CHAPTER 9

What separated mankind from animals? Men knows that they will eventually die, hence why they fear death, and insist on controlling it, delaying it… and ultimately distributing it to others.

The house was in a terrible condition, but come morning, I had no choice but to try my best to do what I can.

The roof was filled with cracks, but at least that’s also how the light creeps in. There was a family of rabbits living in the corner, a pair of parents with a litter numbering a dozen. The papa rabbit had horns like a mountain goat, curling all the way up to its neck. In addition, I could feel the mana in its body resonating with its will. At first, it was protective of its territory and would glare at us, but it gradually calmed down when we stayed the night.

By the next day, I had the blessing of holding them in my arms, healing my mental fantigue like the ambrosia of the gods.

The way they sniffle their nose, scratch their ears and wiggle their bodies. They were adorable.

More importantly, the way they gave their trust and heart to me. It was something I haven’t experienced yet.

I was happy.

Not only was there a group of animals for us to play and cuddle with, I also had mother’s pouch of coins. There were numerous copper coins within, and I even found a few objects I haven’t seen before.

Small round metallic balls, the size of a marble, that felt warm to touch.

I took it to the bakery shop to ask, and the kind old man with the funny chef hat told me what they were: novite. He also told me that the metal itself is worth 20 copper coins, and that since they are ‘charged’, the novite is worth 100 copper coins!

I was so surprised, I clutched it near my heart in happiness.

I didn’t understand why the old man would warn me not to show it to people easily. I thought everyone would be happy to see it.

When I got back, my sister told me that she will need the pouch to buy things for the family. She told me to look after Tony. I gave the pouch to her.

She ran home very shortly after, panting, and found somewhere to hide. I didn’t know why.

Some men came into the house after. They were not nice.

I asked why they were here. They hit me. I felt pain on my face burn like a fire before my head hit the floor, and I fainted.

By the time I woke up, Tony was crying next to me. We were alone.

It was hard for me to accept what happened. Harder still, to watch papa rabbit bleed profusely at his nest, the rest of the rabbits nowhere to be seen. I wanted to help, but one look into papa rabbit’s eyes was enough.

Sister came back a few hours later. She cried and blamed mother for leaving us. She blamed Tony for being the only one unharmed. She blamed me for not telling her to be careful. We argued. She claimed that she’s my older sister, and that I should listen to her because of it. I replied that I didn’t even know her name yet.

It took a while for things to settle down. My head was throbbing, but I healed quickly. I always did.

Our lives became luxurious after that. Sasha took some coins and went out on her own. She didn’t bring the whole pouch this time. She came back and forth many times, bringing new and fancy shopping. Clothes, blankets, a carpet and more.

There was a lamp and a heater that ran on mana. We had to put the novite inside for it to work, but it was worth it. Under the cold, harsh winter, the warmth and the light gave us a sense of security after what had happened.

She also brought a lot of food for us. Vegetables I’ve never tasted, fruits I’ve never seen and meats I never could’ve afforded. We ate like monsters until we could stomach no more.

Something was missing. Something was tugging at my thoughts. Though I felt satisfaction, I didn’t think I was happy yet.

Very soon, our money ran out.

Our mother had yet to return.

Sasha was getting scared. She told me there was only 5 copper coins left in the pouch, and we had no food prepared. We argued. She left with the coins.

I don’t know where she went.

I had experienced this situation a few times by now. I’m experienced. We had a heater, blankets and a water source. All we need was food and money.

I went outside to look for a job, unsure of when mother or sister will return.

I failed to find one on the first day, but I told myself that things will work out one way or another.

The second day, I failed again.

I went to the bakery with a piece of drained-novite from the lamp. I told Mister baker my situation, and the kind old man offered me to come by and collect fresh bread every day, up to 13 loaves in exchange for the novite. I was grateful, and smiled for the first time in a long while.

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He gifted me a small piece of cake, and said he’d try to ask around for me.

I had no other luck on the third day. Not fourth, not fifth, not sixth.

Nobody wanted a skinny, dirty child to work for them. I was too scared to go to the loud buildings, with mean-looking adults, for jobs. They glared at me like I was an object.

One day, I passed by a girl my age, walking down the road with a pretty dress next to her butler. She looked beautiful, so much so that I felt jealous. She bit on a green apple, exclaimed loudly at how sour it was and threw it behind her.

I ran for it. Under the disgusted eyes of that pretty girl, and the indifferent eyes of the prideful butler, I picked up that apple, and left behind my tears.

On the 9th day, Mister baker came looking for me at our abandoned house. He brought us a loaf of bread, a few cookies and good news. A cousin of his, who owned a food cart, offered me a job.

They were a pair of husband and wife, selling fried chips and other fast food at the town square. My job was to slice the potatoes into chips, and so I did. For each barrel of potatoes that I finish, I would earn 3 coppers. It was gruelling work beyond anything I’ve ever done.

The potatoes were peeled and stored in a water-filled barrel around my height, so I had to use a little stool to help me. Every once in a while, I’d have to use a bowl to empty some of the water, in order to reach the potatoes near the middle. When I can’t reach the bottom anymore, I’d tip the barrel carefully to its side and hope the water wouldn’t bring any potatoes with it as it drains out.

At freezing temperatures, I would dig my hands into the icy waters, pick up a potato and start peeling with shaky hands. I stabbed my fingers and palm more times than I could remember. Sometimes, my hands would simply give out on its own, devoid of strength. I would tuck it between my legs and whimper, shivering with every bitter, biting blast of wind.

It was a simple food cart, and the peeling was done under an open area with a simple wooden plank and two sticks serving as cover from whatever the weather threw.

I peeled the potatoes as it rained. I peeled the potatoes as it snowed. I peeled the potatoes as it thundered. My hands were pierced, healed, stabbed, calloused, then punctured once more. I dreamt of the barrel filled with my blood, and woke up, weeping wordlessly.

Once, I fell into the barrel and climbed out soaked from head to toe. That day, I earned nothing, and was sent on an arduous, agonizing walk home.

At one point, the novite ran out of mana, and I lost my heater.

I fainted a few times during my work. Once, my head fell into the water, and I would’ve drowned if not for mister cook hearing the splash and saving me.

Day after day.

I… it was… hard.

So… so hard.

But I was grateful for the job. The worst days were the quiet ones, where I wasn’t needed, and I’d earn nothing and do nothing.

Mister and Misses cook did this job, alongside cooking and selling, for many years. Every season, every day. They could’ve saved those coppers for themselves instead of hiring me.

They would let me take home some leftover chips, gravy and other food. It was the tastiest meal I ever had, and I could share it with little Tony.

I knew that I was holding them down. Every time I fainted, I felt sorry for causing so much trouble to Mister and Misses cook.

But they gave me those precious coppers, like the breath of life to my dwindling ember. Even though they needed every bit of money to treat Misses cook’s legs, they handed me an olive branch.

At times, Mister baker would come by with some hot vegetable soup and a friendly greeting. His visits – mostly the soup – would warm my heart every time. He taught me how to make a small campfire with dry sticks and tinder. I learnt how to keep our room warm and even cook simple stews on it.

That time, when I fell into the barrel of water, he took a wheel barrel, filled it with water and dropped smouldering hot stones inside to create a make-shift bath.

I hadn’t lost everything.

A long time later, a familiar face ran into our home. I had no time for greeting.

She shoved an object into my hands and screamed at me to hide it, then ran away once again.

I had experienced this before. I didn’t want to be hit again.

I thought about running away with it, but I felt guilty taking this shiny stone without knowing where it came from and what it was.

I thought about throwing it away… but what if it was important to someone?

In the end, I simply stood there, shaking in fear, as a man entered our home. He stared at me, then at the rock resting on top of my outstretched palm. The man looked strong and important, but thankfully calm. At first.

After a few seconds, I felt it – his anger. My vision turned purple as a wave of his fury slammed into me. Even though the man stood still, I could feel the pressure, like heat from a raging inferno. It was the first time I felt mana – pure mana that conveyed intent by a powerful user.

Out of fear, I couldn’t speak nor move. The mana pushed at me as if repelling me away from the scary man, getting progressively stronger the longer I stood. I couldn’t help but retrieve my hands and protect my face, and in doing so, drop the shiny rock.

That can’t do. The rock clearly came from the scary man, and I can’t run away without returning it. I didn’t know what sister did, but I will do what she should have done.

I picked the rock up from the floor and tried to get closer, but couldn’t. The energy was strong enough to lift me away now. I had to brace myself against the push, like an explorer trailblazing in a blizzard – facing the ground, both hands shielding my head and with a lowered centre of gravity. I didn’t know how far I’d have to go, but I wanted to return this nonetheless.

I thought to myself that I needed to push back.

Then… I did. Not with my skinny hands, or short little legs, but with my own energy.

Only for a short moment, barely a second, but I managed to walk a step forward during that time before fainting from exhaustion.

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The three students each reacted differently. Kelvin was scrunching his face up, desperately trying to keep calm and rational. His sister abandoned that idea, and allowed her tears to flow as free as her emotions dictate.

Meanwhile, Taku’s out here looking like the Latona Fountain of Versailles. I should probably get out of the splash zone.

Of course, to Taku, who was a Hero like myself, holding him to the same expectations as the kondhourians wouldn’t be practical. Modernised humans should have their own approach, because stories like this were simply tear-jerking movie concepts, rather than actual life tales.

The way he understood the story, and the way the twins accepted this story, had a vast impact on the meaning they grasped. Most Earthlings would react to stories like this with deflation and deflection, downplaying the story by humour, comparisons or assumptions. They react with pity to substitute guilt, to justify their lives in contrast to the story. Khondourians, on the other hand, would treat stories like these as a serious lesson to be looked up to. They would contemplate and strive to better themselves after hearing it. They use their lives, their aspirations and their future to negate guilt.

That is my prediction.

  “Did you think that little child was strong?”

  "Y-yes.”

  “Why did the scary man do that? Why? That’s not fair!”

  “Al-l the c-cakes… that kid… de-serves all the ca-kes…”

My prediction was correct.

I didn’t agree with them.

Amelia thought of an idea, and picked a nearby flower. She carefully placed it near the unremarkable cross, praying for god’s blessing, but ended up stopping midway.

  “Umm… what was his name?”

  “Hmm? The child’s? Does it matter?”

  “Because this cross says Coco the cat.”

  “Must be an important cat. Peace be with it.”

The look on their faces, as if someone pressed the pause button as they cried, was priceless.