Sai

Sometime between now and then.

Summer days were long, and the harvest was gruelling for many but not for Sai. He preferred the burn of the sun to the winds of winter. Moreover, summer meant he could eat and be at least half full for each meal. Although this may be true, it was still hard to work when the sun was high and scorching the fields dry. 

The air was heavy and arid; Sai's tunic pasted across his back, sweat-soaked fabric sticking to every slight contour of his small muscles. His breath was graver with each intake of air; it was only midday, but he already felt his arms burn as he continued to swing his sickle across the wheat. Another sack, he thought with each swing. The thought never stopped. Just a little more, he urged himself.

"Oi ya coming to eat, boy!" It was an exclamation rather than a question.

Sai looked up and saw Voll leaning on the big serpent-shaped oak tree, the only shade for what seemed like miles. The older man was taking conkrerk fruit out of his pocket and halving it before taking a bite out of one of the half. Sai's dry mouth salivated as he whiffed the sweet, tangy fragrance of the fruit.

Voll was an old man; like Sai, he had no family nor anything to his name. Sai always found himself wondering whether, in the years to come, he would be like Voll. Old, lonely and living day by day. He shook his head, wanting to deny its possibilities; he needed something more to live on. Why else would he want to live if dying would be much easier?

Sai noticed himself licking his dry lips; he had not noticed his hunger, or at least he tried not to, so he answered the old man, "No, I'll carry on." 

They were paid not by the hour but by how much they brought in. The pay was menial, but it was one of the only ways a young boy like him could get any job. Besides, he had no food to bring, so he thought he could work the hours instead of sitting idle and wasting precious time.

 "Yer, a good lad," Voll said, his tone dismissive; it wasn't a compliment but a statement made without much thought. The others also dropped their tools and took to the shade to sit and replenish their energy with food.

 Sai nodded once, lifted his sickle, and hacked at the wheat. He hated the way the others looked at him with their prying eyes, ones filled with amusement and, even worse, some with pity. 

 Sai thought they should reserve pity for themselves since they were practically in the same place as him. He did not need to voice this out; it would only waste his breath and energy. Let them feel how they do; he will mind his business as he has done so many times before.

 He was too busy to mind anything but the work before him. He had already filled three sacks of wheat grains thus far, and they would only finish once the sunset. He could fill a few more and be paid well; paid well meant he could have a meal and access to an inn's stable. The summer sun may be scorching during the day, but nights came with southerly winds from the forever snowcapped Alps of Aldonah. Those winds were brutal and merciless. 

But still, Sai could only hope that, for now, the wind would bring some cloud to be his shade, or he might just pass out.

The sun had well set by the time they heard the wheels of the wagon approach, and many were visibly angry. Heavy groans were let up, and sighs of relief were released. All their muscles ache, and their heads pounded from the constant heat. Drenched in sweat, they were more than tired and ready to leave the fields. It didn't help that everyone had started noticing that the pickup for the wagon had gotten later and later as each day passed.

It was one of the ways they got the most out of their workers, working them past the hours of the light and getting more harvested before the fall. Sai was fine working, but the others had families waiting for them. He had no such thing.

 Although he admits that working when it was dark was more dangerous and laborious, they could only work where the lanterns shone, and oil was not cheap either. He thought bitterly that their employer's belief that this was not a luxury worth spending on their likes was degrading and cheap. So, in the dark, they worked, which meant that some could not avoid certain injuries, such as cuts and scrapes from their own tools. They had to adapt and learn to work with not only their bodies but also wielding dangerous sickles as they pulled and cut at the wheat.

Sai started preparing the sacks he had collected, his mouth curving upwards when he saw seven bags full of grain. He was rolling them one by one to the side of the road when he noticed one of the men stare him down with covetous eyes. He flung one of Sai's sacks across his back, taking it to his section without another glance towards a flabbergasted Sai.

"Hey! You've taken one of mine", Sai yelled out, running back towards his pile, but he noticed two others approaching the other sacks he lined up, ready for pickup. So he started running towards them and saw the first man with his load turn, giving the other men a sly, knowing smile. Sai spotted three others emerging from the tall wheatgrass. He knew they, too, had bad intentions. 

"Wait, those are my harvest, "Sai shouted as he ran back towards the three men.

He desperately called out to anyone who might notice the injustice and help him. Finally, he reached the closest man and tried to pull the sack on his back. But the man was much bigger and stronger; he only had to turn and push him with a shove before Sai was sprawled on the ground.

Sai couldn't let them take his hard-earned money just that easily, so he jumped on top of the guy and tried to yank the sack out of his grasp, punching at his clutched hands and anything he could reach. Sai's knuckles were throbbing from the punches, but the man finally let up with a yelp.

"Ahh! Ya son of a whore!" The burly man yelled from the ground before pushing up to stand.  

Sai had noticed that the knot had loosened on the sack, and some grain was spilling out from the opening. Unfortunately, he mistakenly turned his back to the man to tighten the sack and was hit in the head. 

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Sai dropped to the side with a loud thud, but it seemed that he had angered the man enough that he continued to assail him with kicks and punches.

Still in Sai's hands were clutching the loosened sack, and its contents continued to spill and pour as the assailant continued to pummel him to a pulp. Sai could only hold on to the emptied canvas sack as the grains flew and rained with each pounding of the man's hard fist. It covered his bloodstained body. It felt almost ironically symbolic that the grain he tried to protect was now bestrewned and stained by his own blood.

The man's fist came down like a hammer on a nail. With each blow, a crack sounded. A dull thumping sounded with every punch. Sai's mouth pooled with blood, and his outcries drowned out into gurgles.

"Help...someone...any-" It was a meek cry from Sai's bloodied mouth. A mixture of saliva and blood dribbling onto his chin, he looked like a wounded animal flailing around weakly, desperate to escape its predator. No one took pity on him. 

Sai could no longer hold up his arms. They dropped and left his chest and face open for the assault. Finally, when the man started to slow and get off his body, Sai could take a painful breath of air. But his assailant was not done after he had gotten up. He lifted his boots high and stumped at Sai's body thrice. Perhaps it was for good luck. Sai thought scourly.

"Come on, let us leave the wagon will leave yer arse behind. You'll have to walk all the way home, and yer missus..." An amused voice came from above. Sai could not decipher the rest as his head pounded and throbbed. He could only crouch down like a babe cradling his bloodied body into the ground.

When the man finally exerted his last bouts of anger, he spat on Sai and cursed him again. Ridiculing him, calling him stupid and selfish and a son of every profanity he could throw and all for not sharing his share. If anything was unfair, it was to him, not them.

The wagon was even closer now. Sai could almost feel the thumping of the horses' hooves like his heartbeat pounding hard and fast. He felt its vibration ring through his head. A whole bunch more nonsense insults was what he heard before the world went dark.

Time must have elapsed before his eyes opened. He ached everywhere. He had always thought the dry air was hard to breathe, but it was now even more arduous. He tried to get up but failed to, the pain in his chest spreading from his lungs to his shoulders. He could only flip himself to his side before falling on his face, but that was not without agony and excruciating pain. Sai's face was plastered on the dirt; he was breathing it in but could not make himself care. 

He counted to three under his breath, putting both his hands in front of his head, wanting to lift himself to sit upright. Instead, he fell on his first attempt, hitting the bridge of his nose on the ground. Crack, another broken thing, he grunted in frustration, tears stinging his eyes. He did not want to cry. No, he could not afford to cry, not when the world had beaten him down.

Maybe later, when in solitude, he'll allow himself to feel sympathy for himself and blame the gods for how his life turned out, but he knew there was no such thing as a God. They were all alone in this world. He could only blame his carelessness and weakness.

Sai had many failed attempts, but he was not one to give up. Some would call it foolishness, and others would call it sheer determination. After a while, he realised he was hurting himself far more than helping himself. So he lay there and took a moment to rest and process what had transpired. Looking back, it was not a determination that warranted his attempts to get back up but anger and wanton for revenge. He hungered for blood, and nothing else will satiate it.

From where he laid his head, he could see the spilled grains scattered around him. It made him feel so angry but most of all anguished. If he had the energy, he would have mourned every grain wasted.

Thinking about the amount of money he lost, no stolen from him, it would have been enough to pay for a week's worth of board at the local inn, albeit it'll only be the barn; still, it was a roof above his head and shelter from the cold. It was true it would not have gotten him anything grand, but he was still proud that his efforts would have changed some of his difficult life circumstances.

The sharp pain from his sides and chest didn't dissipate. He already suspected it when he had heard cracks and felt blood pool at his mouth when the other man was beating down at him. But now he was sure he was bleeding from not only the cuts on his body but also his inside. He can go race down and get a healer from town, which is miles away and can't afford, or he'll die. Sai's face scrunched in misery. He knew which of the two was more likely than the other.

Sai had lived a pathetic life thus far, and to go like this made it even more so, but he could not complain; no one would hear it anyway. He turned his face to the side, trying to ease the pain of breathing. It helped, but only so little. As he did so, something red close by came into his view. He had to squint and blink many times before recognising it as half of a Conkert fruit.

Voll, the man who had as much as he did, maybe even less, had pitied him enough to give his leftover fruit but did not have enough pity to help him while he was beaten mercilessly.

Sai could not blame the man for not having the courage to step up. Life did that to those who started with nothing like himself and Voll. It takes away your endurance and bravery to live until you find yourself old and existing for nothing. He reached for the fruit; it took effort, but he did so, and when it was in his clutches, he held on to it tightly in his palm. Its juices flowed out and onto his clothes.

With this loathsome pity, a realisation of his impending death came. The pain from his body had started to disperse, not quite that, but it began to feel numb instead. A pool of warmth swept through every fibre of his body; his bones had melded into liquid, his flesh shifting into heavy wax. He was on the brink of taking his last breath. Yet he could not feel anything but more anger. He did not feel the peace that death should have brought upon him, which had been described by others. It was with this anger that he let tears flow down his face. They came in floods and streaked his face with blood and dirt. It made it harder to breathe, but who cared at that point? It may very well be his last, he had thought. Sai wanted to make each one worthy by imbuing it with emotions he made himself seal away long ago.

Sai knew that the magic of Ethralme had long passed with the death of the last King's star centuries before his birth, or at least its myths and legends have. Nevertheless, he had wanted to make a wistful preach of a dying man. Others may have described it more as a desperate appeal. So, he whispered his final words to the made-up Gods.

"Why have you made my trial so hard?" Sai cried out the question to the bleak and dark sky, which was greeted by the silence of the night. He continued, "I wish to take no more part in this sick game you call life. It has been cruel and harsh." Sai became more enlightened as he crossed closer to the afterlife. In Elthrame, it was believed that if one's trial was met and conquered in their first life, then they get to live in their second more lavishly. Sai did not want more life. He had wanted nothing but more in this life and was met with nothing. So he could not fathom living another. Good or bad, he was tired.

"Why couldn't I have more? "His last words came one by one, accompanied by a gruntled inhale, a whisper, a desperate plea. His eyes started to drift to a close, but before they did, he saw a glimpse of a burning light shot across the sky above him. An exploding lantern or perhaps a bursting star, the former was a common occurrence in his lifetime and the latter he had only seen once when he was much younger and in a time much warmer. 

It was beautiful and bright, poetic in a way. He could only smile at the Gods and their last joke on him, but he accepted it anyway.

He may have had nothing in all his miserable life, for he was nothing but a mere and insignificant person. A figment of a being, not quite fleshed out whole, just existing. A small part of the shadow of the night, but tonight, the stars shone on him and only him.