ARC 6-Winter War-49
On one side, there stands the men of the mining village, no name. They are a new village, having only been in the area for three years. They have fewer numbers, with more strong young men than women and children. They have no armor to speak of but plenty of weapons. Each man is holding a spear and knife. Saints, there’s even a few shields.
Opposite of them are the men from Shortcreek. Family men. They have similar numbers but most of them are middle-aged. As those who labor for a living, they have good physiques, but they are showing signs of exhaustion. Spite is keeping them going more than anything else. Their weapons are also a joke. Even their attitudes have taken a severe blow after meeting their enemies in the open. The murderous mob is now shuffling their collective feet. They are thinking less about revenge and more about survival.
Before them are Alana and I, myself fully clothed and standing in my future wife’s shadow as she stares them down. She let the silence drag on, her glare and the awkward air snuffing out the last of their tempers. I wish she would get on with it but I hold my tongue. Not my moment.
“Rolly,” she whispers under her breath. In response, a weak breeze tickles the tops of my ears. I imagine the lueorale has also made herself known to Alana because the future saint continues whispering. “Don’t let them interrupt me. I’ll leave the lightwork to you.”
“Lightwork?” I mutter.
“You’ll see,” my wife says. Straightening her shoulders, she marches forward. All eyes are on her as she clears her throat and raises her voice.
As she opens her mouth, the sky dims, giving the impression of a coming storm. “Your villages have committed many sins. Sins against your neighbors, sins against the kingdom, and sins against the saints that dedicated their lives to the prosperity of humanity.”
“Us?” one of the men from Wenry’s village shouts. “They’re—"
“SILENCE!”
Alana’s voice cracks like thunder, the sky darkening further. I can’t blame the weak-hearted for the way they jump and stumble away in fear. Even I flinch at the unexpected volume. Rolly definitely had something to do with that. I could feel her shout in my bones.
“You,” Alana continues, looking at the men from the mining village, “acted against your neighbors. You knew they had nothing to spare but selfishly took from them, using their families to force their compliance.”
She focuses on Borick, who opens his mouth only to think better of speaking. “Do you think you should be commended for not harming them? Your actions doomed them to slower and far more painful deaths. In my eyes, what you’ve done is no different than stabbing a man and leaving him to die.”
“And you.” It’s the Shortcreek men’s time to face her judgmental eyes. “You are victims of a horrible crime but you are not innocent. Perhaps you didn’t have much but you abandoned your neighbors all the same. The same as the men who robbed you, you knew your actions would doom them to agonizing deaths. Instead of coming together, you decided to save yourselves, no matter the cost.
“Don’t speak. I can see what you want to say in your eyes. It’s not your obligation to save another. To risk your life to preserve the life of your neighbors.” Her lips twist in disgust. “If that’s what you truly believe, then I will walk away now, as you aren’t worth saving. You can snap and tear away at each other like animals and to the victor goes the spoils.”
She stared them down, waiting for someone to take her up on her offer. Obviously, they weren’t interested, turning their heads to avoid her stern eyes. When it’s clear no one will step forward, she scoffs.
“During the Great War, humanity only survived because we came together. If the strong only cared about themselves, we’d be a shadow of who we are. The only reason you are standing here today is because heroes, the greatest of humanity, laid down their lives to protect everyone. In the eyes of the saints, you are all failures. A part of me believes it would be better to let the Abyss take you. Luckily for you, I believe in what I speak. Despite your shameful displays, I will not abandon you. But you will face punishment.”
Everyone leans toward her as she pauses, including me. It’s like waiting for the finale of a play. I’m eager to see the conclusion.
“My judgment…is that neither village will have the food.”
Despite her demand for silence, several exclamations answer her declaration. Both groups are equally offended. A few faces look ready to take their chances in a confrontation. They’re interrupted by the rumble of the sky but there is no accompanying flash of light.
“What is the true problem you face?” she asks in the silence. “Is the lack of food? The onset of winter? The lack of support from your lord? No! It is the division between neighbors. I ask you, what happens if you receive the food and your neighbors starve? Do you think this matter ends there? You know it doesn’t. Blood will be spilled. Not just between you. Blood begets blood. Your villages will hold grudges that will send generation after generation against one another, everyone involved ready to take vengeance for their ancestors. Over and over until they forget their reason for fighting and the conflict claims more lives than a single season ever could.
“Victory has faced many harsh winters. There have been days where I’ve only had a single bowl of watery soup, going to sleep with an empty stomach. Many times, it seemed there would never be enough. But we survived because the people came together.
“Instead of marching on one another, you should be marching through the forest, looking for plants to forage. Instead of pointing blades at your friends, you could be hunting, stockpiling meat and hides. And not only will you save yourselves today, the next time a crisis strikes your villages, you will come together to solve it again. Your children will have reliable allies as opposed to bitter enemies.”
The dark sky brightens, a ray of light falling on Alana. I’m not the only one who gasps taking in the sight of her confident stance amongst a crowd of irate villagers, short blond hair gleaming and blue eyes clear as the small creek we found Wenry crouched beside.
“Hear me. Only by working together will you survive. However, you have the choice of where you will direct your efforts. Will you fight against winter? Or…will you fight me?”
She pulls her sword from its sheath. Then she tosses it aside. I’m not the only one whose mouth gapes at the action. Does she not see all the pointy weapons in these people’s hands? She’s good but what is she going to do if they surround her?
“It’s embarrassing to say but I’m too unskilled to guarantee your safety while fighting with blades. If you lay down your weapons, I won’t take anyone’s life. Come. All of you were so eager for a fight. Here’s your chance. Your life is guaranteed and no one will interfere.”
She looks to me as she says that. I grit my teeth and try hard to communicate with my eyes that there’s a limit to that request. Neither Kierra nor Geneva are here. There’s real danger in this challenge. If they surround her with those spears…
“What are you all hesitating for? You were ready to slaughter each other for the food earlier. All you need to do is take me down. One woman. Come on!”
At her provocation, one of the men from Shortcreek drops his pitchfork and runs at Alana with yell. She’s unfazed. Her expression doesn’t change as she turns to face him. Weaving out of the way of his clumsy punch, her fist snaps his head back with an uppercut and a cross sends him to the ground.
That’s the que for the brawl to start. The rest of the men from Shortcreek drop their weapons and run at her. If it were Kierra or myself, it wouldn’t be a fight. It’d be a slaughter. Their numbers would mean nothing. If they tried to encircle me, I’d pick the closest one up in throw him at his friends. Jump over their heads and rush them from behind. Saints, I could just ignore them. Common weapons wielded by laborers can’t harm me.
Alana doesn’t have that luxury. They may be unskilled but they can hurt her if they get in a lucky blow. As such, she has to continue moving. Each step is calculated, every strike carefully weighed. In the whirling, chaotic tumble caused by the men anxious to take her down, she is like a snake, slipping between them with ease and knocking them down with decisive blows.
Kierra’s training is not about technique. She taught me to be aggressive, to be comfortable in my body, and to leverage my gifts. She fights much the same, less a martial artist and more a natural disaster in a woman’s skin.
Alana is different. She has technique. Every action flows seamlessly into the next, whether it’s another attack, a block, or a dodge. Not a single motion is wasted. She accurately keeps track of multiple opponents, revealing a true talent for combat. Despite that, she doesn’t get out unscathed. The odd blow manages to reach her but she doesn’t retreat a single step. Slowly, one by one, she knocks them down. Even the men from the mining village who drop their spears to join the brawl.
Several minutes later, most of the men are on the ground. Alana stands in the middle of them. Her hair is tousled, she’s covered in dirt from rolling on the ground, and a cut on her brow is bleeding but she’s victorious.
“Go home to your families,” she says between panting breaths. “Hug your loved ones and be grateful for the opportunity because, if I were like you, all of you would be dead now. Thank the saints you’re all alive and ask yourselves how you’re going to stay that way.”
She steps over them, heading toward me. “Load the supplies onto a wagon and let’s get out of here.”
“Yes, my lady,” I respond, feeling a silly smile curl up my lips.
-
“Are you sure about this?” I ask while jogging through the woods, pulling a wagon behind me. The ground is uneven and the trees are a nuisance but without having to carry a child, we’re making much better time.
Alana, seated on one of the crates and holding onto the side of the wagon tightly, yells over the rushing wind. “Like I said, the biggest problem isn’t the lack of resources, but the villages’ animosity. Without the food to squabble over and with a common enemy to hate, they won’t try to kill each other. It opens the door for cooperation but even if they don’t work together, at least they won’t have to worry about their neighbors raiding them at night.”
“But they’re both in trouble now, aren’t they?”
“Of course. The difference is, they’ll have to focus on acquiring food now. They’ll scramble like mad hens to procure food, any food. The will to survive is strong. They’ll find something. And when we return what we’ve taken, it’ll be enough for them to survive the winter.”
I chance a look back at her, heart thumping at her smug smile. “What?”
“You didn’t think I was actually going to steal food from starving people, did you?”
Well, I am pulling a wagon full of stolen goods.
“Once we reach Victory, I’ll send someone back with the food and anymore we can obtain. I’ll also investigate the lord of this territory. The village head of the mining village should have alerted him to the problem. Given that he fled, we can conclude that the lord was less than helpful or concerned. I’ll help them but, in the meantime, they can reflect on their actions and perhaps learn a valuable lesson.”
Heh. That’s my future saint.
ARC 6-Winter War-49
On one side, there stands the men of the mining village, no name. They are a new village, having only been in the area for three years. They have fewer numbers, with more strong young men than women and children. They have no armor to speak of but plenty of weapons. Each man is holding a spear and knife. Saints, there’s even a few shields.
Opposite of them are the men from Shortcreek. Family men. They have similar numbers but most of them are middle-aged. As those who labor for a living, they have good physiques, but they are showing signs of exhaustion. Spite is keeping them going more than anything else. Their weapons are also a joke. Even their attitudes have taken a severe blow after meeting their enemies in the open. The murderous mob is now shuffling their collective feet. They are thinking less about revenge and more about survival.
Before them are Alana and I, myself fully clothed and standing in my future wife’s shadow as she stares them down. She let the silence drag on, her glare and the awkward air snuffing out the last of their tempers. I wish she would get on with it but I hold my tongue. Not my moment.
“Rolly,” she whispers under her breath. In response, a weak breeze tickles the tops of my ears. I imagine the lueorale has also made herself known to Alana because the future saint continues whispering. “Don’t let them interrupt me. I’ll leave the lightwork to you.”
“Lightwork?” I mutter.
“You’ll see,” my wife says. Straightening her shoulders, she marches forward. All eyes are on her as she clears her throat and raises her voice.
As she opens her mouth, the sky dims, giving the impression of a coming storm. “Your villages have committed many sins. Sins against your neighbors, sins against the kingdom, and sins against the saints that dedicated their lives to the prosperity of humanity.”
“Us?” one of the men from Wenry’s village shouts. “They’re—"
“SILENCE!”
Alana’s voice cracks like thunder, the sky darkening further. I can’t blame the weak-hearted for the way they jump and stumble away in fear. Even I flinch at the unexpected volume. Rolly definitely had something to do with that. I could feel her shout in my bones.
“You,” Alana continues, looking at the men from the mining village, “acted against your neighbors. You knew they had nothing to spare but selfishly took from them, using their families to force their compliance.”
She focuses on Borick, who opens his mouth only to think better of speaking. “Do you think you should be commended for not harming them? Your actions doomed them to slower and far more painful deaths. In my eyes, what you’ve done is no different than stabbing a man and leaving him to die.”
“And you.” It’s the Shortcreek men’s time to face her judgmental eyes. “You are victims of a horrible crime but you are not innocent. Perhaps you didn’t have much but you abandoned your neighbors all the same. The same as the men who robbed you, you knew your actions would doom them to agonizing deaths. Instead of coming together, you decided to save yourselves, no matter the cost.
“Don’t speak. I can see what you want to say in your eyes. It’s not your obligation to save another. To risk your life to preserve the life of your neighbors.” Her lips twist in disgust. “If that’s what you truly believe, then I will walk away now, as you aren’t worth saving. You can snap and tear away at each other like animals and to the victor goes the spoils.”
She stared them down, waiting for someone to take her up on her offer. Obviously, they weren’t interested, turning their heads to avoid her stern eyes. When it’s clear no one will step forward, she scoffs.
“During the Great War, humanity only survived because we came together. If the strong only cared about themselves, we’d be a shadow of who we are. The only reason you are standing here today is because heroes, the greatest of humanity, laid down their lives to protect everyone. In the eyes of the saints, you are all failures. A part of me believes it would be better to let the Abyss take you. Luckily for you, I believe in what I speak. Despite your shameful displays, I will not abandon you. But you will face punishment.”
Everyone leans toward her as she pauses, including me. It’s like waiting for the finale of a play. I’m eager to see the conclusion.
“My judgment…is that neither village will have the food.”
Despite her demand for silence, several exclamations answer her declaration. Both groups are equally offended. A few faces look ready to take their chances in a confrontation. They’re interrupted by the rumble of the sky but there is no accompanying flash of light.
“What is the true problem you face?” she asks in the silence. “Is the lack of food? The onset of winter? The lack of support from your lord? No! It is the division between neighbors. I ask you, what happens if you receive the food and your neighbors starve? Do you think this matter ends there? You know it doesn’t. Blood will be spilled. Not just between you. Blood begets blood. Your villages will hold grudges that will send generation after generation against one another, everyone involved ready to take vengeance for their ancestors. Over and over until they forget their reason for fighting and the conflict claims more lives than a single season ever could.
“Victory has faced many harsh winters. There have been days where I’ve only had a single bowl of watery soup, going to sleep with an empty stomach. Many times, it seemed there would never be enough. But we survived because the people came together.
“Instead of marching on one another, you should be marching through the forest, looking for plants to forage. Instead of pointing blades at your friends, you could be hunting, stockpiling meat and hides. And not only will you save yourselves today, the next time a crisis strikes your villages, you will come together to solve it again. Your children will have reliable allies as opposed to bitter enemies.”
The dark sky brightens, a ray of light falling on Alana. I’m not the only one who gasps taking in the sight of her confident stance amongst a crowd of irate villagers, short blond hair gleaming and blue eyes clear as the small creek we found Wenry crouched beside.
“Hear me. Only by working together will you survive. However, you have the choice of where you will direct your efforts. Will you fight against winter? Or…will you fight me?”
She pulls her sword from its sheath. Then she tosses it aside. I’m not the only one whose mouth gapes at the action. Does she not see all the pointy weapons in these people’s hands? She’s good but what is she going to do if they surround her?
“It’s embarrassing to say but I’m too unskilled to guarantee your safety while fighting with blades. If you lay down your weapons, I won’t take anyone’s life. Come. All of you were so eager for a fight. Here’s your chance. Your life is guaranteed and no one will interfere.”
She looks to me as she says that. I grit my teeth and try hard to communicate with my eyes that there’s a limit to that request. Neither Kierra nor Geneva are here. There’s real danger in this challenge. If they surround her with those spears…
“What are you all hesitating for? You were ready to slaughter each other for the food earlier. All you need to do is take me down. One woman. Come on!”
At her provocation, one of the men from Shortcreek drops his pitchfork and runs at Alana with yell. She’s unfazed. Her expression doesn’t change as she turns to face him. Weaving out of the way of his clumsy punch, her fist snaps his head back with an uppercut and a cross sends him to the ground.
That’s the que for the brawl to start. The rest of the men from Shortcreek drop their weapons and run at her. If it were Kierra or myself, it wouldn’t be a fight. It’d be a slaughter. Their numbers would mean nothing. If they tried to encircle me, I’d pick the closest one up in throw him at his friends. Jump over their heads and rush them from behind. Saints, I could just ignore them. Common weapons wielded by laborers can’t harm me.
Alana doesn’t have that luxury. They may be unskilled but they can hurt her if they get in a lucky blow. As such, she has to continue moving. Each step is calculated, every strike carefully weighed. In the whirling, chaotic tumble caused by the men anxious to take her down, she is like a snake, slipping between them with ease and knocking them down with decisive blows.
Kierra’s training is not about technique. She taught me to be aggressive, to be comfortable in my body, and to leverage my gifts. She fights much the same, less a martial artist and more a natural disaster in a woman’s skin.
Alana is different. She has technique. Every action flows seamlessly into the next, whether it’s another attack, a block, or a dodge. Not a single motion is wasted. She accurately keeps track of multiple opponents, revealing a true talent for combat. Despite that, she doesn’t get out unscathed. The odd blow manages to reach her but she doesn’t retreat a single step. Slowly, one by one, she knocks them down. Even the men from the mining village who drop their spears to join the brawl.
Several minutes later, most of the men are on the ground. Alana stands in the middle of them. Her hair is tousled, she’s covered in dirt from rolling on the ground, and a cut on her brow is bleeding but she’s victorious.
“Go home to your families,” she says between panting breaths. “Hug your loved ones and be grateful for the opportunity because, if I were like you, all of you would be dead now. Thank the saints you’re all alive and ask yourselves how you’re going to stay that way.”
She steps over them, heading toward me. “Load the supplies onto a wagon and let’s get out of here.”
“Yes, my lady,” I respond, feeling a silly smile curl up my lips.
-
“Are you sure about this?” I ask while jogging through the woods, pulling a wagon behind me. The ground is uneven and the trees are a nuisance but without having to carry a child, we’re making much better time.
Alana, seated on one of the crates and holding onto the side of the wagon tightly, yells over the rushing wind. “Like I said, the biggest problem isn’t the lack of resources, but the villages’ animosity. Without the food to squabble over and with a common enemy to hate, they won’t try to kill each other. It opens the door for cooperation but even if they don’t work together, at least they won’t have to worry about their neighbors raiding them at night.”
“But they’re both in trouble now, aren’t they?”
“Of course. The difference is, they’ll have to focus on acquiring food now. They’ll scramble like mad hens to procure food, any food. The will to survive is strong. They’ll find something. And when we return what we’ve taken, it’ll be enough for them to survive the winter.”
I chance a look back at her, heart thumping at her smug smile. “What?”
“You didn’t think I was actually going to steal food from starving people, did you?”
Well, I am pulling a wagon full of stolen goods.
“Once we reach Victory, I’ll send someone back with the food and anymore we can obtain. I’ll also investigate the lord of this territory. The village head of the mining village should have alerted him to the problem. Given that he fled, we can conclude that the lord was less than helpful or concerned. I’ll help them but, in the meantime, they can reflect on their actions and perhaps learn a valuable lesson.”
Heh. That’s my future saint.
