myself into total isolation. I allow my troubles to be washed away by the tide, the stress and pains of the last few days disappear in my new surreal world.
As the last of my breath escapes me, I remerge, reborn into the night. As the cool air fills my lungs, I realise that my traveller’s daze has been swept away in the depths. I feel more alive and alert than I ever remember, fire runs through my veins until I am impervious to the coldness swaying around me.
