The next day, when Nathan awoke, his stomach twisted and churned, and although his legs were sore and broken down, these pains forced him up. And so, on the hunt for food, he hobbled out of his igloo to join the others.

“It’s good to see you’re awake,” said Gilja. He motioned to the others in the igloo. “You met my daughters, but I’ve yet to introduce them. Anfila is the oldest, and my quiet angel is Mailha. All in all, this is my family. For the past couple weeks, we’ve been making our way south. Unfortunately, like many others, this village had already been abandoned when we arrived.”

Nathan didn’t know of this great migration; he was still wrapping his head around the gradual disappearance of the beasts. Although his stomach yearned for food, his curiosity took the better of him. “Why did you leave your village?” he asked.

“There are no beasts, so there is no food,” Gilja answered.

“And do you know where the beasts have gone?”

Gilja shook his head. “If you don’t know, I don’t either. We can only make do and find a way to the coast, where there should at least be fish.”

Nathan looked over the three of them. Their sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks told him everything. Were all villages in such troubled times?

If that was the case, would the port cities really be any different? Did they have enough food and shelter for everyone heading their way? “What port city are you heading to, and what will you do if it doesn’t work out?” The bluntness of Nathan’s question froze the air; the silence was palpable.

Gilja exhaled. “We don’t know. The sleds have stopped coming north and were not sure in which direction to travel to reach the shore. I’ve never travelled so far south myself, so I’m stumped when it comes to directions and in truth we've been lost for a couple weeks now."

The oldest of the two girls clenched her fists and was about to say something, but Nathan’s stomach rumbled. The girl frowned.

“It’s true, you haven’t eaten since coming here.” Gilja stood up and headed towards the back end of the igloo, but Anfila ran over to a bag, and spread her arms, denying him access.

“Move,” he ordered, already frowning, knowing she wouldn’t give up easily.

“No!” Her eyes were determined.

“Anfila! I told you to move,” he repeated. But she only shook her head.

The youngest sister who was always in the back of the igloo curled up, closed her eyes, and covered her ears.

“We won’t have enough!” yelled Anfila.

“We’re almost at the coast. It won’t take long; we have enough food, so hand over the bag.” Gilja took a step forward.

She took a step back, “That’s what you’ve said for the past three villages and look at us now,” she said. A defiant, but also terrified look plastered on her skeletal face.

As Gilja approached the bag and Anfila moved it away from him, the smell of dried fish wafted into the igloo and made Nathan’s mouth water, causing the rumble in his stomach to stop, and his stomach to feel full. “It’s fine, I don’t need to eat.”

Everyone turned to him. “No, I insist you eat,” said Gilja. “Don’t let yourself be pressured by a heartless person.”

“Why are you insisting so much? Why do you care more about him than us? Is there something special about him!” She argued back.

“Don’t talk. I told you, there are things you do not need to know as a child. Trust what I say for once, I’ve lived much longer—No!” he yelled, tired of repeating the same song. “The problem here is that you’re fine with letting a kid die of hunger. How would you feel if you were in his spot—”

“No! It’s not the same. Anyone would do the same, and I’ll keep fighting if it means Mailha and I survive. If you care so much about him, then give him your share, but I won’t let you touch ours.”

“Then I will, and I hope you’ll come to regret your actions and thoughts.” Gilja grabbed the bag and handed a small pouch to Nathan. “Here. It’s yours now.”

Opening the bag, Nathan peered inside. There were five large, salted sardines. Reaching inside, Nathan grabbed the smallest one. It was nothing appetizing, and his stomach seemed fine, but he couldn’t help but drool.

Taking the plunge, he bit off its head and chewed it thoroughly. The salt burned his palate, and it was hard to swallow, but he pushed through and took another bite. The salt soon became too strong, so he went over to the pot of boiling water, scooped some out with a nearby wooden bowl, and gulped it down. He felt it travel down his throat and settle in his stomach, washing away the burning sensation left by the salt.

After his third fish, his stomach had enough. He closed the bag. “Thank you,” he said and handed the bag to back Gilja.

“No, I can’t.” He pushed it back into Nathan’s hands. “It’s not good, and your stomach may feel full, but you must eat regardless. You’re still growing, and we have quite the walk left.”

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Nathan’s stared into the sack; it was true that he hadn’t eaten in a few days, and he could still eat another, but this was the least appetizing food he’d ever eaten. But knowing it probably was the right thing to do, he returned to the fire and got back to munching the fish, washing down each bite with a large gulp of water.

“Hi…” it was a quiet, but high-pitched voice.

Nathan turned. There, Mailha, the girl who had cried the other day, stood. Her eyes were red, and her sleeves crusted over with dried snot.

“I’m… Mailha … it’s nice to meet you.”

“Hi! I’m Nathan … and … ah…” Flustered, the cat caught his tongue. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. He’d never talked to someone his age.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

Nervous, Nathan took another sip of the hot water. “Kil…” but just as he was about to say the village’s name, the image of his grandma with a hole in her heart appeared. Not only that, but if she did die, then it wouldn’t be proper to call it her village. He took another sip of water. “Yivga’s village,” he said. That was its proper name after all, the name of the Seer who founded the village.

“Oh really! I think I’ve heard of it,” she said excitedly. “We heard tales of a village that was still doing well enough to trade with the south. I can’t believe it really exists.”

“Yes! —” he didn’t know where that excitement came from. “It’s doing well,” he said, reining in his emotions. Kilgarda was no doubt doing well. It was all a lie—His father just wanted him to think that he didn’t become a mage with his own powers so that he’d work and train harder once he reached the Tower.

“Then why are you here?” The voice came from the back. It was Anfila.

“I just got lost and can’t find my way back!” cried out Nathan. Even if Kilgarda had to sacrifice herself to grant him power, the others should still be doing well, they had Ralgdo after all. Not to mention weapons, a lake, and beasts.

His father had probably erected a barrier around the village, which would explain why the beasts remained. Yes, that’s probably why he couldn’t find his way back. Searching for them was just a big waste of time. He should have thought about it more rationally. After all, that’s what his father had always told him. This whole thing was just his last lesson. I’ll only be able to return and find them once I get to my father’s level. Seeing mother and Grandma will be my reward for accomplishing my father’s mission.

“Sure, well, it doesn’t matter,” replied Anfila, scared off by Nathan’s empty stare.

Mailha’s eyes wandered down, afraid to start another argument.

As the awkward atmosphere set in, Nathan decided not to respond. Instead, he fished out his last sardine and handed it to Mailha. “Take it.”

Her eyes shot open, she stared at the fish, but before doing anything, she looked back to her father.

“Do as he says, he knows best,” Gilja said.

Anfila added, “Take it, don’t even question it, take the other as well if you can.”

Mailha took the fish and bit off its head, chewing it for all it's worth.

#

Having eaten, the group left the village. Gilja took the lead and headed in a random direction.

Nathan didn’t move, in the distance he spotted the trees, they were most likely those which would lead him to the port. The family wasn’t going in the right direction, and he didn’t want to see them freeze to death. “Gilja, that’s the way.” Nathan pointed towards the trees.

The father followed Nathan’s arm and spotted the snow-covered trees. “Do we follow them?” he asked.

“I have to confirm it first.” From so far away, Nathan couldn’t tell if this was the tree with a strike mark, but seeing as it was the closest to the village, it was a safe bet.

Gilja nodded and the group followed.

Nathan inspected the tree; he looked it over and found a cut under a thin layer of snow. Looking in the direction it pointed, another group of conifers stood. “Over there,” he pointed.

Gilja didn’t question him, but Anfila wanted more of an explanation. “How do you know it’s in that direction? It doesn’t seem any different from any other paths.”

“You don’t need to know, it’s his right to remain silent and if we get to the city, it won’t matter anymore.”

Anfila’s fists balled up again. “No, if he dies, we’ll get lost again and—”

Nathan ignored them and examined the tree. It took him a few seconds, but he found the mark. The cut was shallow and blended in with the general wear and tear of the tree bark, but it was distinguishable enough. If one saw it once, it wouldn’t be too hard to find them again.

Nathan’s hand slid down and filled the mark with snow. He hoped no one ever stumbled upon the village. If what he’d been told happened, then it was best for them to remain alone, at least for a few years.

Nathan tapped the tree thrice before calling out, “We shouldn’t spend too much time here. We never know when the next blizzard will come.” And so, the family put their faith and fate in Nathan’s hands.

#

Night comes early when on four sardines and water.

The group had one saw, but no filled stomachs. As such, Gilja decided to do the hard labour and let the kids rest on a nearby boulder.

“How do you not get cold?” asked Anfila. She had kept a good eye on him on their travels; only because he was always leading the way. And she noticed that he never slowed down, never shivered, never took a moment to breathe. Sometimes Gilja had to call out to him, so he didn’t get too far away. This wasn’t normal, no human could be this resilient, not to mention her father treated him differently than the others they had crossed paths with; he listened to him, almost reverently, never questioning his decisions or person.

“I’m a … no, I don’t know…” He wanted to say that he was a mage, perhaps out of pride, but he couldn’t, mages weren’t seen well by these people. And if he said he was a Seer, then he’d feel like a fraud. After all, he had been raised as a mage, not a Seer. He didn’t want to be a Seer, either. Anyhow, all of that would just complicate things—

“We’re giving you our food and my father’s building the igloo where you’ll sleep, yet you don’t even want to tell us anything about yourself. How is that fair?”

Fair? He’d never heard that word used for such a thing. There were fair shares, fair prices, fair judgments, but no fair share of information.

Anfila, tired of his silence, continued her tirade. “If it were up to me, I’d let you starve.” She got up and went over to her father.

Mailha scooted over once her sister left and asked, “can I touch your hands?”

Nathan opened them palm up. They weren’t warm, but neither cold.

“So, how do you do it?” She asked.

At her sincere question, he couldn’t help but answer, but her kindness made him tell her a lie which would make her feel safe. “I’m a Seer,” he said unwillingly. He knew he was a mage. He was raised by one, trained to be one, and underwent half his awakening using the mage’s technique. At best, he was a mage in a seer’s skin.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“It’s someone who, knowing the past, can tell the future, and help in the present.”

Mailha’s eyes opened wide, “I think my father mentioned something of the sort when we were younger. Can you tell me what will happen to us in the future?” She asked enthusiastically, but with a bit of worry.

Nathan frowned, knowing whatever he said would be a lie. “We’ll be fine as long as we keep walking and make it to the port.” Yet, he knew he couldn’t save them. He had his ticket out, but not theirs. Knowing his father and the teaching of mages, he knew her fate had nothing good in store.