The days leading were very normal. He lived in a house in the village that looked across the plain to the mountains and the forest beside it. In the summer the forest was cool and the ground where the shade did not cover was dry and cracked.
Most of the plain was used for grain. There were many sections of tall yellow grain and beyond the plain the mountains were gray and bare. The mountains stretched the plain in either direction and bordered it. But the nights shrouded the mountains and they felt it was all so big and they could not have known otherwise.
During the day the oxen pulled large plows connected by rope to curved yoke. Men would stand behind a wooden frame attached to the plow and steer and other men tended livestock that moved slowly. There were women too that passed in the day scattering seeds into the ground. To the east, you could look across the plain and see the hill and behind it the road. The men and women would guess what was beyond.
He helped his grandfather. He was old, the oldest man in the village. His face hung and his back was permanently fixed over from a full life in the field. He lived the fullest life a farmer could. His crops were successful, he had children and they had children too. He lost his child but he would say life is nothing without hardship.
“It will get cold soon.” He was working the grain from the stalk.
The boy looked into the sky and did not say anything.
“I don't wantcha in the forest. I don't wantcha sick again. You coulda died you know.”
The boy did not say anything.
“And stop getting distracted by nothing. Nothing good comes from that.” He stopped separating the grain from the stalk and looked at the boy. “Huh.”
“Yes, grandfather.”
He sighed, "All alright, Mrs. Drugger dropped off fresh butter. Watcha says we break here and go eat.”
“Yes, grandfather.”
The boy returned before his grandfather. He lay flat on the white, dandelion bed of the hill, his head on his palms, and far ahead the wind blew dust down the road. There was a stream alongside the road and next to it a large oak forest. The hills rose gently where he lay, but behind him was flat and he could see the village at the end of the field. There was still grain in the field, and gold in the summer sunlight. He felt the autumn wind as it blew from the road and through his hair and in the tops of the grain. But it did not reach the village.
He focused on the road again. It was not some great mystery to the villagers. There were men that came from the road. Their capes were dry with dust and clouds surrounded their horses. Their sheaths bulged forward in front of the capes so that the men, being passed on the road, saw them. Usually, just two men came for the harvest and they kicked up much dust. And the villagers would keep their conversations brief.
But In the late summer of that year, there were three men. The two men that usually came were seated on either side of the man in front. His cape was blue and he did not have a sword around his waist and he did not kick up dust. They rode past the hill and down the dirt path next to his grandfather's field. Before they disappeared behind the houses he sat up from the hill and ran towards the village.
The villagers began to gather. Those that were still in their fields were called back and his grandfather sat on a wood stool, pulled towards the center of the village, well the others stood around him. One of the horsemen was between the boy and the villagers and he decided to stay where he was.
He was a young man with a clean shave and a huge head. He wore a chain shirt and over that, a leather breastplate that did not extend over his arms, and his pants were leather too. The leather on his boots sparkled with a sheen under the summer sun. The other horsemen wore the same clothes. But his face was skinny and his brow was hidden behind a leather cap.
The captain was middle-aged with more distinct features than the two soldiers. Large creases ran from the corners of his mouth and up to his large nose. He had large black brows and a creased forehead and short, curly black hair that began to gray spontaneously with age. His face did not shift and his lips were straight. He wore a half metal plate over his breast and it was all cloaked in blue wool.
He spoke in a firm voice that did not change tone.
“Attention,” there was a long pause before he spoke again.
“Under the order of his royal highness, your village is to aid the ongoing war effort against the barbarians to the east. Yours is to give five hundred bushels to His Highness's army. The bushel may be replaced by livestock but no more than 50 bushels worth of value.”
The villagers were stunned. Mothers held their children. The men yelled. But the village chief, his grandfather, calmed the others down. His grandfather led the soldiers to his home, well two more of the villagers accompanied him for discussion. In moments the village had been flipped upside down.
Observing the panic, the boy arose from the dirt and hurried for the forest. The sun was still high in the sky and the air was warm. The boy was nervous. But when he reached the cool shade of oak trees he felt it all fade. And then transformed and the tightness in his chest began to warm. He ran for a couple of minutes before he fell to the ground. Then placing both hands, gently, but without hesitation onto the earth and swung his hands above him his body followed as he heard the panic in his scream and then an even louder crumbling crunch and felt the tremor of five feet of forest floor that lifted in the air and it rippled like a blanket in the wind. The ground fell again, heavy, crumbling, scattering dust on the leaves of the trees and their trunks too, and his scream came back into his focus, ripping the last of the air out of his lungs. His mouth was dry and there was pain in his lower ribs. But his chest was empty.
He sat in the dirt for several minutes, catching his breath. He looked over the torn landscape. The ground was dry and the surrounding area was cracked. He looked at the trees. They were powdered in dust and the trunks of the trees were straight. The branches were long and undisturbed. From behind two large oaks, a figure appeared drab in blue and the boy instantly knew it was the captain from before. He approached, quickly removing his hands from his robe, dropping his hood, and then his hands disappeared again. The captain did not talk with his face, his lips were straight and his eyes were dark.
He sat for several minutes in the fresh dirt of the now shallow patch in the ground. The trees were dusty, but that could have been the wind, he thought. He liked the wind, it threw the dirt farther than he ever could, but he still felt responsible for it all. If he focused his eye he could see the dust that had worked into the cracks and crevices of the tree's thick bark hide. And behind those trees he saw a figure emerge, drab in blue. His footsteps were slow and rhythmic and a second sound from the metal plate that rubbed against his metal mail. And the boy knew instantly that it was the captain from before.
“Are you the boy I saw on the hill”
“Yes sir” the boy stood up and straightened his clothes, puffing his shirt to remove the dust.
The captain smiles. “Do you know who I am?”
“A soldier, you're in charge of the other two.”
The captain laughed seriously. “Yes, I am. I'm their captain.”
“How can I help you?”
“I was just going for a walk. But maybe you could help me.”
“Yes sir?”
“Are you aware of what is happening to the east?”
“No, sir.”
“No? Have you heard of the Carn people?”
“No sir.”
“Their tribe believes blood is the most valuable thing in the world, especially if that blood comes from their enemies.”
The boy did not say anything. He slowly nodded his head and the corner of the captain's lips shifted very slightly.
The captain continued. “Our kingdom is doing whatever they can to stop these savages. Now, in the past, the people have helped their kingdom to ensure its triumph. And that's all we ask. You don't have to give your life on the battlefield. Us soldiers will be responsible for that. You guys just need to provide some food. It doesn't sound too bad right?”
“Of Course, sir.”
The captain looked behind the boy at the missing patch of ground. “But sometimes the people of our kingdom decide that they would rather side with those barbarians.” The captain who was forever unmoving until now, raised his voice. “And when those people, whom the king protects, decide to betray his greatness for their self-preservation. Well. Now boy will you answer another question for me?"
“Yes sir.”
“Have you ever heard any opinions against the king from your village?”
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“No sir.”
“And has anyone ever tried to convince you that life would be better independent from the king?”
“No sir.”
“And did anyone order you to dig that hole behind you?”
The boy turned around, completely forgetting about what he had just done in his nervousness.
“The hole, no sir.”
“Then I can only assume that the hole was dug by you out of your own volition.”
“Yes sir, I dug that.”
“And I can only assume that you decided to take the burden upon yourself for your village.”
“Sorry, sir, I don't know what you mean.”
The captain chuckled in a serious tone. “You could bury the bushels. But there was a problem boy. You underestimated his “Holinesses” soldiers.”
Before the boy could think of an explanation the outline of the captain's right hand ran from beneath his robe and thrusting outward, palm up, and in a singular moment, a combustion of orange light appeared as a small flame warped, flickering between the air and the palm of his hand. He smiled, the contortions on his face cast in the orange light and the trees and surrounding floor too. The flame was small but the light was immense. And his smile was straight, serious, like the laughter that followed. Without thinking the boy crouched, erecting a thin layer of earth from the ground in front of him, not thick enough to stop an attack and not wide enough to fully shield himself, but he felt safe. And the man's laughter became more insidious.
“Now, what is this?”
The boy opened his eyes at the realization of what he had done. This secret, something that he had only told his grandfather, and that he was told to tell no one else, was now revealed. And to this man with a flame in his hand nonetheless.
“This changes everything. You don't want anything to happen to your village boy, yes. And you don't want anything to happen to your grandfather either. So why don't we do this? You will leave with me tomorrow in the morning and we will head back to the capital. In turn, I will help your village out. Half, we will only take half of your bushels.”
The boy was still in shock. He tries to mutter out a few words but nothing seems to come out.
The captain looked the boy up and down. “Well, I'll give you some time. You leave with me tomorrow one way or another boy.”
The boy waited in the woods for a while, contemplating. But it began to get dark and he decided it was time to leave. He owed at least that much to his grandfather. Still, he did not know how he would break the news to him.
When he arrived he found most of the village's men inside. They were shouting and he could not tell if they were arguing or if it was the alcohol. When he went inside he could not see his grandfather and he could not make his way through all the bodies. No one seemed to notice him as the shouting continued.
“We can't do it.”
“We have plenty, what does it matter if they take some.”
“No, we can't.”
“They can't do nothing.”
“They have weapons.”
As the men continued to argue the boy was noticed by Mr.Bren. He was a tall man with a loud voice who spent much of his time never using it. Now, he used it to look over the heads and call for his grandfather and his words seemed to reach him, or someone nearby, because the men in the room parted and the boy was able to see his grandfather. The room fell silent as he spoke.
“Oliver, where have you been, boy.” He spoke harshly but his face was full of concern.
“I was in the woods.” He began to feel his eyes water. He did not know how he would react when he told his grandfather, but he did not think he would start crying before he even told him. He stiffened himself, trying to hold himself back.
“I told you not to go there anymore.”
“I'm sorry, grandfather,” water began to build up in his eyes and they became red.
“I didn't mean to be harsh with you, I just worry about it.”
“I'm sorry,” tears now ran down his cheek.
“Hey, it's ok, everything ok.”
“Grandfather,” he spoke in between his sniffles. “I..messed…up”
He thought he could be strong for his grandfather, for himself. He thought he would be a noble sacrifice. But now he could no longer lie to himself. He wanted to cry. He wanted to be a victim and to be recognized by others as one. And he knew that it did not matter what he wanted to be because fate had already decided.
After he regained his composure he explained to his grandfather about the forest and the captain. The room fell silent again for a short while. The other men were confused. But his grandfather was more so.
His grandfather's eyes looked unfocused as they stared at him. “You can't. You won't go.”
“Grandfather,” he was still wiping the tears from his eyes.
“Will gather all the tools we have. If we work together…” He was speaking to the room now. Not looking at anyone. His voice was shaking.
He dropped to the ground and grabbed his grandfather's leg. “Grandfather, please, please don't. Grandfather, please don't.”
The loudest men in the room who were yelling just moments before spoke again.
“Let's do it.”
“Don't worry Oliver.”
“There are only three of them.”
The room was filled with passionate chants for victory. Noises that could only be made by confident men who were unsure of their abilities.
“All of you stop,” Oliver screamed. And the room was once again silent. He continued. “That man can create flames with his hands. He could burn you and this entire village and you want to fight him. Just let me go.”
“Oliver.”
“Please.”
Another spoke up. “When do you leave?”
“A week,” he said, staring at the ground where the wooden floorboards joined.
Everyone knew that they did not have a plan. This entire situation was thrust upon them. But they knew it was wrong to let this child sacrifice himself for them. They were well aware that they could not win a fight against soldiers before they knew of the captain or his flames. They were also well aware that they had their own family to protect.
“Alright, it's late, let's all turn in for the night. We can discuss this tomorrow,” his grandfather said, looking out a window. He waited for all the men to leave.
“You said you would leave in a week?”
“Yes.”
“You were lying.”
“Yes.”
He hugged him as tight as he could and they stayed like that for a while. The room fell silent for the last time.
Oliver left before sunrise. His grandfather was still sitting in the chair by the entrance, his eyes red. Oliver only glanced at him. He knew if he stared any longer he would feel that thing in his chest grow and he might not leave at all. The captain and his men were already waiting outside on horseback.
“Have you ever ridden a horse boy,” the captain asked.
“No.” We did not have horses in the village and we did not need them either. The ox plowed the field.
“Henry is a poor rider so you may be uncomfortable.”
“Captain,” Henry responded.
He let out a serious chuckle. Everything about him seemed serious. His face never changed and the only time the boy noticed any change about him at all was in the forest. The other soldier to his right joined in the laughter. For a brief moment, everything felt like it was going to be okay. The captain slowed down so he was no longer in front of us and brought his horse next to ours.
“When did you first notice your powers?”
“I don't know, for a while.”
“For a while, what’s a while for someone so young.”
“I could just do it one day. The ground would move how I wanted it to.”
“Can I ask what happened to your parents?”
“They died when I was still a baby. Grandpa said it was an accident.”
“So you don't remember them. How interesting. Normally there is some kind of catalyst.”
“Catalyst?”
“For me, it was when I was around your age. Some barbarians came from the south. They came to my village. They killed the men and the women. Well everyone died. My mother told me to hide in our home. But when I looked out the window to see what was happening outside. Something in me awoke. And the house I was hiding in was set ablaze. Those barbarians did not check it of course and I lived. But I was the sole survivor.” Henry and the other soldiers were stiff but the captain maintained his normal appearance.
They continued riding down the road until they came upon the river. Many wooden buildings were old and falling apart. The captain gave orders to stop and let the horses rest.
At the half-decayed doorway of one of the small decayed frame houses that stood on the edge of the river far from the road, a large bearded man emerged slowly. He turned his body sideways and ducked his head so that he would not hit the framing. He could not have gotten his stomach through if the frame wasn't already half gone.
He held a staff in his right hand. It was a straight branch of a tree with a crooked face and it was spotted in small bumps of what was once budding life. You may have thought he might have used it as a cane when you first saw him.
He introduced himself as Finn Cloch. A giant of a man he stood no less than six-foot-eight but with his width it did not matter, he was big. He wore a large and unkempt beard. It was brown like his hair which was unkempt too and tied into a mess on the back of his head. His shirt and pants were patches of browns and grays and it was the only pair he owned.
Finn Cloch spent his life using his size to get what he wanted and it was clear in how he looked at the soldiers, like prey, or some obstacle that was in his way. But he was smiling. He was slow, as slow as he could move with his impressive stride.
Henry and the other soldier both grabbed the hilts of their blades but Finn lifted his heavy hand and swung down and there was a crack and the ground rumbled and the other soldier was flat against the ground, his horse under him also flat and it was clear that the snap was not Finn Cloch’s large wooden staff but the soldier, and the crash came down again to go past Henry ripping the air apart.
Henry and the captain both dismounted and stood on either side of him. The captain stood to Finn’s right and countered his staff. But Henry's blade did not hurt Finn. He turned his left hand to stone and snapped the blade into two and drove his open hand at Henry's face, squeezing with his fingers until Henry's bitter yelps faded. Then he turned towards the captain, his blue cape now signed off by the flames coming from his hands. But again Finn brought down his staff and it was reasonable that man and flames and anything else could not withstand Finn Cloch's swing.
He brought his staff back down on all three men and made sure that no one would get back up. The horses ran in their fear, but Oliver's legs were straight and stiff and he did not blink. He did not kick up any dust. He stretched out his hand in front of Oliver. He had large white hands and they were callous, and he had a smile on his face and he introduced himself again.