11 | In A Corner Again

A laugh chokes out of Eli’s chest. It is rough and slightly mad, and he rubs his chest so the shaking doesn’t turn from laughter to unimpeded sorrow.

Klia regards him gently, blinking with big eyes. She is no longer on the verge of tears, but there is no more happiness on her face. He touches his fingers to the nearly formed flower now spread across his hand. There are fifteen petals—he remembers this only because Abner was obsessed with a handful of specific plants and continuously brought them up—and his new Bladewielder “Stem” has something akin to a level fifteen. Is it the highest rank for me at any level? Can I earn more titles and skills? He is set with unease at the Unknown title given to him as it was to the monsters, and a little insulted by the Elder. He knows he is old, this mocking Order didn’t need to point it out. Perhaps it will afford him some other helpful magic.

All this, he should perhaps ask Klia but isn’t even certain the girl knows what she’s doing, or whether she’ll be able to articulate it for him.

In the past, comrades could share the magic gifted by the Order, so he’ll also have to ask her if he can glimpse what strange powers she has been born to.

“Klia?” he asks gently, once he’s found his voice, aware they are rapidly losing time. “Do you know why those monsters are after you and your brother?”

Wrinkling her nose, she shrugs.

“You have not even a hint of an idea?”

With her charcoal, she writes, We are magic.

Does this mean they will track Eli as vigorously as they track the children? He supposes he shall find out. He will take the trade if it gives him these skills and titles and hopefully a way to defend himself and these children better, and to return him to his son.

After such a shock, he scrambles to remember what other set of questions he wished to ask.

“Do you have a mother? She may be able to help us find—”

Klia is already shaking her head, and Eli has more questions but keeps them to himself. It is not any of his business, and unimportant for the time being.

“Klia,” he says soberly, “we are going to go find your brother, then your father. I cannot leave you here so you must come with me, and the path down from this monastery is very dangerous. You are going to have to be a very brave girl, and you must do each and every thing I say without question, do you understand?”

With an equally serious expression, Klia nods.

“If something happens to me, you must not wait to see if I am alright, you must continue down the path as quickly as you can. At the bottom of this mountain, there will be a village and people who will help you. I am quite serious, if I am taken away from you, or something happens to me, you cannot try to help me, you must run.”

She stares at him with a trembling chin but nods once more. Eli ruffles her hair as he once did with Abner. He believes she understands the severity of the situation, the seriousness of his words.

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With the charcoal, she scribbles out, Is Thistle all right?

Eli swallows. He does not wish to lie but likewise does not wish to make her upset. “The creature was not hurting him, but we should hurry if we are going to track him down. We cannot catch up by running, but it will stop eventually, and we can track it slowly. You can help me find him. Let me gather a few things.”

Eli does not own a great deal—most of the things he brought with him were necessities or are long since worn out. What few items he buys from the village every year are usually food. Still, he has an old cotton bag under his bed he first brought his things in, and stuff in his few articles of clothing. His favorite old vest he slides back over his shoulders, beneath his coat. It is dark and embroidered with silver, and he missed its weight—he will not leave it behind. Wrapping up all the food he has left, he tucks away one of his favorite little animal carvings. He cannot take them all but has always liked this little red bird, carved in black wood, the most. He tucks it away. The rest will be left to the elements and the deterioration of this place. In his heart, he knows he will never return.

Glancing at Klia and tugging on his beard in thought, he pulls one of his thicker shirts from the bag and gestures for her to come closer. He is so large comparatively that it works nicely enough as a warm dress over her skinny form. With a strand of rope, he tightens it around her waist so it won’t get in her way.

Bare feet will not do in the forest, despite Thistle's foolish running through all those ferns. He packs away his warmest blankets, tied to the outside of the pack, and rips up the thinnest one, layering it and having the girl sit on the edge of the mattress so he can fashion her some makeshift shoes. What little money he has goes into his sack as well—he can buy her shoes when they reach civilization.

“Here, eat,” he says, handing her some of last night’s leftover soup. There’s plenty since Thistle decided eating his was beneath his pride. Too much is left for the little girl. Eli downs his quickly, knowing he’ll eventually be hungry. Into his bag go his few knives he uses only to cook and which the magic hasn’t come after.

Pausing, he eyes the floorboards hiding his ancient sword. It is risky to bring it out, and it may very well be consumed by the Order within a few days. But it will be of no use to him here, and, if he is very careful, he still might be able to put it to use outside these walls.

Knocking up the slabs of wood, he takes the scabbard—plain leather and a little silver—in hand and runs his eyes across it. It’s been years since he’s even dared to bring it out. Easing the blade out a scant amount, he touches a finger to the sharp side of the broadsword which will need better sharpening after all this time, and tucks it away as if it will bring all magic down upon them. He hides it in one of the rolls of blankets on the outside of the pack and takes the sickle from where he left it against the wall.

Before he goes, he picks up the necklace he once wore dutifully. It is a small stone, once shimmering a dull green whenever Eli wished to find his son, leading him the correct way. It has not listened to his call in many years, no matter how hard he tried. Still, he fastens it about his neck, tucking it under his coat and shirt, over his heart where it belongs.

Klia is still trying to finish her soup, and Eli gestures to her. “Come along. You can eat it as you walk, the days are short and we should go as far as he can.”

Eli does not entirely know how he plans to track down the Unknown which took Thistle, as there was more than one path cut through the ferns. He supposes, since they seemed to be hunting in a pack, he hopes they will eventually converge. Still, he will search and hope for any signs in the undergrowth of the correct parts carved through the trees. He was never much of a tracker, but he’s passable. More than passable when the monster is so large. It isn’t tracking the creature that’s the problem, it’s picking which one. It’s surviving off the path, in the rabid woods in the dead of night which is the danger, because Eli knows they will not find him before dust falls.

He has little else to do, little other option. No other option. He hates to bring Klia, but monsters will come for her here as well. If Eli dies, she will not survive alone.

Trapped in a corner again, old man.

Pushing his way outside, he ensures the girl follows, her footsteps the muffled padding of her makeshift shoes. It’ll keep her feet from bleeding, either way. Bowl in one hand, she grabs onto the loop of his belt with the other. Eli is unaccustomed to children, particularly ones that wish to be close to him, but it’ll ensure he doesn’t lose her.

Casting a last glance back at the monastery, Eli commits it to memory as best he can, and the two of them bleed into the shadows of the woods.