Steve kept staring at the ceiling. It was wooden, just like the rest of the house. Trees were definitely not scarce around town, although it looked like only a few grew in its immediate vicinity or along the road. Stones seemed to be abundant too, to surround the whole town in walls nine or ten metres tall and at least a couple thick. Considering the portcullis, the big-ass gate, the ditches and the moat as well – water courtesy of the nearby river – he did not envy whoever decided to try and attack the place.
Who’d even attack this town? The trees? This is not Middle Earth... Bah, who cares? Bloody hell I’m thirsty.
Steve rolled into his bed, his clothes, rough cotton or what passed for it, were drenched in sweat, courtesy of the night his body spent bringing down the high fever. The headache had not left him alone in the last three days, nausea had become his best friend, his hands and feet were still swollen, and all his joints ached. Strangely enough, the cough had been the first symptom to go.
Is this how old folks with arthritis feel? I’d kill for an aspirin right now.
«Here, drink some water. You need it».
With a grunt, Steve lifted himself up a bit, propped on his left elbow, he took the offered mug of water and drank as much as he could before the nausea felt too strong.
«Thanks. God, this sucks», he murmured. «Are you sure you don’t have an aspirin?»
«I’m sure».
«Really, really?»
Elisa rolled her eyes. «Yes. Be happy that I have some paracetamol. Now shut up and rest, Steve».
«How come y’all got better so quickly?»
Putting the half-empty mug on the small table, she replied. «I think you caught the strong strain of this disease. I didn’t feel as bad as you do, I didn’t even get a temperature».
«Okay, but why?» He weakly protested. «We basically have the same immune system. I call bullshit».
«You can complain as much as you want, though I don’t know who’ll listen. I bet you’re just annoyed because we got better sooner than you». She smirked.
«Bloody hell, I feel like a roo just used my head as a punching bag. Last time I was this sick was back in ’68… I still went to school».
«Well, idiots don’t catch colds often».
«Hey, that hurt! I’m a sensitive – cough – soul».
«Yeah, keep repeating that to yourself, it might become true». She did not relent.
«Piss off, Elisa. Is this how you treat a patient? Let me sleep…»
«Alright, alright. I’ll leave the mug and the jug here». She stood up. «Remember to drink. One of us will come by in an hour or so to check on you, so don’t go anywhere».
«Right… ’cause I’m ready to run a marathon, can’t you see?»
«Well, your sass is back, so I’m sure you’ll get better soon, Steve. Don’t worry, the fever’s almost gone».
As she closed the door, his brain tried to convince him to sleep, but as it always happens in such cases, it had the opposite effect. He could not stop from thinking about the days since they had arrived in town.
Right, the town. Ger-something. He would ask the name again later. He did not know what he had expected, perhaps a few sad, dirty people covered in filth and with rotten teeth, mudded streets, sewage and unpleasant smells all around. While it was true that some smells were not very pleasant, they had been greeted by a town bustling with life: throngs of people with grey skin, colourful clothes, and smiles like Hollywood stars, working, talking, laughing aloud, shouting, or just chilling out. The view had been so “normal” that Steve had been left speechless, and the others had not missed the chance to remark on that.
Elisa had immediately liked the place; «It reminds me of my grandparents’ town», is what she had said. «You know, old cities in Lower Saxony are beautiful». Then, she had pointed at the paved streets, at the stone houses covered with tiles – slate, according to her, or a similar stone – and at the very slanted roofs covered with the same tiles. Chief Rossi’s comments about how German towns could not compare to Italian ones were ignored.
Among those who walked the streets with purpose, many had been armed soldiers clad in some sort of metal armour, clearly on patrol, but the majority of those that Steve had seen around were civilians, who – barred a couple of farmers with a pitchfork – seemed to carry at most a small knife attached to their belt. From what he had seen, most of these Okkars looked slightly taller than the average human – well, human from Earth – though giants like the big, old guy and hulking amazons like Tár remained rare. No human from this planet in sight, however; the town appeared devoid of them. Not that the team had explored the whole place, far from it, but during the few walks they had gone for, before falling ill, they had encountered only local folks.
He looked again at the “public apartment complex”, for lack of a better term, they were staying in. It was destined to refugees and those in dire straits, apparently. Three stories tall, small, eight-people dormitories, mattresses made of hay, a common room where to eat, a lavatory, a well, even two built-in latrines for each floor, though he had no idea where the waste ended up. Their group was not the only one there, but it was the most numerous.
He chuckled. Reminds me of that weird hostel I found in Queensland right after high school. The girl at the reception was cute, though.
Steve diverted his eyes from the ceiling and looked outside of the small window in the room, taking advantage of being on the third floor to stare at the dark bell tower that loomed on the rest of the town. It was the tallest building around, from what they had seen, visible even from their place in the outer district. Chief Anderson had heard that close to it there was some kind of sacred grove that old man Ed had had to visit for… reasons. It was in the middle of the town, past the inner walls, an area that Charlie Team had not visited yet.
«Seriously, who do they fear will attack them?» He wondered out loud, question aimed at no one in particular.
No answer came.
***
The sun had almost reached the zenith, but Alessandro and Jaspinder did not need to shield themselves from it, as the heath was just enough to dispel the morning chill. The cobblestone resounded under their feet as they walked through the busy town. Drainage canals ran along each and every street, ending in manholes from which the water ended into the river flowing through Gerad. Downstream, of course. The Fljót was the town’s main source of drinking water, and the Okkars certainly did not want to pollute it.
Everything in Gerad spoke of a level of civil engineering that Alessandro had not expected. After all, they were in a border town in a society that, from the little they had seen, was pre-industrial and had quite a few similarities with the European Middle Ages; especially the architecture. It gave him this sense of de-ja-vu and familiarity that was hard to put into words. He was certain that having been born and raised in the historical and cultural centre of Europe, the country that had more UNESCO Heritage sites in the world, had something to do with it. Of course, he was no expert, but when you grow up surrounded by Roman, Medieval, and Renaissance buildings and artworks, you learn a thing or two. Enough to notice the resemblance at least.
It’s not so strange for their civic infrastructure to be this well developed, after all; I mean, Rome was already renowned for its engineering centuries before the Middle Ages. Sure, this “Ríki” of theirs is no Roman Empire, but they’re not piss-poor dirty peasants living in mud houses either.
Leaving his musings for another time, Alessandro looked at the many two-story buildings surrounding them, before his eyes inevitably ended up on his current companion. Jaspinder was still silent, and from her body language, half-annoyed and half-uncertain on what to say. After all, they hadn’t really spoken to each other in the last week, except from some short, necessary interactions during the team’s daily briefings. Their last proper conversation had been his angry retort to chastise her and remind everyone of her behaviour, and their relationship had been under strain since then.
Indeed, the tension was palpable, and he did not know how to break the ice. He thought of approaching the issue as he did when his son or his daughter – but mostly his son – made a mess, they argued, then got mad at him and would only speak to Sofia for the rest of the day, but then he remembered there was a small age difference – eighteen years to be exact – between Davide and Jaspinder.
In that moment, his nose caught a familiar scent and he stopped. Though he could not pinpoint exactly what it was, he had spent his childhood in and out of his parents’ shop, so he could smell – literally – herbs and flowers from a distance. And there it was, fifty or so metres to their left, at the beginning of a wide and well-lit side road, a large and well-kept flowerbed. It was being watered thanks to the large fountain in the middle of the square, twenty or so metres north of the shop. He sped up in its direction.
Jaspinder followed suit a moment later. «H-hey, chief, what happened? Where are we going so fast?» She asked, caught off-guard, but Alessandro did not give a reply.
A few metres from the flowerbed, he come to a stop to admire the view. «Beautiful».
«I didn’t know you liked flowers so much», Jaspinder said.
«How could I not? Look at those… well, they look like lilies. And are those purple roses? Oh, man, Sofia would love the blue ones».
«Wow. Remind me to give you a bouquet for your next birthday».
«Oh, no bouquets please; the flowers simply die after a few days, and as much as I like symbolism about the impermanence of life, I’d prefer a small plant in a vase». Alessandro had a soft smile on his face.
Jaspinder too smiled in reply as the tension between them eased a bit. It was joyous and contagious, the kind of smile that would put a troubled heart at ease and make a serene one beat faster. «Duly noted, sir. Just… can I ask why you have this passion?».
He turned to look at her, an eyebrow raised in confusion.
«I’ve never told you my parents are greengrocers? I thought everybody in the team knew…»
«Uhm, no, chief. I’d remember it».
«Oh, well, now you know».
«Copy that, but… what does it have to do with flowers?»
«Well, they also sell potted plants. Mostly cooking herbs, but normal plants too». He paused, then chuckled out of nowhere. «To answer your question, my dad grew vegetables at home in our garden. We didn’t sell those, but they were enough for us to eat, and you could say my interest sprouted from his efforts». He paused and grinned at Jaspinder, who groaned and facepalmed.
«Oh. My. God. No more dad jokes, please»
«Ha! You wish. Anyway, it was my mother who mostly taught me about caring for plants and flowers, and I really came to love gardening. At home, Sofia and I have lots of flower pots and most cooking herbs: the flavor that fresh basil, sage, or rosemary give to food is something else».
«What about growing vegetables?»
«Well, my dad did his best to teach me but… yeah, I might just be cursed. When I plant vegetables, they always die».
Jaspinder burst out laughing. It surprised him, but at the same time he felt a knot in his stomach loosen.
«Well, I’m glad that my veggie-killing powers make you happy». He grumbled, but he could not really hide his smirk.
«No offense, sir, but can you blame me? You were so serious and it’s just so dumb». She laughed again, and it was a joy to hear. «You know, my brother and his wife have this wonderful garden back in Bengalūru. It’s nothing too big or fancy, but it’s well cared for and I love it there. Whenever I visit them – well, not often enough – I always end up drinking tea with them outside, surrounded by all these colourful flowers, and then I like to take off my shoes and walk barefoot on the grass. Sometimes a few ants decide I’m an interesting tree and start climbing up my legs. Then I fling them away». She said, mimicking the gesture and smiling. Her joy and fondness at the memory was palpable, and she once again appeared as the Jaspinder he’d always known, miles apart from the angry, aggressive and desperate woman who was rearing to kill and had no second though about threatening her own friends.
Looks like I don’t know you as well as I thought, Jaspinder. But we can remedy that.
«Chief, I’ll tell you a secret».
«Sure, if you want».
«Wow… no excitement at all».
«Hey, you are the one who wants to tell me her secret, I didn’t ask». Again, he failed to hide his smile.
«Yeah, yeah. Anyway», she lowered her voice, and Alessandro instinctively leaned closer, «the thing is… I actually love when Steve tells us about Australia, the crazy wildlife and especially the plants. They sound like tales from an alien planet. I find it so fascinating! Don’t tell him I said that, though».
«I must confess... me too».
«What?!»
Rossi nodded and laughed. «Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, though: no danger of that coming out of my mouth. It’s already hard to make him stop talking now, I fear of what he’d become if we told him we find his stories interesting».
They laughed with gusto, then the door to the shop opposite the flower bed opened, and both of them turned towards the figure that emerged.
***
A girl exited the shop, and the first thing that caught Jaspinder’s eye was her attire: well-used, practical work clothes, thick gloves, what looked like a small gardening shovel in hand and a belt full of gardening tools. A red scarf adorned her hair, likely to protect from the sun and to keep the sweat from falling into her eyes. Their laughter made her lift her head, braid swaying with the movement, and Jaspinder was met by rich, brown eyes full of surprise and curiosity and a lovely face no older than twenty five.
Jaspinder’s breath caught in her throat. «Beautiful», she whispered.
«Indeed».
Chief Rossi’s voice made her snap out of it and turn towards her superior officer. «Chief! You’re married!» Any trace of awkwardness was gone from her voice, replaced with incredulity and reproach.
«Don’t be like Elisa, I meant the flowerbed», he deadpanned, «but the girl is gorgeous too, you’re right. You should ask her out».
«I’m not usually into women…»
He looked at her and slowly raised one eyebrow.
«Alright, she’s extremely hot and I wouldn’t hesitate a moment. Happy?»
«I’m always happy when I’m right».
Jaspinder pulled a face at that, but did not comment. «Hey, does this make me a female Kirk?»
«Well, she’s not green-skinned, but still a sexy alien. I think it counts. Come on, let’s go greet her».
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Chief Rossi approached the girl and struck a conversation. He asked her name in broken Tungu – they had learned that was the name of the Okkar’s language – how old she was, if she sold herbs, where to go to have good meal and a nice drink, if she tended to the flowerbed by herself, and similar light topics, supplementing with hand gestures his lack of vocabulary. The girl, despite being slightly baffled at the beginning, warmed up to them in no time and happily carried on the conversation, asking questions in turn. When the chief asked if he could take one of the plants, Claire – the girl – smiled in agreement and together they unearthed the plant with blue flowers that had caught the chief’s eye at the beginning, roots and soil as well. Close by, Jaspinder watched, amused and fascinated at the same time.
Claire went inside for but a minute, then came out with a clay pot with a plant of what looked and smelled like basil inside, though the leaves were violet. The chief’s eyes almost sparkled at the sight, and the look on his face when she gave it to him was almost tender. They put the other plant in the pot as well, and he looked dead serious when he asked how to care for them.
«And water? Every day?»
«Mundu to give them water every three days. Don’t hafa áhyggjur af the basilíkunni, it’s strong», she replied with the professionalism of an expert in their craft.
The whole exchange made Jaspinder smile, and with her eyes as well.
In spite of Claire’s protests, the senior chief insisted on repaying her by helping to seed a few new plants, pulling out weeds and help her rearrange something inside the shop. Jaspinder watched silently, marveling at how relaxed the chief looked as he tended to the plants, smiling and nodding at the girl as she spoke, thought he missed at least half of what she said. Jaspinder found herself helping them out at a certain point, and an hour passed by quickly before they finished. The young herbalist thanked them, then smiled and waved as they walked away.
«I’ll be back when I can!» Chief Rossi shouted, in English and with the aid of his hands.
«I don’t think she understood», Jaspinder commented as they walked.
«Oh, I think she did, trust me», he replied. She had not seen him so happy in a while.
«Did you even tell her your name?» she asked.
«Oh shit! I knew I had forgotten something». He stopped and looked at Jaspinder. «Here, keep it one sec», he said, handing her the potted plants.
He jogged back towards Claire. Jaspinder watched them talk, his body language somewhat embarrassed and flirty at the same time.
How does he do it? Is it on purpose?
Then, Claire giggled with mirth, and Jaspinder wondered how those lips tasted.
Her reverie was broken when the girl curtsied with a small flourish and Chief Rossi replied with a bow. Jaspinder was split between shock and amusement; it was way too stiff and slightly awkward, but it was a bow nonetheless. Then, he offered Claire a hand, and she replied with gusto to the following handshake, though she looked confused at first. The chief made another light bow, much more casual, waved goodbye and walked away.
«Unbelievable», Jaspinder murmured. A chuckle escaped her as she watched him walk back to her and wave at the young herbalist one last time.
I can’t wait to tell the others.
***
Some days later, Tetsuo was taking a stroll around town. It was almost midday, and he had opted not to wear his armour and dress just like the rest of the town villagers, with clothes of rough cotton – well, the local equivalent – and sturdy leather boots. He openly carried his knife at the belt, since it looked to be the norm, but also had his Colt .45 with him, concealed. His attempt to blend in would have been more successful, however, if he had been of the same species as the people he passed by, and if he had managed to keep himself from gaping around like a tourist in Venice. That he kept asking questions to almost everyone in a somewhat comprehensible Tungu did not help. In his defence, never in his life he would have thought to be in a real medieval town, with real medieval people. Though, technically he was not; this was, after all, an alien planet.
What kept people from angry retorts or calling the guards on him was, however, the giant walking by his side. Eiðvörður’s sheer size made people think twice before becoming unpolite, while his placid demeanor calmed down those who might be worried or afraid. His stoic look was at times betrayed by his clenched his jaw and loud sighs – most of the time right after Tetsuo had asked a barrage of questions – though the Japanese did not give any clue that he noticed.
«So, you said us that you… learn emotion when child. After, you… you learn to control it. Yes?»
«Yes. We are taught how to control our emotions when we verðum adults, at fifteen springs. We faðma our emotions and learn how to calm our mind».
«And, how do you do it?»
«We learn to stay silent and einbeita on one thing».
«Sorry, einbeita?»
«Yes, Tetzuo, we… uhm… we put our mind on one thing, we einbeita».
«What does…» he murmured, then his face lit up in understanding. «Oh! You focus».
«Correct, we focus».
So, they concentrate in silence. Meditation, basically. Interesting. And they do it while moving. Not that easy…
Tetsuo was lost in thought for a few minutes, and his chaperone seemed content to let him be. «Eiðvörður, all Okkars go learn to focus?»
«Yes, allir is taught how to focus, but not allir keeps training. We erum different. My tribe and I tilbiðjum the Sage».
«Sage?»
«The Goddess of Visku and Forests. Thanks to her we make good decisions according to our experience and we use our þekkingu well».
Tetsuo nodded, understanding. «So, she’s the Goddess of Wisdom, I guess…» He murmured to himself and took note. Why forests, though? He wondered in the privacy of his mind.
«You lived in Gleðiogsorg because of your goddess?»
«Yes, in part».
«A favor I ask you. Please, learn us how to focus».
The old Okkar seemed taken aback by the sudden request; nonetheless, he brought his right hand to his chest and nodded. «I skal teach you. It is the minnsta I can do to endurgreiða the skuldina we skuldum you and your companions».
Tetsuo needed a moment to understand that Eiðvörður was, in fact, agreeing to teach them. «Thank you».
«Mundu, however, that Gleðiogsorg’s bölvun is strong on humans. Stronger than on Our People. It takes langan tíma, years, to learn to focus well».
The duo kept walking in the direction of the bell tower. Tetsuo’s tactical mind wanted to investigate it as it was a landmark and vantage point over the whole town, but the more cultural part of him was eager to see the buildings and art of this new world. In many countries on Earth, places of worship tended to have the most works of art, be it paintings, sculptures or architecture, so he hoped it would be the same here.
Half an hour later, he was standing in front of the church, or perhaps it would have been more correct to call it a temple, next to the imposing bell tower. He could see the entrance to the sacred grove that Eiðvörður had mentioned; it was guarded by two armoured soldiers, armed with a halberd in hand and a sheathed sword to the side. A blue tabard with a stylised yellow thunderbolt completed the picture. As Tetsuo moved his eyes away, he took in the façade of the temple, and he felt awe, the biblical kind, latch onto him; perhaps it was its dark colour, or that it was the biggest building he had seen in Gerad – though it seemed to be no bigger than the average European church – or maybe it was the eight dark stone statues framing the entrance and looking down at him. As he looked at the statues, he suddenly felt an invisible weight settle on his shoulders, pressing him down, and his vision narrowed, unable to look away from the statues. His knees buckled for a moment, but he regained his bearing quickly and stood straighter than before, the pressure gone. A bead of sweat traced down his cheek.
«Those are the Gods», his chaperone said, breaking him from his reverie.
Tunnel vision receded, and Tetsuo met the eyes of Eiðvörður. The Okkar gestured with his hand towards the entrance. «This is a musteri of the Father, God of the sky, of the vindsins, þrumunnar and rigningarinnar. He is the one in the middle. The biggest musteri in a town is alltaf the Father’s. No one wants to anger him».
Tetsuo stared at the statue of the Father, clad in actual armour, with a steel longsword in hand, five real earrings and a severe visage. His focus shifted to the other gods and goddesses as Eiðvörður explained the pantheon: the Warrior, the Mother, the Sailor, the Widow, the Healer and the Hunter.
«—and last, the Sage, Goddess of Wisdom and Forests, my Goddess… Many are too hræddir to ask for her guidance».
A new voice joined them, it was not loud and it bore the weight of age, but carried authority, and maybe a hint of mirth. «Perhaps because she asks too much from her fylgjendum, or perhaps because you set a too high standard. What say you, Obilandi?»
Eiðvörður turned sharply at the interruption, faster than Tetsuo thought the man could move. «Bishop Drennar, it is good to find you in good health». He gave a light bow, hand on his chest.
The bishop was not the muscled colossus that Tetsuo had come to expect from the Okkars, he was just a normal man in his fifties or sixties. His deep blue robe was clearly of better quality than the tabard he had seen on the soldiers guarding the grove, embroidered with tiny yellow runes in addition to the lightning bolt that all sported on the chest area. Two temple guards – that is what Tetsuo understood they were – were escorting him, and their attention was fully on Eiðvörður, almost disregarding Tetsuo’s presence. «You too, Obilandi. It has been a decade, I suppose».
That word again. A nickname? Or maybe a title…
«Twelve years. I cannot say I missed your prédikunum». The old Okkar smiled, the act making him look ten years younger.
Drennar laughed and beckoned them to follow. «Come. Let me show you our Father’s musteri. I think your vinur is interested. How do I call you, human?»
Surprised at being addressed, Tetsuo took a moment to reply. «My name is Tetsuo Kusanagi».
«Tetzuo Küsa-Anaghi…» He repeated the name, as if to taste it. «As I am sure you þegar know, I am Drennar, bishop of the Father, and I welcome you to His house». They crossed the entrance of the temple, and Tetsuo admired the two massive bronze doors embossed with symbols and scenes of unknown meaning, but whose beauty he very much appreciated.
The inside of the temple was not as bare as he had thought. Quite the opposite, actually. Red and white tiles covered the floor, creating some kind of pattern. Five, decorated, glass windows let sunlight shine through, and bronze braziers illuminated where natural light did not reach. Eight carpets depicting acts of the gods covered most of the walls, and under each was an alcove with people in prayer. Each alcove was framed by two small statues of one of the gods of the local pantheon. It was a rich endeavour for a border town, which spoke volumes of the power and wealth of the clergy, and of its political influence.
The bishop proceeded to explain in more detail the story of each god and goddess, what they governed, who was more important, who the most powerful, and who had more worshipers in town. Tetsuo missed a few things during the explanation due to the language barrier, but he was pretty certain that “the Father” was always the correct answer. Behind Drennar, Eiðvörður kept a cool face, but at times you could see his eye or mouth twitch, which amused Tetsuo.
«And you, Küsa-Anaghi? Do you pray to the falska gods of Voulvent? To the spirits like the people of Gowen? Or perhaps you are from Àrlam and dýrkar the Twins».
«I… do not pray gods. I am not from the lands you say». He stopped, trying to find the right words. «In the land I come from, people pray many things, yes? Some pray one god who made all, some pray spirits, some pray many gods, some learn from a human, a sage who became a god but not a god».
«A god, but not a god?»
«Yes, almost a god, but more».
The bishop looked at him in askance. «How can one be more than a god?»
«I do not know. I do not pray to him».
«Interesting… You have brought a strange human with you, Obilandi». Bishop Drennar left it at that and kept guiding them, asking questions to Eiðvörður from time to time. It looked like the two were old friends catching up, but there was some underlying tension to their exchange that Tetsuo could not puzzle.
An hour later, the bishop excused himself and bid them farewell.
As the man disappeared from sight, Tetsuo asked Eiðvörður if it was possible to visit the bell tower. The man shook his head and pointed at a robust wooden door guarded by two soldiers.
I guess that’s a no.
***
The sun had risen not an hour before, and they were in the middle of changing in preparation for the day; modesty long forgotten and nakedness nothing unusual after years spent together in all kinds of situations. Steve yawned as he watched Elisa put on the rough cotton shirt she had been given and scrunch her nose.
«Guys, I know this is not really our biggest problem, but I’m starting to miss deodorant and toothpaste», she said.
«And coffee». Chief Anderson said, sipping water from a wooden cup, eyes still half closed.
«Hey, have you noticed how people here smell kind of like basil?» The old man was, of course, already full of energy. How he managed that at 35 was a mystery to everyone.
«Not really… but I noticed they haven’t invented toilet paper yet», Steve cut in.
«Right. What a shitty place», Jaspinder complained.
Steve tried and failed to stifle another yawn. «That’s a lame pun, Jas, especially this early in the morning».
«It wasn’t. How would you call a place where toilet paper doesn’t exist?»
«Australia», Chief Rossi chimed in. Master Chief Anderson snorted the water out of his nose and the rest laughed without a care.
«Hey, hey! That’s not funny, chief. 2052 was just an accident, and it was only for two weeks!»
«Come on, guys», the master chief was still chuckling as he tried to catch his breath, «we have things to do and places to be».
Three weeks had passed by, and after Steve’s recovery, the team had fallen into a routine. They were trying to get familiar with their new reality and their hosts’ culture, to learn how people lived and to become more proficient with the language.
Since they were guests and, on all accounts, penniless, they put the hours in to help the group they rescued, refugees now. Be it with the organisation, menial labour, hunting, taking care of the injured and the sick, or simply paying a friendly visit, they did their best. After all, the generosity of the town administration only covered living quarters, and it was already more than expected. Whenever possible, any member of the team also tried to find information on ways to go back home without being too obvious about it, but they had yet to find anything. It was already complicated, and the language barrier did not make it any easier.
Chief Anderson and Tetsuo spoke with Eiðvörður daily, usually around noon, and at their meetings often were present his son, Sterkáin, and Tár. One time, Steve had gone with them, only to find that Lady Braids was there as well. After half an hour, the Master Chief had sent him away while she was only glaring daggers at him and not throwing actual ones. He had not participated in other meetings.
In general, they tried to pay visit to their grey friends when possible, according to their scheduled tasks for the day. They always left at least one person in their quarters. After all, they could not go around geared for battle each and every day, and would never leave their equipment unguarded.
Whenever they visited the women, unless given explicit permission, only Elisa and Jaspinder would approach to check on them. The rest would remain at the door or outside, to avoid making them anxious of scared.
Chief Rossi was the outlier of the group. He paid the Okkars visit less often, two to three times a week, and never stayed too long after checking if they were more or less fine. Despite that, Tár and her daughter asked often about him and bowed to him every time they met. He looked quite embarrassed by the gesture, to the amusement of the others. Steve jumped on the chance to tease the older comrade like a crocodile on an unsuspecting zebra, and was met with a really unfair smack to the back of his head, especially since others like Elisa and the master chief did the same with impunity.
However, nothing could completely hide the frustration that gnawed at them from the inside, though some managed to mask it better than others. Frustration at their inability to help Tár and the rest of the Okkars in their recovery from the trauma. They tried, for all they could, but no one in the team had any training in that area. It was common knowledge that talking about the issue could help, but that was Earth’s common knowledge, and even then, Steve knew that not everyone processes trauma in the same way. He was proof of it. Add to that the fact that they were practically strangers, and it was painfully obvious there was little chance for their grey friends to open up their hearts to anyone except each other, in the best of cases.
In the worst case, they would keep everything bottled inside, and perhaps try to end it like Tar’s daughter.
Or like Matt had done back in Brisbane. No combat medic there to save him.
Steve closed his eyes at the memory and sighed. It was obvious, yet none of us saw the signs. He flicked away a tear and went back to admire the slowly waning sun from the small balcony on the third floor.
He heard two sets of feet approach, and turned his head to see it was the two Big Jims. Funnily enough, Steve had no idea that the name came from a toy before Chief Anderson mentioned it.
He nodded at them. «Howdy, mates?»
«Hello, Stīf» It was Big Jim, Hàt-something. The middle-aged hunter brought a hand to his chest in greeting.
«How fares you, Stīf?» Big Josh spoke as well, his red hair had a burning hue in the sunset light. He could not recall his name. “Ed”, maybe, or “Ned”.
«I good. Thank you. I no sick not now». Oh, how he hated the language, he sounded like a Tarzan stereotype. «You? Good all?»
The older man nodded and fetched a chair to sit down on, while the other approached Steve and leaned on the door frame. The three of them stood there, watching the sunset in comfortable silence. Soon, however, it was broken by the seated Okkar.
«We never thanked you almennilega».
Steve turned towards him after a beat, not having expected to be addressed. «You give thank me. Why?»
«Because you saved us, you’re a félagi hunter, and because you ákvaðst að setja your trust in us». The red-haired one replied. Seeing Steve’s confusion, he hastily added «The langhorn. You let us skin it, you gave us your knife. For this, we’re grateful».
Steve wanted to point out that he did not give them anything, it was all the master chief’s doing, but he opted to remain quiet. It would have been rude to refuse their gratitude, so he nodded in acceptance.
Afterwards, they chitchatted, or tried to. The two men were quite curious about his hunting experience, and more than eager to share stories of their exploits, like the time they had stalked a langhorn for a week before capturing it, only to have to leave behind half of the prey in order to avoid a fight against a Grænn Dauði – that was the name of the six-legged leopards, apparently – that, in turn, had been following them. Steve learned quite a lot about their trade, and about hunting methods that on Earth had been in disuse for a couple hundred years, but were still relevant in their society. He also discovered that Big Josh was only twenty-one years old, despite the beard and well-trained body. The three of them were joking about it when the young man suddenly started crying.
Steve’s smile grew uncertain, then strained, until it broke and vanished. His friendly and sunny attitude left space for worry, as he understood the issue was serious. The other Okkar hugged the younger hunter and started to comfort him, his voice soothing.
«Hey, what wrong? Ill? Hurt?» Steve asked.
«He was… He was violated, það sama og women. He’s in pain, niðurlægður, and afraid that people will know».
«Wait, wait. I… I go find Elisa and Tetsuo». He moved, already thinking where his friends might be. They needed a medic and someone who could understand them better than him.
However, before he could walk away, a strong hand grabbed his arm. Suppressing the instinct to react with violence, Steve stopped and looked at Eldur – that was his name – really looked at him. The owner of such vicious grip was an adult by any parameter, but all the muscles and beard of the world could not hide his youth. In that moment he was little more than a boy searching for comfort and solace, the desperation on his face framed by tears.
The other Okkar addressed Steve, his voice gentle. «Stay, please. You’re a hunter, you don’t judge, and we know that, by the Hunter, you will keep the secret».
The Australian stopped and squeezed Eldur’s hand, putting his left one on top as well. As the Okkar cried, Steve was hit by a wave of sadness; a dark pit formed in his gut, growing deeper and deeper as he finally understood, and his heart began to hurt at the young man’s suffering.
He sat there, in silence, holding the younger man’s hand and listening to his body-shaking sobs, while his mentor hugged him and whispered soothing words.
He could not stop the tears from falling.