The Lieutenant was gone for the day, so Willow was able to visit Nil. It wasn’t safe, not even close; it was as safe as it was going to be. No one knew how long the Lieutenant intended to stay.

Slowly, careful not to draw too much attention to herself, Willow turned her feet toward one of the many ruins littered around the outskirts of the city. There was no way to confirm what the ruin was, although Willow suspected it may have been a school. What remained of the art on the walls seemed to show various magical abilities, perhaps members of that school who had performed great deeds?

This, however, was not her purpose this day and she slowed her steps, carefully studying the ground as she searched for the small hob who lived in amongst the ruins. She had stumbled across Nil as a young girl, around seven summers old, when she was exploring these old ruins, defying her parents’ very strict orders forbidding her from leaving the city. Willow smiled at the memory; she’d still been capable of childish rebellion in those days before reality had forced itself on her.

The art on the walls, the architecture of what remained, had enthralled her. She was fascinated by the fact that buildings weren't built this way now. The art on the walls was also a kind of fascinating. Since the King had destroyed the pigment industry, seeing true reds and greens and yellows on something other than a flower or tree had captivated her childish imagination. She’d known, as all people did, that things once were different in the realms, but nowhere else could she see physical proof of that history.

It was here that Nil had lived his entire life. That alone had been fascinating to young Willow. He was also proof that the Eldzha existed; Willow had pressed the poor creature for answers on anything she could think of.

Nil had scared her when Willow had first discovered his existence, unused to seeing anything quite like him. Small enough that Willow could hold him between her hands. Face heavily wrinkled, and his little black eyes always seemed mischievous, although never malicious. His hair had been a vivid orange when she’d met him, but grey had long taken over and only vestiges of it remained. It was still wild around the crown of his head, however, lending an almost crazed look to his appearance. He wore patched clothing made of lichen and leaves, worn in such a way that at a glance he could be mistaken for being lichen and leaves. He’d been greatly offended when Willow had offered to replace them for him. He wore what looked to be the remains of an infant’s sock, gathered, and restitched on his head and he often tripped over the end. While barefooted now, he’d once had shoes sewn from discarded leather. Willow often found him waddling about the ruins, pipe clutched tightly between teeth, tending to some affair Willow still did not understand. Nil had tried to explain it to her once, but she’d given up in confusion. He’d often use words she wasn’t familiar with, presumably from his native tongue, and hadn’t been able to translate these words in a way she could understand.

Nil himself was also very old, claiming to have been old even before the King’s reign began, although Willow didn’t understand the dating system he would use to describe the time of his birth. He swore that when he’d last spoken to her people regularly, that was the system they had used. Willow had tried to explain that a war had been waged and lost between now and whatever distance past that was, but he had never been able to comprehend what that meant. Nil didn’t even know The King was a true threat, too lost in his own mind to comprehend the concept, too stuck in the distant past. His age had been catching up with him when he and Willow had first met, prone to losing his thoughts and possessions and often enough seeming to not truly recognise Willow as someone he already knew; he was always glad for the company but treated it as if it was the first time they had met. As the years passed, he only grew dottier and now didn’t recognise Willow more often than not. Willow had even risked discovery by erecting a small barrier to prevent him waddling toward the city, when once she had found Nil listlessly heading that way. He wouldn’t survive long within the obelisks’ direct influence.

As Willow had grown older, she realised that the hob had the same disease of the mind that some humans got as they aged, trapped inside their minds, as Esther would say. She had seen the oldest people in the community succumb to this disease, confused, and convinced they lived in a time before now, and it left her feeling both frustrated and overwhelmingly sad. Nil sometimes grew confused himself, when he couldn’t find some relative or another, likely one who had perished many years previously, and Willow’s heart broke for the strange little hob with no one left.

This only created further sympathy and even once Willow was old enough to realise that fraternising with an Eldzha was more than just dangerous she couldn’t bear to abandon Nil. Not only did he have no one else, but Willow owed him.

When Willow had been small, the first early signs of magic had made themselves known. They were very small, not large enough to notify the King, things like fixing a flower stem she broke to avoid trouble, but it had been a terrifying concern for Willow’s parents. They had expressly forbidden her from using it, afraid it would continue to escalate, and for several years, Willow had suppressed the ability as much as any child afraid of getting in trouble could.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Then Brendan had died.

Willow knew the signs of an uncontrolled outburst, knew she had to somehow escape the city boundaries, far enough to be safe. The back corner of the farm had been her sanctuary, but she had been in town for the hanging and all she could think of doing was getting away. She had gone to the ruins where she knew Nil had stayed hidden, hoping that would be far enough away.

It had shocked Nil to see her growing concerned when she explained what was happening. He didn’t understand that magic was prohibited now, but he had been understanding of her dilemma and had somehow managed to calm her enough to prevent the storm. From there it had been lessons in keeping her emotions in check, shown her breathing exercises and a way to focus her mind enough that she could suppress the magical response, even in the most stressful of situations. He’d commented many times that she should be finding herself a teacher, no matter how many times she tried to explain that there were no teachers of magic anymore. She’d given up trying to convince him.

From there, he had taught her to ‘bubble’ herself, as he called it. In essentials, it was like a barrier around her at all times, keeping her magic well hidden. But the advantage was that it used very little magical energy: basically untraceable. As she grew older, she’d been able to extend this bubble for other purposes. Nil’d explained that humans had different techniques, different ways to hide their magic, but he wasn’t privy to those.

Nil had continued to teach her the little things, magic that went unnoticed like making water shoot upwards or parting heavy wind around herself, repairing a simple disease in a plant. She’d put a stop to this learning years ago, but it had been the one safe outlet she’d had, and young Willow had adored that time together with Nil.

Willow knew she was Nil’s only company. She’d never seen another hob and had no idea what had happened to the rest of his kind, although she strongly suspected that The King had something to do with it. Every few days, Willow made the effort to visit the old Hob, always terrified that she would find his empty body. She had no idea how long a hob was supposed to live, but if the disease that had taken Nil’s mind functioned the same as the human equivalent, then he could not have long left. Willow felt desolate at the idea, although she knew that when Nil did pass, he would be far safer than he’d ever been while alive. Perhaps he would be able to reunite with his long dead family. Willow wasn’t sure how the stream worked for non-human species, but she believed it was kind enough to keep all life in its waves.

As Willow ducked under a moss-covered pillar, toppled on its side, and held up by a crumbling wall, she finally came across Nil. Willow gently called out, more than expecting that the old hob would not recognise her. But when he looked up, he gave Willow a wide, sad smile and answered back, calling her name.

Willow moved to his side, happy, and knelt by his side. This was not an area she normally found him, and she noted that Nil knelt in front of a small wooden plague, too small and weathered for Willow to make out any details.

“How are you, Nil?” Willow asked him softly, sensing the sombre mood that clung to him like a saturated cloak.

“Ya be knowin me, youngin’,” He responded, his voice crackly and accent thick, “I be getting by as well as I can.” He indicated the wood at his feet. “This be me brother, Tul. He wen’ jus’ ‘fore the big change happened on you humans.”

Willow cocked her head to the side. “What happened?” She asked, gentle, but curious. Nil had never spoken of his family, although in his more confused states had called out for various others who Willow had presumed to be family. Tul had been one of those names.

“There was a young lad, lil’ olda then you methinks. Came in on one of those fancy floaty things you humans used to use.”

Willow nodded, “A Boat?”

The hob nodded. “He visited young Nil, but he was not nice. Kicked me through the door,” He indicated an archway where once a door could have stood. “An’ when Tul got angry and yelled, he gave him the ugliest look and brough’ ‘is foot straight down on him.”

Nil gasped and clutched his chest, tears streaking down his weathered face. “Nil did his best Youngin’ but he passed, and we put ‘im here. And here he stayed.”

Willow set a finger on Nil’s shoulder. “I am sorry for your loss Nil. I lost my brother too.”

Nil nodded once more. “’Twas a long time ago now, me thinks. The world changed in the next suns. So much death, so much taken. And now there is only Old Nil. One day there won’t even be Nil.”

Willow didn’t know what to say to the grieving hob and so silently handed him the small pieces of fruit she had smuggled out for him. Food was the only thing Nil would except from her and it was purely out of necessity: he was getting on in age and foraging was growing harder on his body.

“Thank ye, Youngin. It soothes me to know some humans stay good.”

Willow stayed with Nil until the sun began to set and, after carefully carrying Nil to the doorway of his tiny tunnel home, turned and made her way back to the city. She stretched her arms above her head and sighed. She would miss that tiny hob when he passed.

Slowly, with no other option, Willow dragged her feet back home, kicking up enough dust to make her cough. She hoped the rains would come soon; next growing season would be lean without it.

While reluctant to go home, she wasn’t foolish enough to contend with the criminal activity that would rule Tanut in a few short hours.