15 | Ghost Town
Eventually, Eli has to put Klia back on her feet, or risk slowing them. Still, he lets her continue to cling to his hand and encourages her to eat more. It wasn’t much of an animal, smaller when cooked down, but it’ll do for now.
These woods may be harsh and mutated, but they’re still teeming with life.
Likely, he walks too quick, but were he a younger man he would be sprinting full bore down the mountainside. As it is, he makes sure to keep a good grasp on Klia so she doesn’t trip with his long strides.
Hopefully, darkness does not fall too soon, even a little lower down the mountain. It would be nice to spend some time in a real bed in the town, but a waste of daylight. At least, their path is mostly clear. Every once in a while, they struggle around or over fallen logs for too-large boulders. Now out in the weak sunlight, Eli is reluctant to venture back into the line of the forest, glancing into their dark depths every so often, one hand on his sickle, squeezing its handle the way he once did with his sword.
Nothing of danger has presented itself today, and that is worrisome.
Likewise, he keeps lookout for signs the magic of the woods is tricking them, turning them in circles. So far, there is none, and now they are back on a familiar section of the mountain, Eli recognizes certain milestones he’s passed in the years he’s made this trek down the beast of a mountain. It soothes him, but not entirely.
He has had quite a taxing few days with little time to process much of it. When he was younger, he doesn’t believe he would need much processing, but if there is one certain thing he is learning in these past few days in particular: he is quite old.
Reminded, he rubs the new flower rune strangely put into his palm and wishes the Order to show him his numbers once again.
Elijah Jyce
the Reaper, the Unknown, the Elder
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10/23 Buds | 4/10 Roots | 1/5 Filaments
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Stems
Bladewielder (15)
Most are unchanged but at least Buds performing in the way he was accustomed to when he gained fighting experience in the past. It will go up the easiest, given the physicality of their world, and it should help him the most. Roots will let him know how he fares physically, as far as he can tell…as for Filaments, well, this one is unfamiliar to him and has not budged. It is at its lowest point possible, and Eli isn’t certain what it could measure.
My happiness with the current set of circumstances?
He needs better rest.
The way they have taken on the attributes of flowers and plants would be amusing if not so concerning. Did Abner cause this specific change? Or did the Order reorganize itself with the changes?
By the time the sun is heading into the afternoon, Eli recognizes the place where the riverbank begins to widen into the edges of a town and hastens his steps. Klia stumbles, and he picks her up once more, bolstered by the signs of life.
As suspected, he doesn’t much see how any monster could pass this place without the inhabitants knowing. The river runs straight through the center of the thatched houses, many fallen into worse states of repair than Eli remembers, but still functional. Trees are more sparse down here, and he can see the sunlight bright and helpful. Out past the houses and down, there are hints of a valley, much obscured by fog, but still beckoning with its lack of trees where monsters might hide. Eli was never so nervous of the rabid forest as these past few days. Hopefully, the monsters did not enter their depths and instead went into the valleys where it should be much easier for him to see and hunt them down.
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Eli has never been happier to see this unimpressive little town.
Though, as he looks, he sees no signs of smoke in the hearths, and no one walking through.
On the edge of the trees, he pauses, setting Klia back on her feet. She looks up at him and tugs his hand. He gives her shoulder an absent squeeze, unable to move his feet forward. There is nothing outwardly wrong save the quiet of it, but this is a nag in the back of his mind he cannot rid. Something is different here, a distinct chill settling upon his skin. When last he was certain something was this incorrect, those monsters stole away Thistle.
Again, Klia tugs on his hand, making a tiny whine of a grunt as any child would.
“One moment, girl,” he murmurs. “This place is emptier than it once was.”
He cannot leave Klia alone, even here at the edge of the village with no visible threats and sunlight shining upon her. So, he keeps his hand on her and leads her along the side of the small river, down into the center of the cluster of houses.
This was a place built before the mutation in the magic—for it was standing when Eli first fled here, before it had spread so far. It has shrunk bit by bit over the years, people either being picked off by monsters or deciding there was some other place they could outrun the new way of the Order. Eli doubts there is. These mountains are near the edge of their known world, after all, but who is he to tell them.
Who am I to tell anyone anything?
Breaths unsteady, he approaches the place where he remembers the single village shop to be. He sold his harvest here. Bought what few supplies he could. It is another mud and stone and thatch house, as the others, slightly bigger, with a porch large enough to welcome guests.
It is covered in quite a bit of dust. Which would be less uncanny in a forest if Eli hadn’t remembered the man who lives here—Marden—taking a great deal of pride in his little shop, serving few patrons as it is.
A set of footsteps mark the dust planks of wood, unnaturally shifting, as if someone stumbled, injured.
Or someone was no longer human.
“Unknown,” Eli murmurs, calling the Order back to his vision only to will it away again.
Words catch in his throat. He will not call out, not when this place is too empty. Casting a glance around them, he finds the other porches empty as ever, gardens dead, windows off hinges, not a soul to be seen, human or otherwise.
“Oh no,” he finds himself whispering, before clamping down on his fears. No use in frightening the little girl.
So much for asking others if monsters passed this river.
On the other hand, here, in the center of the village where the river runs, the pebbles have given way to mud. There are no footprints. No footprints have come this way along the bank, and no ferns have been crushed out in the forest. With the size of them, there would have to be a sign somewhere.
They must’ve gone upriver.
Inwardly cursing his decision but grateful at least he’s figured this much, Eli steps up onto the porch. The door hangs on its hinges, knocking gently into place in the rhythmic pattern of the wind.
“Klia,” Eli mumbles, “stay right here. I am only going to walk just inside the door.”
She looks at him with worry when he sits her alongside the ancient bench near the door but doesn’t cling.
Pushing aside the broken handle, Eli opens the door and peers inside, sickle in hand.
It is much as he remembers it. There is rope and cloth and dried foods of many sorts. Plenty of supplies to stock up on, now all coated in a layer of dust. A bag of flour has fallen from the counter, spread across the floor, and likewise disturbed by a set of footprints leading off to around the back of the counter.
They could be ancient, but less ancient than the rest of the ruin going on here.
Quietly, he asks, “Marden?”
He didn’t expect much of an answer but is sick at the lack of one. Well, it is quite obvious there is no one here, and no one will be bothered if he takes from the supplies. It sits ill in his chest, particularly since he once traded with these people, made small talk, and grieved over the loss of their world same as they did.
Shaking his head and still keeping an eye out on the corner of the room, Eli tucks away everything he can fit into his mostly-empty pack. Rope not yet rotted by time, an extra fur for warmth, and many of the dried meats and fruits preserved by what magic remains uncorrupted. It will sustain them for a while. He finds some preserved herbs for medicines and balms, and tucks them away as well, recognizing many of them from before the world fell. They must still grow nearby.
A few sets of children’s shoes are set out alongside boots for adults. Eli takes the only pair likely to fit Klia, as well as socks. Nothing that can fit her clothing-wise, but she’ll be alright in his shirt and her shift.
Something rattles, and Eli starts, ready to cut down a monster and finding the other end of the room empty. Checking out the window, he finds Klia still sitting calmly.
A curtain leads back to the living section of the house. Eli has been hesitant to open it, given the silence he was met with when he called out. With the tip of his sickle, he moves it carefully to the side.
A set of shoulders greets him, the man’s back toward Eli, standing with his face pressed to the opposite wall of the room. With flowers sprouting from his skin.