Theus

Russel: “You alright lad?”, Russel said patting Theus on the shoulder. He was walking along a wagon. Theus’s arms were draped across the wagon railing.

Theus: “Oh-uh… I be fine”. Theus sat in the wagon. Only the women and children rode the wagons. Theus had protested, but he was sat in the wagon with them.

Russel: “Almost there lad, nary more than a few hours till Havenrun”. Russel beamed a smile at him. It was the best he could muster.

Theus looked away from Rus. The wagon bumped and shook as it rolled over uneven stones in the dirt road. Theus could feel the wagons rattling in his teeth.

Their path was covered in grass and nothing more. A pale blue sky hung above them. Clouds drifted solemnly to the east. The broken dirt road they took meandered around puddles and wet patches of grass.

He shot a look at the other end of the wagon. There she was again. Damned girl. A girl, no older than Theus was when his parents left him, was staring at him. She didn’t stop staring at him. He was a freak. Her bugged eyes felt like they could see right through him. She was afraid of him. He was missing his leg. He was broken, literally, emotionally, and spiritually. He found her stares antagonizing.

The few other women in the cart paid no mind to Theus or the girl. Some quietly wept. Some kept to themselves. There was rarely any speaking. From the cart Theus was in, or any of the wagons they traveled with. Most people just huddled in wool blankets from the biting late Autumn cold. The blankets held the smell of smoke and ash. You were lucky if your blanket didn’t have any singe markings on it.

Theus could barely look at the woman who sat with him. All he could do was project his mother’s face onto theirs. He wanted to cry. He wanted them to console him. Those women didn’t deserve that from him. So he sat in silence, keeping to himself.

They were in a caravan of five wagons. They had a dozen horses, and three times that many sheep. The survivors of Willowood had split into two groups. Most of the remaining soldiers left with Josiah to the north; about fifteen people. The rest traveled south to Havenrun; around twenty.

They had been traveling for weeks now. They were out of food. Theus didn’t care. Starvation was a feeling he was used to. He tried to teach the girls in his wagon to fill up on water to aid in the hunger pains. They didn’t seem to appreciate his help despite the ample source of water from the wet plains around them.

The days of starvation were past them. Havenrun was in sight. The only time people spoke up in the weeks of travel, was to talk about Havenrun. They spoke of it like it was heaven.

Theus stared at the girl. She had not stopped this whole trip. They looked at each other. Neither broke their gaze. Her gaze was pure. She held no deceit. Theus scared her. His leg made him weak. She could see right through him. He felt like an animal in a cage. To be stared and gawked at. It frightened him, what she saw.

Havenrun sat underneath the protection of Harkensfoot Mountain. They had followed the Flume south, bringing the caravan to the mountain's western side. A large abundant valley lay before them. Fields of all kinds of vegetables, grain, hops, and occasional tobacco scattered the valley. The Flume brought life and irrigation to the valley. Harkenfoot Mountain brought it protection.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

The dirt road they followed snaked through the fields. Most fields were almost harvested. Carts full of raw food began to accompany their caravan. The local farmers pitied them and gave away some of their bounties. Their charity brought tears to most of the survivors.

Russel: “Best damn turnip I’ve ever ad,” Rus said crunching into the large white vegetable. “Aint need no cookin either”. That last part was hard to make out, white specs and chunks flew out of his mouth as he laughed with the others.

Theus chuckled as he cut his turnip into pieces. He made sure to be extra careful with his knife on the bumpy wagon. It would be unfortunate to be missing a leg and several fingers.

The wagons completely changed in atmosphere. People were laughing. Shouting to each other. They were saved. Even the sheep ba’d in amusement.

Russel: “You’ll see, we’ll ava bettah life in this city”.

Theus: “I hope so. Say, Rus, yur to bake again?” he said popping a moon-shaped wedge of vegetable into his mouth.

Russel: “Course lad! I ain’t nothing without me baking skills”. Russel wiggled his fingers like they were magic. “You could be me apprentice. No need to stand to shape dough”.

Theus: “That’s kind of yuh Rus. I don’t know where I’m to go”.

Theus looked up. The girl. She moved closer to him in the wagon. She held up her turnip to him.

Theus: “What this?” he said surprised.

She just looked at him. The same stare she held for weeks now. She pointed at his turnip. It was cut perfectly to be eaten in bite-sized pieces.

Theus: “I can do that for you girl,” he said with a warm smile. He hoped he didn’t scare her. He knew how he looked. He was happy for her to approach him. It made him feel less repulsive.

In minutes he cut her food and she was happily munching away. She occasionally would motion to the man leading the horse driving their wagon to feed a slice of turnip to it. Clearly, she only wanted it cut up to feed the horse, which made Theus smile. The caravan was surrounded by crunching noises of happy half-full stomachs.

The Willowood survivor’s caravan looked up to a large stone archway. It had oak doors and intersected a stone wall that curved around the horizon on both sides.

Knight Agnis: “Aigh, holt there”. A woman with a large scar on her chin rode toward the caravan. Her horse and plate armor had the sigil of Havenrun drawn all over. A black mountain above a green lake.

Theus had heard of knights from the weeks of gossip about Havenrun. You could tell she was a knight because of the white leather belt she wore. Only knight’s belts could be white, a sign of her station.

She looked about the group with a frown.

Knight Agnis: “We gotta nother one!” she shouted over her shoulder to the gate behind her.

Russel and the other oldest members of the caravan joined together at the front to speak for them.

Russel: “We be from Willowood my lady,” he said with a nod. “Twas the Black Cloud, my lady”.

The lady swore and snapped for one of her squires. A young lad ran to her side. He had on a red belt.

Knight Agnis: “Which direction did they go?”.

Russel: “North my lady. To Arth no doubt”.

Knight Agnis: “Send word to the Baron,” she commanded to her squire. He ran off immediately, kicking up more dust than the horse.

Knight Agnis: “Eigh”. She took out a ledger and began writing how many were in the group. How many horses and sheep they had. She counted by pointing her feather pen at them in the air.

Knight Agnis: “Take this with yuh,” she handed the signed paper to Russel. “We gotta camp with the other refugees you can stay. Take that note to the keep with you on the marrow. There you can exchange coin for some of yur animals”.

The group was let through the gate. Most had gone on foot at this point. Only Theus remained in the wagons.

The knight went back to the gate. She waved in farmers and their crop wagons behind the group.

As they passed, Theus stared at the Lady Knight. Her armor shone in the afternoon sun. It was polished and reflected the light harshly to any gazing eyes. He squinted and caught a glance of a second smaller sigil tied to her white belt. The cloth was white and had a grey moon embroidered in the center. Under the moon was red dripping blood also embroidered. Josiah’s words echoed in Theus’s memory. “He were part of them Moonfolk I reckon,” Josiah had said the day the village parted ways.

Theus: “Moonfolk,” he murmured.

His stares at the knight didn’t go unnoticed. By the time their caravan lost sight of the gate, the knight was staring back at him.

Moonfolk, he cemented in his mind. Find the Moonfolk.