If there was one thing on the camp that resisted the climate better than the tents, then that was the wagon and its cages. The clouds may cry all they wanted, but Ald wouldn’t be caught slacking while Halge suffered inside the feeble tent. At first, he got under the wagon, testing to see if he could maneuver enough in that space. No. Taking care of an injured mate while crawling was not an idea he was fond of. Then he got into it and tried to lift one of the cages. He was able to, a lifetime of manual works had given him respectable functional strength, but he couldn’t fathom how Gleur was able to carry those things like they were backpacks. One by one he lowered the cages from the wagon, the muscles on his arms and back exerting more in that noon than they had in the whole winter.
The cages were not made of pure steel, that was obvious to him. Steel was not that dense. He wondered what alloy they were made of, or if, inside the beams, it was reinforced with a denser material. Ald was not fond of working with anything that wasn’t forgewood, brass, bronze, copper, iron or steel, and thus his knowledge on the properties of rarer materials was sorely lacking.
He stopped for a second and considered what he was doing. Would the structure of the wagon resist if turned upside down? It seemed solid enough, but maybe the walls would give in under the weight of the wheels. As for the wheels themselves, the spokes could serve as attachment points for the tent’s canvases.
He had to hurry, as the winds were growing wilder. He pictured them as hungry wolves, a climatological beast that wanted to devour his injured brother.
After resting to recoup some of his strength, Ald cracked his knuckles and faced the side of the wagon.
“Please budge,” he prayed before putting his hands in the space between the wheels and struggling to lift it.
It was a whole ordeal, one that made the muscles in his pale arms bulge and the blood vessels to stand out. He felt the weight of the wagon and the weight of the years, a wake-up call that he was past his prime. He thought of Gleur, and how in his advanced age the man would probably be able to turn the wagon upside down with ease. Maybe Gleur didn’t fear the monsters because, in his particular way, he was built like one.
Finally, he lifted the damn thing from the floor, and, from there onwards, it became slightly easier. Once he managed to get the wagon to its side, though, he realized the new problem would be lowering it upside down without breaking anything. The struggle hadn’t ended, as he could not simply drop it on its back and call it a day.
He walked a bit around, examining the transport from all angles. It was deceptively light for its size, which still didn’t mean it was easy to lift.
After stretching a bit, he decided it was time to lower the load, so, carefully, he grabbed a corner of the wagon, and, with one hand on the superior side of the wall for support and the other on the inferior side to push, he began his task.
His back was not grateful. Yet, after a minute or so of careful effort, the task was done. And he sat under the cloudcries to admire it. It was done, now only the easiest part of the task remained.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
A few of the tents had been already been blown down by the winds, so he would use those to make the wagon waterproof. He collected the wet canvases and the ropes that anchored them, and folded them neatly to then pile them up besides the wagon.
He worked as fast as he could, considering the howling winds and the torrential cloudcries. The canvas flapped and contorted under the strain of the wind, but as long as he managed to tie it tightly to the axes of the wheels, he was making progress.
Soon enough, canvas over canvas was placed, creating a refuge that was still wet and cold, but not as inclement as the open plains. Some water dropped from the wagon planks, here and there, but it was nothing compared to the amount that filtered through before.
His task concluded, Ald returned to Halge’s tent, who stood the punishment of the gales by sheer miracle, or, perhaps, by unearthly aid, be it empyrean or from the children of the ratchet.
He woke him up by gently prodding his shoulder. Halge opened his tired eyes and heard the cutting gales trying to tear the tent, but he was not there. Submerged deep into fever dreams, his eyes could have been wide open, and still as blind to the real world as they were when closed.
Ald wrapped his brother in the wet clots that served as a mattres from him, and, carefully, lifted him, as if it were Kali on her first spring. Except, of course, several times heavier.
“I don’t know who you are, and look at the things I do for you. You are too naïve, Ald,” he said as he hefted his brother up to the upside down wagon. He could have toppled the damn thing a couple steps nearer.
He maneuvered inside the haphazard refuge. Ald pictured them both as poor creatures hiding in a lair. There, in the shadowed, restricted space under the wagon, he managed to unwrap his brother and check the wound. It was not that deep, and Ehavi had bandaged it carefully. And while Ald was no medic, he had healed some of his animals over the years. A pig, a couple shepherd dogs, a chicken that had broken a wing. Animals were not Felsians—and Felsians were not animals— but they were similar enough, Ald hoped. Maybe he would never be a savior of Felsia, but if he improved the life of one brother, if a single other sibling could be said to be alive and healthy thanks to him, he would have honored Elvisat more than she would have ever hoped.
Once he made sure there was nothing he could do to further aid Halge, he began to pray to the mother. For the rest of the party to return safe, and furthermore, to have a good hunt. He hoped the celestial Mother listened, that, she still loved her oh, so blessed children.
“Safeguard them, mother of us all, like we safeguard our siblings,” HE repeated,again and again, looking at the hypnotic cloudcries ouside.
Then, a raven landed in front of the opening of the refuge, and opened his beak mockingly. It managed to have devious face, despite beign a bird.
“Pray to me, I am better than her,” said the Raven.
“Shush, Unkindness!” He barked jumping over the bird, who , due to its natural agility, had no problem jumping out of the way. “The mother may not be able to spare your ilk from the Ratchet, but it doesn’t mean it cannot help mine!”
“Help to what? Have you ever wondered why she births you all?” asked the raven, tilting its head in askance.
He lowered its gaze to the wet stone and sighed. “Yes, but I have to accept it is for the same reason everything but Felsians has children.”
The bird shook its head, as if lamenting, “beautiful is the innocence of those afflicted by mortality. If you ought to pray, entrust your pleas to an entity you won’t hate come tomorrow.”
“Your heresy makes me doubt your intentions, Unkindness.”
“Amongst all the words Felsians use to designate groups of corvids, untruth is nowhere to be found. Keep that in mind, Uncle,” the raven said just before taking flight and getting lost among the storm winds.