Chapter 23: Teleportation

“Bring the light closer. I can get this finished if I work on it, for just a little longer.” Said Thrand.

“Will you tell me the story of our fathers and the Grik, again?” said Ash passing his father the wax lantern, closer.

His father didn’t answer but stood up from his workings, knocking his bench. Leaving the many metal implements falling clattering to the stone floor. Like bones tumbling out of a casket. An Omen, Ash thought, afterwards when he replayed the moment again and again.

“What is it father!” said Ash shocked and puzzled.

“Hush…” His father said pausing and grabbing his spear from a nook in the corner, and his cloak from near the door.

That had been the last Ash had seen of his father, heading off into the darkness. All the villages’ fighters had left that night. They had huddled in the chieftain's house for them to return. Waited till the dawn but none returned.

Three days later, all that was left of the village was the village chieftain, the children and old folk, too lame to leave or fight. They had all been taken by the Galtan. All lost. All gone. He wished he were gone too but he had to look after his little sister and the others. He was the eldest now.

Others had come. Other adults but they weren’t from his tribe. They were Relites , at least they said they were but they were all wrong. Like the chieftain was wrong. Now Ash had to decide what to do.

The chieftain had been a good man. Of course why else would they make him chieftain? But why did he come back to the village when all the others had fought and died. He said he had come to save them. That he would take them to somewhere safe. But that wasn’t the Relite way. He should have died. Fought with honour and perished. Returning to the earth. Now he hated him. Hated Thawain.

Also he was different now, he commanded men from a different tribe. Which was unheard of and they were humble towards him, like he had great power. It was all wrong.

He couldn’t fight, not yet at least. He didn’t know who to fight. But they couldn’t stay either.

He had passed the word around to all the other children. And that night, they collected what things they could together in a bundles, upon their backs, He took his father’s tools though they were heavy. He couldn’t bare them to be taken by any.

Seria held his hand and looked up at him as they made it to the village outskirts.

“Brother, Are we coming back and where will we be?” said Seria in hushed tones. Her eyes wide like the moon, on the water.

“Now don’t be afraid I’m with you. But we are going to the place of the Grik, they won’t find us there. And I know the way well from father. Better than any, so I do.” Ash tried to put his thoughts to rest for a time. Though his heart hammered out metal, in his chest.

They made their way, a ragged line of waifs already sodden from a light rain. Ash tugged on the chain around his neck and felt the feathers twined among the many loops. He prayed things could not get worse.

Eventually they made it, he had tried to keep their spirits up, when out of hearing of the village. By singing when he heard Tia and some of the littlest weeping. He sang and Sela took up the refrain, till he heard they had stopped. Then they just plodded on through the mud, silent.

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Outside the entrance to the old mine, they slumped down in the entrance way. None except Sela had been there before. He remembered how scared she’d been. Now it was him scared. But scared for them and what might happen now. He looked to Sela and nodded. She talked calmingly to the littlest ones while he looked in a cranny where his father kept a candle and some rags. He was relieved to see three stubby candles still remained and one full, unused. He stowed them in his pack. They wouldn’t be back this way till it was safe, if ever.

He could see they were exhausted but they had to keep going while it was still dark. If they were caught all would be for naught. So once he had a light struck, he led them into the mine. He could tell they were scared but when he told them they could have petrie meat they all brightened up and came along spritely. It wasn’t a lie. He hoped to find his father’s larder prepared for the cold months, with dried meats hanging, enough for them all. Without that his plan was dead.

Into the mine they went, though they were to slow for Ash. Again he leaned on Sela for moral support, leaving her the full candle and the huddle of children. He ran on with a stub, half covered, almost burning his hand. He had to find if all was sound. He came to a side passage and stopped till he could see the rest coming on. Beckoned Sela, then ran on again through the narrow passage way, till he reached a wooden door, at the far end. There were some other passages leading off but this was straight on and could not be missed.

Inside was his fathers, work bench and things. Not his best crafting tools. Ash had them with him safe. But his father kept some odds and ends here. Old tools that would be useful for Ash to train with when he came of age. He figured that was now if it was ever to be.

Placing the candle in the centre of a table to the side. He showered the room in light. Memories of his father working there flooded back into Ash’s mind. He fell into silence until he heard the approach of the children coming up from behind.

They piled into the room. Fortunately a large room. They looked about, wide eyed. At the furniture, the racks of old tools and stacks of pots, and most of all the furs in the far corner. Sela nodded to them and the littlest of them ran gleefully hooting and clamouring, jumping onto the thick pile. The others hesitated then joined them. He remembered being chastised by his father for doing exactly the same thing. But he was not here. Well only in spirit.

Ash told them to be careful that this was his father’s place and so now it was his. And if they wanted to stay they had to be prideful and not break anything. They all nodded solemnly at this. He then said the elders, should sort out bedding from the furs, as they had much to do tomorrow. They asked when they might get some petrie meats. He said if they were good tomorrow. They would have to make do with what they had in their packs. So they set about sorting out beds and pull out odd ends from their packs, onto the floor. There were now eleven mouths to feed. So he would head off directly to look for his father’s larder. But first, he had to check something. Something more precious to them than food.

He went over to a recess filled with pots on the far wall. And bringing up another candle he had now lit, examined the jars. Until he found one with the correct markings on. Inside was a sheaf of waxy paper. He took it out, shoving it into his left pocket lest he set the thing on fire. Then set off to find his father’s larder.

Down some well-worn steps, then into a side room and there it was. His father’s larder, stocked with wood, other useful items he’d look through tomorrow and the hanging meats. Success. He went over and snatched up a blade. He was so relived he slumped down where he stood, clutching the blade to him. After a while, he picked out a few things, then got himself up and made his way back to the others. He went over to Sela, passing her one of the small knives for preparing the meats. She was still awake and also told her the good news. She sagged to the floor with the relief of it all. Then they both tried to get some sleep. Ash took a while to drift off, looking around at his father’s old workshop but in the end the trials and tribulations of the day, did for him. And he slept till dawn.

“Bloody children. I will scalp every last one them.”, said Thawain, to himself. Ungrateful that’s what they were. He wonder how many men he should take with him. Embarrassing, maybe he should just go by himself. Yes, maybe best if they didn’t know where he was going. He ran, the early dawn bleeding purple into the sky. He blamed Thrand for this, putting stupid ideas into that kid Ash’s head. Maybe he would just give him a thrashing and be done with it. His heart now softening seeing the tiny tracks, left by the children, outside the mine. He didn’t need a candle, he muttered a few words and the mine entrance was showered in emerald light, as he pointed his now glowing staff. He trudged quietly into the cave.