Chapter Twelve
From a completed epic fantasy novel told across two time periods.
The Old Man
The old man lay in bed, unable to find any relief in sleep. Harold had explained much to him that night. The people who had migrated this far north had arrived here, at the northmost village in the known world, to escape their pasts, a sentiment with which the old man well understood. Harold had not elaborated on that subject, and he had not asked any questions. What he did learn about the denizens of the village was that they quickly came to find that the isolated and barren area surrounding the lake was not as it originally appeared.
The problems had started with predators who stalked the land at night. Although the land was barely hospitable for humans, there was more animal life than they had believed possible. Vicious felines larger than tigers who were virtually invisible in the snow made their home there. Their translucent fur made for impossibly warm coats, but they could not be taken down by less than five men. The villagers had named them frostfangs on account of their enormous canines.
The animals had been used to feeding on behemoth, but slow-moving herds of herbivores the locals referred to as peelers, for their habit of stripping the bark from trees. With competition from humans, the frostfangs looked for new sources of meat. People began being picked off at night. The hunters were silent and their jaws were so large that they could kill an adult human before he or she could scream. A curfew was set in place, and the villagers made plans to leave the lake.
But while decisions about where to go where under discussion, a miraculous discovery was made. Among the fishing nets dredged up from the lake bottom was a slimy, purple plant, similar in appearance to seaweed. At first, nothing was thought of it, over than a slight curiosity over the color. However, as the harsh winter of that year continued, and food supplies dwindled, people naturally began to wonder if the plant was edible. It turned out to be more than just edible.
As Harold described it to the old man, the plant had strong medicinal properties. That first winter, a fever had cut a deadly swath through the village, killing nearly a fifth of the inhabitants. But a pattern had been recognized. Those who had eaten the lake plant had survived, and in fact, displayed lesser signs of fever than those who had not partaken.
One day, a woman from the outside world visited the village. She inquired after the plant and paid handsomely for a large supply. Then, she simply left without saying more to anyone, never even giving her name. She had headed north.
She returned months later to purchase supplies. She also informed the villagers that should they need healing, she could assist them. She had built a cabin for herself some twenty miles north of the lake. The denizens found that the woman’s offer had been humbly spoken. She healed all but the worst conditions, and never asked for payment in return.
During all this, the predations of the night stalkers had slowed with the taken precautions, but the threat still remained. Nevertheless, people were reluctant to leave their new home, fearing any other destination would see the same problem. It was then, in that period of relative calm, that a more sinister problem arose.
A man who styled himself as “The Emperor” sent men to protect the village. From what they protected the villagers, it could not be determined. They shied away from hunting frostfangs, but the price they demanded for their generous service was high. Taxes were collected each month, and the option of leaving the region was forcefully removed. The emperor wanted the lake plants, and he needed people to gather them for him. The animal attacks had been replaced by human oppression.
The plant that had gone from curiosity to a sense of salvation ended up chaining the battered people to the area. Individuals who had fled society in the hope of finding freedom now faced a tyranny against which they were helpless. The Imperial Defenders took whatever pleased them, and acted more savagely than any wild beast. Hopelessness overtook the village. People who came down with sicknesses that the herbalist to the north could cure chose the easier path of death than that of a healthy life of abuse. A dark cloud had swallowed what was supposed to be a haven. Until the old man had fought back.
After relaying the story, Harold asked the old man for assistance. “You have skill with a sword. Skill that I have never witnessed before. There are five more ‘Imperial Defenders’ who haunt us. If you could help us… be free of them, we could leave here and start a new life. When they do not hear from Virson, they will come to investigate. Please, stay until we have rid ourselves of them.”
The old man took his time in responding. He did not want to get involved. I am not a savior. I fear I have already made this mess worse than it was. Since when have my actions ever caused more than hurt?
“I will stay until my new boots are finished,” he finally said, adding no other comment or justification. He could tell Harold gave great effort to concealing his disappointment, and perhaps sorrow, but he said nothing.
He already had someone to save. A child whom he had sworn to care for. Though he knew it was not likely untrue, he would justify his actions by telling himself he did not have time to stay an solve this village’s problem. He had to keep moving as time was of the essence. Even one lost day could prove fatal. That justification did naught to help his sleep that night.
The old man waited until sunrise to leave his bed the next day. He planned to pass the day as efficiently as possible, only interacting with people who could sell him much needed supplies. Hopeful that the cobbler could work more rapidly than she had told him, he checked in on her that afternoon.
When she answered his knock at her door, he adverted his eyes, then cursed himself silently for his cowardice and ill manners. “By chance do you have a better sense of when the work will be completed?” he asked, eyes lifting slowly to meet hers.
She gave him a playful grin. “Impatient?”
“Yes.”
“I appreciate your honesty. Come in out of the cold.”
Her workshop doubled as her dwelling. The unadorned wooden walls were dark with soot from a constantly burning fire. The intimacy of being within a few paces of her bed made him uncomfortable. More than six decades of life and I am in some ways as innocent as a young boy. How long has it been since I have lain with a woman? I do not care to calculate that.
“I’ve only been able to begin this afternoon,” she said. “There is no change in my estimation of time, I’m sorry. If you want boots that will not let you down in this land, you will have to wait.”
He had not truly expected a different answer. He knew himself well enough to know his motivation for the inquiry was more personal. Still, he had not formulated a plan. He suspected his did not hide his unease well. He suspected correctly.
“I considered whether I should thank you for what you did,” the woman said. “I think I should. Thank you. What is your name?”
“You are welcome. You may call me Gray.”
“That is not your name in truth?”
“It is not.”
“I see. You were a soldier?”
His hesitation was immediately noted. “Never mind,” she said. “You do not owe me an answer. And it is not as though I know the stories of most of the people here. I believe you will find yourself among like-minded individuals in that regard.”
Part of him wished for the conversation to continue. That half warred with the half of him which wanted to be alone, far away from where he was. Knowing he would have more opportunities for awkward interactions with this woman, he decided to take his leave.
“I’ll not steal you from your work, then,” the old man said.
“Thank you again,” the woman said. “My name is Makani. It is my true name.”
The discomfort he felt was interrupted by a knock on the door. Makani excused herself to open it and in walked a woman who looked to be in her early thirties. It was a miracle she had been able to knock, her arms were so full of scraps of aged leather.
“Let me help you with that,” Makani said as she grabbed half the load and placed it down on her bed. The younger woman followed her lead, then stood, apparently waiting for direction.
“I think this will be enough. Thank you, Olisha. Could you check the storage for wool as well?”
The old man caught the woman, Olisha, looking his way, then quickly withdrawing her glance. “I will. I think I saw some in there just now.”
“Thank you. Gather whatever you can find, please.”
Olisha quickly shuffled out the door, never making eye contact with the old man.
“Sorry about that,” Makani said. “Materials can be hard to come by and I don’t have enough time, so Olisha lends a hand when I ask. She’s a kind girl, but rather simple. You see, I asked her to bring leather and wool earlier this morning. Hopefully she will remember this time.”
Unsure how, or if he was expected to respond, the old man nodded.
“Well, I suppose I’ll get back to work. There is still a lot to do,” Makani said, brushing aside the hair that had clung to the sweat on her face.
“Thank you… Makani,” the old man said.
“I’m happy to be of service.”
He nodded again, then left.
The old man passed the remainder of the day and night in his room in Harold’s house, periodically looking at a portrait of a woman he was beginning to feel as though he had betrayed.