An ancient map and a little faith, there is no lack.
Gen stumbled all the way down the path and past the lake, will leading the way and legs struggling to keep up with the sheer speed of reckless urgency.
He had lost his family, his people, and his home. The ravaging malice had obliterated any notion of refuge, of haven. And though he could run, he wasn’t sure where to go. There was no safety, for the age of peril had descended upon the lands and its helpless inhabitants.
He recounted calling out for his people to follow his light. Now alone and lost, he questioned his resolve. So what if they’d caught his light and followed him out of Derri? Where would they go? Could they outrun it? What false hope would he supply against the reality of advancing darkness?
Before Gen knew it, he’d made it past the Gilded Hills and was on the familiar path towards Kelv. The sky was brightening, the daylight hours marching in, led by the first glimpse of golden rays gliding through wisps of indigo. Nothing could fetter the splendor of the heavens, neither darkness nor man. As a promise from a loyal friend by which everlasting friendship propers, it remains unbroken. Darkness can only rob the heavens of the witness of humankind. But the heavens thrive even apart from witness.
Finally letting the exhaustion set in, Gen collapsed beside the path onto yellowed grass and lay there emptily under the shade of a young hickory. As he looked back on the Gilded Hills, the sun emerged from beneath their jagged peaks, grandiose in its unabashed arrival. The sun does not slumber, it makes known to man the light of day when they need it. Gen flashed a tired but grateful smile. The Gilded Hills were so named because life on it flourished in the fluid gold of every dawn. It was a sight to behold and he wouldn’t complain if this was the last light he ever glimpsed.
Time galloped by as Gen drifted into heavy-lidded reverie of a land soaked in golden ray. He was careful to make sure he didn’t succumb to complete slumber. Not right now, not with darkness one step too close behind. Sleep may be the one-way wagon trip to the lightless, nightless abyss. He had to catch the light, lest he snapped the golden thread of life.
The sun was now hanging prime above the highest peak of the Gilded Hills. Gen mustered his strength and pushed himself upright. His canvas bag lay in a heap among the tall cogon grass. It had definitely seen better days. Five years ago the fabric had been pristine and as stiff as a chance meeting with an acquaintance in the marketplace, but now a loyal friend it was ruggedly accommodating, bearing the extra burden with unmatched grace.
Gen reached into the bag, tunneling through the folds and the odds and ends for survival. His fingertips met with coarse parchment, the very contents possibly the very last hope. Unrolling the ancient map, the one souvenir from his scouting trip of past, he lay it on the grass and reached further into his bag for a sharpened piece of charcoal.
Wiping the back of his hand across his upper lip, Gen set the tip of the charcoal down on the drawing of the very small village next to the Gilded Hills - Derri. With shaking hands he crossed it out, the bold, black strokes of charcoal masking it whole just as the darkness had.
Gen wished he’d never have to add another mark to this map. When it had first been given to him, Luvitron and Sommer, two large towns in the North, had already been taken. Now with Derri ravaged, it seemed the darkness had been moving West, and was now heading East.
He glanced far East, just beneath the inked compass - Mount Hallow, the River Tirips. That was where the elders said contained the only hope against this pervasive evil. The clear waters of Tirips flowing down Mount Hallow is regarded by legend to be the source of eternal light. Yet no one has ever ventured close to salvation mountain because the Galvigon Territory lay at its foothills.
Invaders of lands, plunderers of livestock, the Galvigon of time past launched attacks on unsuspecting villagers and towns, hungry for power and proliferation. Presently they reside in heavily guarded territory, separated from the rest of the lands by a series of warlike trenches.
Well, the map was in his hands for a reason, and it wasn’t so he could be an accurate historian and mourn the fall of civilization to the passing darkness with the precision of a shepherd knowing which of his sheep had passed. Tirips was the lands’ last shot at light. Before all is lost and darkness closes the windows on them forever, Gen was going to get to Tirips and find out for himself if legend failed the people. With newfound ambition, he picked up his staff and began down the path, leaving the glittering hills behind.
Continuing east and on to Kelv, Gen sought to collect his courage and fill every pocket with the blessings of the wise and wizened left-behinds.
Kelv was an aged city fallen to the Galvigon two decades ago. The invaders took every young and able-bodied citizen - men and women alike, abandoning the old and greying to die out like withered leaves falling from trees once great. With the life-giving springs ceased before their time, life could only dwindle with the passing of days, leaving behind hollow spaces lingering with the ghosts of silver memoirs.
As Gen passed under the stone archway leading into the city of Kelv, he could sense a tangible loss of energy and life from the last time he visited, two years ago. The gravel crunched noisily under his sandals as he wandered the streets of the silent city. There was no hustle and bustle two years ago, and yet now there was even less.
“Master Gen!” Pashor, the stocky man of eighty-two greeted in excitement only audible to himself. It was so rare for young blood to pass into Kelv that the returning scout was regarded with esteem.
“I’ll get Ket,” Pashor said, voice gruff around the edges as he shuffled with a limp behind a stone column.
Gen waited by what seemed to be the remains of a fruit stand. Peering into a wicker basket and prodding it gently with his foot, a lone nectarine whose time had long passed rolled across the base. He glanced about the array of scattered stone structures. Some were ruins - roofs blown through and walls incomplete, hollowed out passages for the eolian symphony of mysterious wind. Some were memorials - standing in custodial silence for the warmth that once abounded within their toasty walls. Some were shells - sheltering pieces of souls struggling at looking to a better tomorrow. Gen caught sight of faint glows through the open windows and the scent of almost invisible sparks of human life, nothing near an aroma but merely a stale existence.
Kelv was a city of grey, built upon coarsely cut stones and stone-cold slabs. Unlike Derri, red earth aflame against the azure sky, warmth and passion the essence of every brick, Kelv seemed on the surface lacklustre and frigid. Yet Gen could imagine the warmth that once painted the bleak and dreary surfaces. He pictured children chasing each other around the stone arches and knocking over things, laughter and chatter in harmony with the cacophony of daily life; women young and old fussing over clothing and meal; the men out and about in the early morning building life in their varied vocations, and then making merry when the shade of night fell.
As he lost himself in imagination of Kelv’s past glory, the visions before him melted into familiarity. The children were him and Leia once upon a time. In his tiny six-year-old hand a wooden tiger figurine crafted by Pa, and with childish confidence he mimicked the beast’s ferocious roar as he chased three-year-old Leia around the yard until they both crashed into Ma’s sewing basket. Gen remembered the spectacle with fondness and found himself grimacing at the memory of the needle in his palm. Subconsciously looking to his right where he knew the kitchen would be, Gen could almost smell the aroma of freshly baked apple bread wafting through the open window from where Ma and Nana were whipping up the noonday meal. He remembered Pa coming home with his tools just as the sun was setting; he and the neighbour men would stay up past bedtime sitting on logs, eating and drinking in the yard. He recalled sneaking out once after Ma had dimmed the lamp and stealing nuts and raisins from their communal bowl. Leia had been thrilled when he brought back three raisins for her and they savoured the stolen loot in the darkness and under their blankets, giggling all the way.
Gen did not know why the fond memories he found his mind conjuring up in rapid fashion were from a time so long ago. Perhaps that was a time he wished he could return to - before he began wondering about the outside world, before the scouting trip, before any knowledge of this darkness, before he grew apart from his family because of their unbelief.
Everything you need is here, Ma had once told him, after he had asked at what age he would be allowed to adventure outside. However, it seemed that nothing could stop him from pursuing his dreams of adventuring the great outside. He did. And now he was to do so again, without choice, without a home to return to.
Before long, there was the clunk and clatter of axle and wheel from around the corner and from beyond came the elderly Pashor laboriously pushing a wheelbarrow with Ket propped up on a few cotton-filled burlap sacks in it. The youngster, with his wavy, tawny brown hair and gleaming eyes, looked exactly as Gen remembered him.
“Gen!” Ket smiled, extending his hand for a ‘welcome back’ hand shake, “So what brings our Derri scout back?”
Gen’s smile faltered. “It happened. I barely escaped,” Gen replied, pulling out the map from his bag. He saw Pashor’s face fall, turning ashen, as if he’d just seen phantasms of Galvigon soldiers marching into the city.
“Where’s Victus?” Gen asked, looking around for the man of grand stature, who was steadfast as a cedar tree and keenly perspicacious despite his age - the oldest man in Kelv.
Ket shook his head solemnly, “We lost him a fortnight ago. Ripe old age of hundred and one.” There was a palpable void in the city without his imposing presence, which Gen only began to make sense of.
“The city’s down to fifty-one,” Pashor added dismally, as if his woeful mien could get any worse. Gen staggered, his own experience of loss still fresh in his bones. The population of Kelv had been reduced by nearly two hundred since his first scout trip.
“There was a wave of sickness. It took everyone in the Hador district, swiftly,” Ket explained,
“I’m sorry to hear about Derri, and your family.”
“The end has come,” Pashor breathed, immense fear reflected in his eyes as he looked to the west. The weight of unending affliction a burden too tremendous to bear.
“It’s alright, Pashor. Look, Gen has the map. He’ll get to Tirips,” Ket assured, patting the aged man’s hand resting upon his shoulder.
“I was hoping Victus could give me some advice before I depart,” Gen sighed. Victus had been the one to introduce Gen to the map and leave it in his hands. There was no one in Kelv capable of making the journey across the lands to Mount Hallow so the young traveller had been their only hope.
“Well, one advice I can give you is that that bag of yours has hardly enough supplies to last you past the Lusiah Forest, let alone make it all the way to Tirips,” Ket grinned, “Pashor, let’s get Gen to the storehouses.”
It was unusual for the young man to so frequently lapse into smiles so genuine, not when everything around him demanded otherwise. But this was the same Ket from two years ago, with that same unwavering optimism. While the golden rays of life no longer shine down on Kelv, and with death permeating each morning’s still air and each dusk’s heavy breeze, Ket continued channeling life. Gen was left in unspoken wonder.
After Ket and Pashor stocked a rucksack with survival items and filled up his leather canteen, Gen stayed the night in Ket’s quarters. They were to take turns keeping watch throughout the night, making sure the moonlight was still within their reach, lest the darkness attempted a similar ambush.
“It’ll be good to have a companion on the road, someone to watch your back. The darkness never sleeps, but you need to,” Ket mused, pushing himself off the wheelbarrow with much difficulty and onto the slab of stone covered with layers of jute. Gen stepped forward to help him and Ket responded with nothing near embarrassment but genuine and warm appreciation. Though only a year shy of him, Ket emanated a certain childlike quality and thought no further nor deeper than necessary of the human condition.
“I’ll keep a lookout for anyone on the road who has a taste for adventure...and saving the lands. Or I’ll just have to try my luck in the next town...what was it called again?” Gen frowned, reaching for the map tucked away in his bag.
“Oh, I doubt you’ll have any luck at Loggerstone. I’ve heard they hardly welcome next-door neighbours, let alone visitors from afar. But don’t worry, if you’re on heaven’s mission, heaven will deliver, surely,” Ket smiled brightly, giving him a fist bump to which Gen gladly received. The blessings he had come to collect were unexpectedly supplied by his youthful compadre.
“You were always like this huh?” Gen smiled, taking a seat on a stool by the open door and looking to the moon - the same moon he’d see from home, if he were there now; the same moon he looked to whenever he missed home during his scouting trip.
“Like what?” Ket replied, tone lighthearted as he lay down against his gunny sack pillow, head resting on his right hand. His gaze was fixed upon the ceiling, tracing the cracks as if travelling the roads of history. The oil lamp in the room fizzled and crackled as moths flitted about like lost ships catching the light of a fanal.
“So happy. You were always a happy child?” There was never a tension in the atmosphere when the topic of the Galvigon invasion and exile came up, at least not with Ket. Gen felt relaxed enough around him to prod into his past.
“Well, not exactly... I was three when they came and took my family. I had an older brother and two older sisters. I was left with my grandparents because they were too old to make the exile. But they too passed in a year or two from grief,” Ket began, picking up a small metal object from his bedside and throwing it up into the air before catching it and throwing it again.
“As I grew up, I didn’t know what to feel - should I be glad that they didn’t just kill all of us? Or angry that I was left to watch Kelv fade away. For the longest time, I just stopped feeling.”
Ket caught the object in his palm and it stayed there this time. “But one day I looked to the sky...and saw the clouds illuminated by the sun, diffuse edges like golden dust. Something just changed in me. I looked around and what I saw wasn’t death nor desolation, but life worth living out to the very fullest. Kelv was a city of life, and it still is, as long as we’re here and alive.” His eyes shone brightly, reflecting the unextinguished hope he’d caught once upon a time.
“Do you know what this is?” Ket asked, looking to Gen and showing him the object in his hand.
Gen shook his head, studying its unusual ridges and carvings.
“It’s a Galvigon grenade. This one landed just outside our house and didn’t explode. I only found it tucked away under some sackcloth a few years after it was all over, nothing but an empty shell. This gave my family a chance to live, and that means they’ll have a chance to come back, someday,” Ket beamed, the glint in his eyes like embers afire. It was intense, incandescent, it reminded Gen of the dazzling brilliance he glimpsed over the Gilded Hills.
“We all live under the same heavens, if I’m under its protection, who is to say it’s not over them too?” Ket added as an afterthought, then turned inwards to face the wall, pulling the blanket over his shoulder.
Moments later, Gen heard Ket singing quietly, gently pausing after each syllable as if savouring the hushed intervals.
Oh what a joy, to be where I am. Safe under your watch, as the nights grow cold. Oh what a joy…It wasn’t long before his voice faded to silence, having lulled himself to sleep.
Gen crossed his arms and leaned back against the wooden door, contemplating Ket’s words. Maybe Ma, Pa, and Leia are lost now, but not forever. With that thought, a genuine smile crept across his face as he returned to his watch, a song arising in his heart.
In the early light as he left Kelv behind, Gen looked back to see Ket, Pashor and a few elders under the eastern archway. The elders looked a tumultuous sea of sullen, yet Ket walked above the waves. The young lad waved goodbye, lips upturned as always. The heavens spared Ket from the Galvigon exile two decades ago, his physical disability a blessing in disguise, for he was to be the preserver of dry bones, till they were ready to come to life again. Though Ket will in time to come be the only one left in Kelv, roaming the empty streets and brimming graves in his wheelbarrow, he was a man with joy from above, and Gen was certain he had all the strength he needed to safeguard this fallen city till then.
Face claim for tritagonist, Ket: Brenton Thwaites
My artist impression of Gen and Ket conversing
Also author's note: Ket is presently my favourite character :)
How is Ket the only kid with a disability in a city this big? Idk, but it is what it is 🙃
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