Of despair and faith's song.
Docking the boat by the shore, Gen and Jovin crept into the new territory with heightened alertness. This was Galvigon turf afterall; no one knew where it began and ended, or if there were traps lying in wait to ambush trespassers. All the folks of East and West heard about the Galvigon was that they’d retreated behind trenches. But that happened two decades ago. No one knew what had become of them because everybody stayed away, most sensibly.
The land here was arid and there were strange boulders strewn over the plain in haphazard clusters. A wall of ash-coloured rock spanned the far distance against the backdrop of the mountain. The area was deserted, or at least it seemed that way. There were no outposts, no watchtowers, no defensive patrols. It was nothing like the war zone of Gunth.
As the sun chased the shadows Eastward and a byzantium dusk dipped toward the glowing horizon, the boys neared one of the rock clusters. Not too far off, the ash-coloured wall had morphed into what seemed like cleanly-cut stones now that they were closer.
“That must be the Galvigon fortress,” Gen noted, peeking from behind an oddly-shaped boulder. He looked beyond it and the glorious sight of Mount Hallow renewed his resolve. He was about to take another step forward but Jovin held him back. A sense of unease, almost a foreboding, had gripped the wayfarer. The unmarked territory between Loggerstone and Gunth hadn’t nearly the same effect as this place. The shadows here were inky puddles and they seemed to linger. In them a swirling menace stared back; the dark times of history imprisoned in its depths. It sent shivers down Jovin’s spine and his heart thumped uncomfortably against his ribcage.
“Let’s wait for daybreak.”
Gen looked towards the sky. “We still have an hour before the sun goes,” he insisted.
“You miscalculated the last time,” he stated plainly, referring to the incident with the wolves.
“We need to make the most of the time we have,” Gen argued, getting impatient.
Already high-strung in this foreign land, Gen’s impulsivity and naivety was getting on his nerves. “So what exactly is your plan? You’re just going to stroll into the city and ask for passage to the mountain?” Jovin asked, with as much exasperation as he was seasoned to show, which was not a lot if we’re being honest.
Gen tried to give an answer, but had nothing.
“This is Galvigon territory. We don’t know what they have up their sleeve. It’s safer to wait for daybreak,” Jovin continued.
Wait. It was Gen’s turn to get frustrated. He didn’t have that luxury. There was a time to wait and a time to move, he thought. If they only moved when it was safe, they’d never move. Because it’s never safe.
“Look, I know waiting’s easy for you. But I want to get my family back,” Gen blurted out less than kindly, then promptly regretted it.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that...I didn’t mean-“
“No, you’re right,” Jovin cut him off curtly then walked ahead of him at a speed that was difficult to keep up. Gen promptly realised just how much Jovin had been accommodating him all this while.
“Jovin, wait!” Oh the irony.
If he was quiet then, Jovin was completely silent now. Even as Gen ran up by his side and tried to apologise, he neglected to acknowledge him in any way, keeping his eyes straight ahead and not relenting in his pace. Gen never felt worse. He was beginning to see that his impulsivity had consequences.
They reached a stretch of barren land by the time the sun sank below the skyline and the shroud of nightfall fell upon the landscape. Jovin was still ahead of him when he suddenly came to a stop.
When Gen caught up to him, he saw that they were standing at the edge of the trench. The walled city was still a distance away on the other side.
“These look abandoned,” Gen gathered after scanning the length of the trench to his left and right. The tunnels were overgrown with unuse, and there were neither weapons nor stores in sight.
“We should take cover here for the night,” Jovin spoke, finally. Gen was getting worried that he would ignore him forever.
“How will we get out tomorrow?” Gen asked, masking his surprise and relief. He didn’t want to risk getting Jovin all self-conscious and back in his shell again. It was a genuine question - he only saw a way down, which was if they pushed themselves off the edge and slid down, but the trench seemed a little too deep and walls too steep for them to climb back out.
“We’ll figure that out. It’s better than being an open target,” Jovin replied, eyes darting about their surroundings warily. His vigilance was appreciated by Gen, who had come to admit that there were times his determination waded a tad bit too close to obstinance, at the expense of their safety.
And so they slid into the trench, easily, along with some gravel that came loose with the movement. There they huddled, backs against the dirt wall, letting the night breeze graze the top of their heads while the air flow in the narrow tunnel remained relatively still.
The sound of crickets, among other strange noises, bled into the night. They tried to sleep but were jolted awake more than once by the rustles and disquieting calls resounding from hidden strongholds. Most times they would peer down the length of the trench through bleary eyes. Sometimes they stood up and peeked over the edge into the night-washed land. But they saw nothing.
Finally sleep claimed them, and kept them, as if by some enchantment in the hours before dawn. They didn’t stir again until the sun had risen high above the landscape, just shy of parting completely from Mount Hallow’s peak.
They awoke to shadows looming over them, and spears in their faces.
Climbing out of the trench wasn’t a problem anymore when they were literally hauled up by the Galvigon soldiers.
As per the stories about them, the Galvigon were an odd bunch. Their goals were different, their way of life was different, even their clothing was starkly different. The men wore black-grey pelts on their backs like capes over sleeveless tunics. With their home on the slopes of the highlands, this was an unusual, impractical getup. Around their necks hung sharpened claws and animal teeth strung together, the ensemble rattling noisily as they moved.
Gen and Jovin were marched into the fortress by the four soldiers and thrown into a prison cell. The soldiers looked poised to attack, without hesitation and without mercy. But this was different from the Gunthians’ honourable duty to protect; these eyes bore a savage, bloodthirsty glint. It was a miracle the soldiers never killed them there and then.
The cell was one of many, situated in a series of tunnels underground. It was a dark room, save for the flickering torch across the hallway and the dying light of the seeping sun through a tiny grated hole high up in one corner.
Their belongings had been confiscated and they lay strewn on a table in a small open room at the end of the hall.
“Let us go!” Gen demanded, rattling the metal gate vigorously. His cries echoed emptily in the chamber. Twice, a few soldiers trudged past but did not spare him a glance.
“Hey, hey!” He reached out through the grille and attempted to grab one of the soldiers now walking past. From whence that audacity came from he did not know. But he promptly recoiled when the soldier thrusted his spear at his throat. Holding up his hands in surrender, Gen stepped back into the cell.
Jovin! Gen had almost forgotten about him. He hadn’t made a sound since they were captured at the trenches. Turning around, he found Jovin sitting in the shadows against the wall. He was as still as ever and could almost pass unseen to unsuspecting eyes. But Gen knew he was there. Though he had sensed something off about Jovin ever since they crossed Tempest and set foot on this land.
“My parents were Galvigon.”
The statement was dropped impassively, relinquished such that his voice was detached from the matter like they were of two parallel worlds.
“What?” Gen heard himself ask, unsure if he had heard correctly.
“My Pa had the same tattoo as the soldiers on his forearm,” Jovin never lifted his head, cheek still pressed to the dusty cell wall.
It was a hot day. But the nights grew cold, quickly, as soon as the sun set. Pa was chopping up wood for the night fire as usual. In the sweltering heat of noon he worked hard, sweat soaking through his patched tunic. Jovin had always wondered why Pa had to wear long sleeves when he and Ma didn’t have to. It was obvious the sleeves had been sloppily patched onto his tunic with rough stitching.
But this day the heat was like none other. The shade of the tree he was sitting under did little to cool him down and he could feel beads of sweat rolling continuously down the side of his face. Twirling Pa’s wooden flute between his hands, Jovin watched Pa work. As Pa threw down the axe after splitting the last log, he rolled up his sleeves past his elbows and swiped it across his temple.
For the first time, Jovin noticed the elaborate black mark on the inside of Pa’s right forearm. He ran up to Pa curiously.
“Wow!” he had marveled, tracing his finger along the ink until Pa jerked his arm away and hastily pulled down his sleeves.
“What’s that? Will I have it too when I grow up?” he had asked innocently, rocking back and forth on his heels.
“No! You should never have this,” Pa snapped and Jovin recoiled in shock. He’d never seen Pa so fierce before.
Pa never rolled up his sleeves again. Jovin never saw the mark again. But he remembered what it looked like - a wolf’s head, and often pondered about its meaning.
Gen did not know how to respond to such news. Words of comfort would fall too close to mere patronising. Thankfully Jovin didn’t look like he was expecting any.
Just then, Gen caught a moving shadow from behind him. There standing on the other side of the gate was a Galvigon soldier. But he was unlike the others they’d seen before - in place of the claw and teeth necklaces, he had a mesh of metal rings circling his neck like an unfinished chainmail armour. His hands were empty and he let them hang unnaturally by his side. Peeking out from the inside of his right wrist was the wolf tattoo that Gen hadn’t noticed till Jovin had spoken of it.
“Why have you come?” He asked, eyebrows in a deep-set frown. There was hostility in his eyes, but none of the savagery they had witnessed earlier in the other soldiers. He reminded Gen of Tyrce.
“We need to get to the mountain,” Gen replied, eyeing him warily and curiously. There was a barely perceptible change in the stone-grey of his eyes as the soldier turned and walked away. He stopped at the table in the open room, back-turned to his prisoners, and picked up Gen’s canvas bag. Turning it upside down, he shook it and let all of Gen’s belongings fall out. He couldn’t care less that some of the items rolled off onto the floor. The map caught his attention; Gen watched him unroll it and study it intently from the corner of his eye.
“A darkness is claiming all the cities, towns, and villages of the MidLands. You won’t be spared either, not unless we get to the mountain and to the river,” he said, directing his voice down the hallway. If the soldier was fazed, he didn’t let on. Instead, he rolled up the map in a perfunctory manner, dropped it onto the table, and disappeared round the corner.
“This is a force greater than your army!” Gen called out after him, wedging his face between the metal bars. When he was sure the soldier had gone, Gen struck the gate in frustration.
Three days passed and the soldier never returned. Gen had demanded one too many times to speak with him again but he was either ignored or sneered at by the other soldiers. They weren’t given any food except for a dish of water and a plate of questionable mush on the second day.
It was late in the night and all was silent, save for the flittering of moths about the torch. A few got too closed and burned, falling limply to the ground.
Jovin had retreated into yet another shell. His usual shell was already tough to crack; this one was fortified with what must be steel, icy to the touch and impenetrable. Even Gen had given in and lapped up the water; but he couldn’t get a word or response out of Jovin.
This wasn’t what he imagined finding his place would look like. Was this where he belonged? Had he found his people? Had he finally come home? Of all people and homes, it had to be the Galvigon, whose place was wrought in the blood and hatred of others. The notion was repugnant to everything he had ever thought and known. As he sat sinking on the inside, oblivion swallowed him, and the darkness of the cell became the darkness of his world.
The sudden clanging of metal on the gate startled Gen. As he looked up from where he was sitting, the condescending sneer of a soldier greeted him. He was one of the ‘ordinary’ soldiers that had captured them at the trenches.
“Thought I’d drop by to inform you that you’ll both be executed at dawn. That’s the fate of trespassers. Enjoy the last night of your miserable existence,” he taunted, then walked away, his scornful laughter echoing in the hallway.
Though Gen didn’t have the energy to react, to say he was unaffected would be lying. He’d faced despair before - the bloodthirsty wolves at the forbidden territory that they couldn’t possibly outrun; on the mountain, when the frigid temperatures, lack of food and tumbling rocks almost proved too much to bear; Tempest, when the raging storm seemed to never cease and their boat threatened to sink at any minute. They’d walked through each time unscathed and with wonder. But that didn’t make this any less troubling. The elements were one thing, humans another. Could divine intervention change the minds of the barbaric Galvigon, known to relish in the suffering of others?
Still, the hours stole toward dawn. The rising sun that should bring the promise of new hope and fresh beginnings now threatened to end their lives.
Gen didn’t know if Jovin had heard the news about their impending execution. Even if he did, it seemed to just add one more matter to the list of things outside of his control.
Sitting with his head against the back wall, Gen felt his lip begin to tremble. A sensation arose from deep within his belly, up his throat, and then out of his mouth.
Oh what a joy, to be where I am. Safe under your watch, as the nights grow cold. Oh what a joy that you’re here with me… Gen’s soft singing pulled Jovin to the surface.
It was Ket’s song. To the logical mind it felt like the last thing to do, but Gen knew a thing or two about the value of abandoned logic. While he couldn’t see the practicality of a joyful song, he could sense deep within that his spirit yearned for it. It wasn’t a feeling coursing through his veins - all he felt was tired and heavy with the weight of what was to come. Beyond feelings, it was an intimate knowledge, inexplicable and not needing explanation, but only the willingness to trust and obey.
Still, he meant every word. In the conviction of his trembling voice, the gravity of reality met with the edification of a grateful declaration. Then words started to come easily, without instruction or memory. And before long, the song had become his own and he continued on from where Ket’s lyrics had ended. He lifted his eyes, stared up at the ceiling, and imagined it was an open heaven.
From the shadows Jovin watched him, eyes gleaming with curiosity. Something leapt in his heart. He didn’t know Ket, didn’t know his song. Yet a song like this was universal; it didn’t need to belong to anyone, only to be started by one and passed on to another.
As the song filled the cell, wrapping it from within, there was an audible clink, followed by a rusty creak.
“The door,” Jovin gasped, getting up to a crouch. Gen turned to look. Sure enough, the door of the cell was open. The padlock was detached and hanging askew. Questions were burning in their minds, but they knew what was important wasn’t answers, rather, action.
So they got up and inched towards the door cautiously. Gen peered out into the hallway - there was no one in sight. Gingerly, he pushed the door open further so they could step out and winced as the rusty hinges creaked noisily in the empty chamber. But no guards came running.
As the boys made their way quietly down the hallway to the exit, they passed the table in the small open room and collected their belongings. Jovin picked up his dagger and put it back in the sheath by his belt. Gen stuffed the map and other items into his bag then searched around for his wooden tiger. He found it on the floor where it had fallen when his bag was ransacked. Picking it up and wiping off the dust and grime, he cradled it in his hands for a few moments before returning it to its safe place in his bag.
Then they snuck out of the underground prison, darting around corners, careful to avoid any patrolling guards. As they escaped into the night, Gen subconsciously slipped a hand into his coat pocket. He smiled as his fingers closed around the tiny seed.
Author's note: I am very excited to point out this flashback moment from Chapter 4:
“Please...just stay here, don’t come with us,” there was desperation in her voice.
“I’m covered, Mallary. It’s going to be okay,” that was Pa.
“No, please, I’m begging you. Not after what happened at Gu-”
And this scene at Gunth from Chapter 5:
When they’d been shoved past the main wall and emerged on the other side, another group of guards marched up to them and began forcefully tugging at their sleeves and rolling them up. The guards seemed to be looking for something on the inside of their wrists.
Been sitting on this chapter for far too long. I knew how it's supposed to go, just couldn't put it in words for the longest time. Hope it's worth the wait!
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