CHAPTER 3: Steps Toward a New Path

  Eiran woke up in a dim room. Bandages with a herbal concoction subdued the throbbing pain coursing through his entire body as he rose from the bed. Opening the door, he found Varne's father waiting for him. Lorn inquired about his condition while preparing a warm meal.

  “Thank you, Uncle,” he said as Lorn served a broth with pieces of sweet potatoes and bread. The soup was salty with a strong garlic scent.

  Varne often complained to him that he often complained to Lorn – that even the fish in the sea did not eat as much salt as he did, or that that the amount of garlic Lorn used could cause a famine. Every time, Lorn would simply say that salt was essential for a warrior to avoid getting weak, while garlic was healthy and aided recovery.

  “You've been unconscious all day. It's past midnight now, and Varne is already asleep. Stay here for the night,” Lorn said.

  Varne had sworn to change that recipe and had practiced cooking a lot. However, Eiran envied him although he never said it. He had never tasted what his mother or father's cooking was like.

  “Thank you, Uncle.”

  “Eir,” Lorn called out as he was about to return to his room. “You're not just a friend but a loyal friend in times of trouble. I'm grateful to you.”

  Before sunrise the next day, he returned to his uncle's house in the middle of the village, the largest three-story house. His uncle was a horse ranch owner. He had opened the ranch here, considering the highland to be ideal for horses’ muscles.

  His uncle was in his study, writing with a bronze-tipped pen on parchment. He only used parchment for important contracts. A lantern provided minimal illumination from the edge of the table, throwing large shadows across the room.

  Eiran steeled himself before stepping forward to the table.

  His uncle glanced for a moment from his forehead before returning to his contract. The tip of his pen screeched against the parchment.

  “Ran away from home? Got into a fight? Ungrateful. Just like your father. And your mother. Feed the horses.”

  Eiran braced himself not for any beatings or cane strikes. After years, they did not hurt that much anymore, especially since his uncle was getting weaker. What still hurt as much as the first time was when his uncle ridiculed his parents.

  “Uncle, you always talk as if you know my parents. Who are they? I’ll find them and won’t bother you anymore.”

  The scraping stopped, and his uncle plunged his pen into the inkwell. While waiting for the ink on the parchment to dry, he looked at Eiran. His eyes were a light brown, his eyebrows thick and black. He was around fifty years old.

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  “They're nobody, not worth mentioning. I don't know where they are, and I don't care. They abandoned you, and I'm the one inconvenienced, troubled, and missing out on many opportunities because of you.”

  “Then who are you, Uncle?”

  His uncle picked up the pen, wiped it, and continued writing. “Go away. I'm busy.”

  Eiran clenched his fists but said nothing. He turned to leave.

  “You probably don't know because you're busy playing with that raggedy boy,” his uncle said as he opened the door. “We'll move from this wretched village in a few days. This village doesn't bring in enough profit.”

  ***

  Varne observed the village notice board. His village was too small for anything significant to happen, and it never had any important announcements to be posted. The board was usually just filled with obscene drawings, almost always cocks, as the kids who scribbled on it had never seen their counterparts.

  However, that day, he spotted a scroll attached there. The paper seemed expensive, its cursive writing graceful, and its decorative frame gave it a formal air.

  “You should learn to read, Varn. The writing system used throughout the Inner Realm now is much simpler than the languages used before.” Eiran said from behind, his body still covered in bandages, his steps limping. “That scroll is a call for volunteers to join the fight against the Terzion Empire.”

  “Is there going to be a war?”

  “My uncle often sells horses to the Fhon garrison. They say the Cairdelis Federation fell last year, and the Kargadin Arkanate is struggling against Terzion. Our kingdom is worried as well.”

  Varne had once seen the Inner Realm map at Eiran's uncle's house. The Inner Realm consisted of three landmasses surrounding the Inner Sea. To the northwest lay the Eldarin land, ruled by the Isofea Kingdom; to the southwest, the Denois land under the dominion of the Arvane Kingdom. To the east, the Terzion Empire, Cairdelis Federation, and Kargadin Arkanate shared borders on the vast Zelros land. He himself lived on an island to the south of the main Eldarin land, part of the Isofea Kingdom.

  “My father said those brigands yesterday were deserters from their posts. By the way, why did Terzion start the war?”

  “Emperor Gardioz started the war three years ago. He wishes to destroy the Artifica so that all may live in peace, or so he said. But what's certain is that Terzion is unstoppable and ready to invade us and Arvane.”

  War. It was an opportunity to prove oneself. The battleground that separated boys from men. But his father would never agree.

  “But don't worry,” Eiran said. “We have the Southern Shields to protect this island. And our village is too small to be a target.”

  “Why did you come looking for me?”

  Eiran showed a necklace with round stone pendants on a string. “I found these stones in the cave and made them into keepsakes.”

  “Keepsakes? For yesterday?” Nevertheless, he took one and put it on. Eiran also donned his.

  “Varn..., there's one more thing. My uncle is moving to Fhon. I want to bid you farewell.”

  “Moving? Did you steal your uncle's wine and get drunk again?”

  Eiran lightly hit his upper arm. “I wish. Goodbye, Varne.”

  “Is this a joke...?”

  “At first, I didn't want to either. But this is the opportunity I've been waiting for. Fhon has a soldiery, and I'll make a career there or forever be my uncle's errand boy. Don't do anything foolish, Varn, because I won't come to save you.” Eiran winked.

  Varne just gaped as Eiran limped away.

  Lorn never let him do anything. Eiran could only obey his uncle. They would grow up, take a wife, have children, and eventually die in this village. He would then dig a grave for him, or the other way. He never expected they would part ways before that day.

  He ran after Eiran to the village's only gate.

  There he saw a convoy of cargo wagons at the top of the hill. Eiran did not notice him because he was busy handling a herd of horses. He wanted to shout, but the distance was too far. Little by little, Eiran disappeared into the folds of the hills.

  Fhon? That city was at least ten days away. He would never see him again.