…(truthfully, there are many regrets), it is that the Plan does not allow for anyone else to build the experiences that they would need to understand its need. Only I. And I need…

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Matt smelled the flowers before they stepped through the treeline into a field of white. The buckwheat was waving to the slight breeze, and bees buzzed from flower to flower. For a minute, the smell of lavender superimposed on the world as Matt closed his eyes to take it all in, and flashes of memories filled him with happiness. So much like home. Had it just been two weeks ago that I left the farm? It feels like months. Like a lifetime. So many things had changed since then. The entire world had changed.

The farmstead that spread out in front of them could have been Matt’s neighbour. The surrounding hills and trees, the colours and the smells, all painted the same picture that he had woken up to every morning since he was born. Drawing in his breath and the scent of the place, something very much like hope filled him. The sounds of steel and the screams of men had dominated his last couple of weeks, pain and fear and mud and blood, and he had almost forgotten the sense of wellbeing that filled him just from smelling a fertile field. Above them, the sky was a clear, pale blue and the midday sun shone down with light and heat. The scene in front of him made war and strife seem like grotesque concepts.

His stomach growled at the sight of the stalks of buckwheat spreading out in front of him, evoking a memory of so many breakfasts with a simple bowl of buckwheat porridge. Buckwheat was always an excellent early producer, and he noted some parts of the field that looked like someone had already harvested them. His fingers idly touched the pouch that Vic had given him, the coins having a weight Matt was not used to.

Mia looked at Matt. “Let’s go.” Turning to the others, she added, “Wait here. We’ll be back soon.”

Walking through the forest an hour earlier, the group had spotted the gentle spirals of smoke from chimneys while they were still some distance away. Moving carefully through the evergreens, they had broken through the treeline to find a small group of buildings gathered on a small hill overlooking fields in all directions. As five strangers wielding weapons approaching the farmstead were unlikely to be welcomed, they had agreed that Matt and Mia would approach the settlement without the others. Matt handed his spear to Thor as he followed Mia.

Approaching the field, Matt noticed something peculiar. Dark, green threads swirled lazily through the air above the stalks of buckwheat, and as they got even closer, the threads quested out for Mia.

“Can you feel that?” he asked her, and she smiled and nodded and extended her hand, letting it pass through the white flowers. The dark green threads grew denser as they spun together, almost joyfully reaching out for Mia. Walking behind her, Matt held his breath in wonder as he watched the young woman walk through a sea of white; wreathed in a dance of green threads that soon enveloped her.

Turning back to him with a smile, she asked, “What do you see?”

“It is beautiful. The energy is the same dark green shade as the crystal that you found, made up of different threads. Some are very thin and intricate, some are thicker, almost like vines that stretch towards you. Where they touch your skin, there is almost a vibration. It spins around you, wrapping you like a gown of glowing green.”

She offered him another smile, stretching her arms skyward while spinning gracefully. Matt’s gaze momentarily landed on her stump, yet he was careful to not let his expression change. There was a fragility to this moment, and it was important. This, right here, was a reminder of why they couldn’t afford to fail. This is what they fought for.

“This place is… so much like home,” Matt said quietly as they continued up a narrow path that ran through the field, heading up to several large low profile houses that were built in sturdy timber on stone foundations. The houses had large windows overlooking the fields in all directions, and further behind, Matt could see a row of storehouses raised off the ground on solid stone pillars. To the north, ten or twelve people were working the fields, and even if they were at a distance, Matt almost halted when he saw that most of them were children.

A pang of anger broke through the serenity he had felt a moment before.

After the lessons on reading last night, Matt had struggled to fall asleep as he looked at everything he thought he knew from the perspective of new knowledge. What they had thought of as the length of a life was really just the beginning. He had spent a long time considering the effects of time on learning crafts and had imagined the possibilities that opened up when people had time to practise, to become better and better over several years, not just two or three or four. What would they now be able to create? To craft?

What would society look like if a farmer got access to more well-made tools, and got the chance to build several decades of experience in how to best manage their crops? Matt had imagined larger harvests–so abundant that a farm might even produce more than what it needed. And what then? A farm could survive with fewer workers, perhaps even generate a surplus. Which meant that more people could choose other professions, producing even better tools and equipment. He had imagined a wheel of cause-and-effect where society as a whole would improve over time.

And then it was the books, and what they represented; with a society where writing and reading were commonplace…‌ His thoughts had spun into places that looked more like fantasy than reality. A farmer who could write down his experiences and pass them on to his children? Smiths and cobblers, who could make notes for the next generation? A shared body of common knowledge to be passed down to others? Adventures and stories from all across the world, written down and passed from person to person. Children reading, learning, sharing common knowledge…

The children. Even now, ice crawled down his back as he remembered some of his conclusions. The images of children gathered over a book, laughing, playing, discovering what the world could be, in sharp contrast with the reality that he was seeing: children, with dirty faces and blistered hands, working their way up the ranks of buckwheat stalks. Because they had to, or they would not have enough food to survive the next winter.

It was strange how something which had seemed such a normal part of life had turned abhorrent overnight. Unnatural, just plain wrong.

Matt had seen a future where children did not have to work. This was also a reminder of what they fought for, and Matt fed his anger into his growing resolve. I will change this.

Mia looked up at him, and the understanding in her eyes told him she had reached the same conclusions. “Yes. We can do something about this.”

I hope she is right, Matt thought, and nodded at her, duty settling on his shoulders. In the warm sunshine and wandering through the white fields, they were far away from the dark cave and its mysteries and promises, yet the mantle of responsibility that came with the power to make meaningful change weighed heavily on Matt at that moment.

The sounds of children laughing broke through Matt’s thoughts as they jumped and ran from stalk to stalk, small baskets on their sides. So young, Matt thought again as he watched them.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

Matt startled as a man called out and approached them. A scruffy beard framed a face marked by a prominent nose. His body was lean and strong, sweat glistening on his bare chest.

“Sir!” They stopped, and Matt gave a brief bow. “We are travellers, looking to buy some food.”

“Travellers? Where are you going?” The man was holding a wooden staff in one hand, one end sharpened to a point.

“Towards Brook,” Mia said. “Duke Hawth’s armies burned down our farm a week ago, and we have been making our way west and south since then.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Matt joined in. “Our supplies ran out yesterday. We’ve been eating what we can find in the woods, but…” He gestured to the fields. “We saw this, and were hoping you had something to sell. Buckwheat, perhaps, or cheese or bread?”

“Hmm. We might at that. I am Harl, and this is my farm. Well, mine and Duncan’s.” Harl gave them a nod and turned to the children. “Sofie, Tal, run inside and put the kettle on, will you? Get the porridge started for everyone.” As two of the children ran off towards the house, Harl turned back to Matt and Mia. “We were actually about to eat lunch. Come join us.”

Hesitantly, Matt asked, “Are you sure?”

Harl just waved them on, and Matt stepped closer and extended his hand. “I’m Matt. And this is Mia.” Harl took the offered hand.

The man smiled widely at them as he accepted the handshake. “Welcome!”

“Pleased to meet you, sir.” Mia smiled back.

“Hmrph,” Harl said. “None of that sir business. I’m Harl, and that’s it.” He waved at the other children in the field and shouted. “Let’s take a break and have lunch.”

Matt had been watching the children as they worked their way up the ranks of buckwheat. “How many live here?” he asked.

Harl stared down at his hands before answering. “Well. It’s been a tough few years. It’s me and Duncan, and the kids. We are doing alright, but–” He looked at the children running ahead, letting them get some distance from the adults before continuing. “We had a run of bad luck. Four people died over the winter, and then… Well, it’s the war. The constant fighting makes it hard. As soon as they can lift a spear, the recruiter comes by and picks them up. And they reduced Loxley to rubble.” He looked over at them. “That’s where we used to find boys and girls to marry, see?”

Matt nodded, not knowing what to say. It was the same story across the land. Small families, quickly torn into smaller pieces, then reforming again as the children grew up to start the cycle anew. Again and again, for generations. Sisters and brothers and mothers and fathers, nephews and nieces, cousins and aunts and uncles. All of them children, or a few years beyond. And it was becoming harder and harder to find someone to marry, to keep the cycle going.

Now that he thought about it, that was another implication that he needed to think about. If people had more time, they might not need to have children so soon. What would be the consequence of that, if there was no rush to find a partner and to have children?

Harl gestured them into his home. A solidly built house, the large windows overlooking the white fields were also framing the silhouettes of the Dagger Mountains. They were open, bringing in a cooling breeze now in summer, and Matt noted the solid brazier in the corner and the stone ledge foundation that would hold the heat in the winter. This was a well-made house.

The scent of buckwheat wafted into the room through the open windows, and Matt could see a small vase holding early summer flowers. In the centre of the room there was a solid-looking table lined with wooden benches which were already filling up with people. A small cooking area was off to one side, where two children–Tal and Sofie–were already preparing food. Having put water to boil, the boy, Tal, was adding buckwheat from a container into the pot. Harl called over to him, “Two more cups for our guests, boy.” The boy smiled back at his father and went to pour in two more portions.

The girl, Sofie, was reaching up on a shelf and fetched a small container, which she opened. Carefully, she held it over the pot; sprinkling in the salt. “Five minutes, father, and it will be ready.”

Harl smiled at the children, and went over to kiss the top of Sofie’s head, before fetching two mugs from a cupboard and dipping them into a water barrel, offering them to Matt and Mia.

“This is very kind of you, sir- Sorry, Harl.” Matt sat down on a bench, happy to rest his legs for a moment. “I do hope we are not intruding?”

“Nonsense,” Harl answered and smiled up, just as an enormous shadow appeared across the table. “Always nice to meet new people. It gets boring just seeing this fool’s face all the time.”

“Hi, I’m Big Duncan!” A large hand appeared in front of Matt, extended from a tower of a man that had entered the room from outside. A red and ruddy face was grinning down at him. Matt shook the offered hand and introduced himself and Mia.

“Well, until you get off your arse and go fetch yourself a new wife, you are stuck with this face,” Big Duncan smiled back at Harl before eyeing Mia for a moment. “But welcome–it is good to see new people,” he continued, “Gives me a break from Aldric’s constant talk of bees and bears and… what was it this morning?”

A small boy, no more than three years old, smiled up. “Foxes! There was a fox outside when I woke up, it was running around, and when I ran after it there was lots of tiny foxes. So many! One of them even-”

“Aldric!” Duncan laughed. “Didn’t you whittle a fox? Do you want to show our guests?”

“Yes!” the boy squealed and ran off, and Duncan gave them a wink.

“When he gets started, he can keep it going for hours. So, where are you from?”

Mia answered, repeating their story as Matt watched the table fill up with small children, the youngest no older than a year. Sofie and Tal looked like the oldest ones at perhaps eleven or twelve.

Harl joined them, asking, “Now tell me, how far did the Duke’s army get this time?”

Matt saw Duncan look up at the question, curious about the answer.

“Very close,” Mia answered in a low voice. “We saw–” she started, before noticing several smaller faces looking up at her from around the table, and continued, “traces of their… activity… only a few hours' travel from here. But apparently the Duke’s forces have been driven back East now.” She lowered her voice and added, “There was a battle.”

Harl was shaking his head. “So pointless. All the land is the same from the Daggers to Easthaven. Does it matter which Duke gets to paint a portion of a map in his colours? Good farms get burned, good crops get destroyed, good people have to flee. In the end, nothing changes.” He noticed the quiet around the table and forced a smile before looking at Matt. “Enough of that. What do you do?”

“I was a farmer. Like yourself, only we do wheat. Well, we did.”

“We tried wheat some years back, but I always missed the flowers,” Harl said. “Nadia–that is Sofie and Tal’s mother–well, she loved the buckwheat flowers. Every spring her step would just be so much lighter when they bloomed.” Harl winced slightly, but replaced the frown with a smile as he saw Sofie and Tal approach the table.

The children brought over bowls of buckwheat porridge, and Matt’s stomach growled in anticipation. Duncan reached for the big ladle and ceremoniously added generous portions into their bowls, and Harl looked over and smiled. “Dig in. You must be hungry!”

As they ate, they continued to talk about nothing and everything. About farming, about their families, and about the people they had known and lost. Matt found the atmosphere comforting and confusing; it was just like being at home, except with different people. They had the same hopes, the same worries, the same underlying current of constant loss mixed with all the small mundane concerns normal at a farm.

“My worry now,” Harl said, “is that with the sacking of Loxley, even more people will head south towards Brook. The lands around here used to have farms and farmsteads on every hill, and now you have to walk for nearly an hour to get to the next village. And now that the Duke has started just handing out food to the poor in Brook… Don’t misunderstand me, it’s a noble thing to do, and I wish him all the best, but somebody needs to stay out here and tend the farmlands. I don’t know how the kids here will find wives and husbands, and then what? What about our farm?”

Matt looked at Mia, catching the slight shake of her head. Not yet, she was saying. Matt ached to share their secret, but he knew she was right. Not yet. But soon. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Harl’s face when he learned their secret.

“Now! Let’s see about those supplies you were asking about. Kids, can you please clean up here?” Harl got to his feet and gestured for Matt and Mia to follow him.

As the children began to clear the table, they walked outside into the sunshine and over to a storehouse raised up on stone pillars. Under it, they could see large timber slats laid out on the ground with buckwheat drying. “It will be another few days before that is dry,” Harl said, “but come here. I have some ready.”

They climbed up the short ladder, and inside they saw neat rows of sacks stacked along one wall. The other wall held a shelf with an assortment of bottles, baskets, and boxes. Harl gestured for them to follow him. “One of these should be enough for a week for the two of you. You can have it for a silver.”

“Could we have two?” Mia asked, “and maybe some cheese and bread?” She motioned to Matt, who fished four silver coins out of his pouch, extending them to Harl.

Harl paused and looked at them, eyebrows furrowed together. “Sure, I guess. But you should get to Brook in a couple of days if you keep your pace up and don’t get lost? And it will be awkward to carry.”

“Please. To be on the safe side. We will manage,” Mia answered with a small smile. Harl tilted his head, then nodded, and handed two sacks of buckwheat to Matt, before fetching another bag and filling it with some bread and cheese from the shelf. He thought for a moment and reached for a bottle, handing it to Matt with a wink. “Here, take this too. Something to keep you warm.”

A few moments later, they were back outside in the clearing. “Thank you so much, Harl,” Matt said. “You have done us a great favour.”

“Think nothing of it. The times are tough, and we need to help each other. These silvers should get the children some new clothes for next winter too - they are simply growing way too fast. And I don’t have Nadia’s way with the needle.”

Again; Matt caught Mia’s eyes as they made their farewells to Harl and the children. They would be back. Soon.