Love covers a multitude of sins.
After a day and a half of blind walking, meandering in shadow, and another full day of treading on warm ray, Gen and Jovin were close to Lusiah’s eastern edge. The air was crisp, chilly even, with a distinct alpine quality. Gen was beginning to shiver a little. With every step, his hands found their way to his shoulders and down his arms, chafing his skin with his calloused, wood-grazed fingertips.
The duo navigated the indistinguishable forest paths not only with Jovin’s sharp instincts but Gen’s trusty compass - as long as North was to their left, they were heading the right way. At last, a town of stone arised on the hilly horizon and a sea of lean grass was the only thing standing in their way. In the background of the elevated landscape, the snow-capped Malaban mountain range, veiled by milky fog, stood towering in glory.
Here, the grass was greener, resilience in their vein through root. Caressed daily by many a brisk zephyr and whipped by the ambuscade of frigid gale. They lacked the tenderness of the blades in the West Lands, whose tips matured into bronze as they soaked in golden ray day after day. But they were still beautiful, testifying of nature’s wondrous ways.
As Gen and Jovin approached the walls of Loggerstone, a flash of distant familiarity hit Jovin. Inexplicable as it was, a buried memory unravelled with stunning certainty.
His forehead was burning. Chin resting on Ma’s shoulder and arms limp at his side, he caught sight of a nebulous patch of grey and splotches of brown in a field of dancing green, albeit through blurred vision.
Ma’s voice, alarmed and frantic beside his ears but distant and echoey to his mind. The sounds that reached him were muted, washed out by his feverishness. He felt as if he was underwater - in another world separated from Ma and Pa by an invisible forcefield, though he could distinctly feel Ma’s calloused yet gentle hands running up and down his forearm. He could vaguely make out her words even as they tolled like a heavy bell in his head.
“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-”
He must have drifted off for a bit because the next thing he knew, Ma was moving and his head bobbed uncomfortably on her shoulder. Her footsteps were hasty. But they were also tentative in the way they halted and rasped on cobblestone.
She scurried about with her 7-year-old son in her arms, from person to person, begging for directions to the town physician.
But they were unwelcomed. Little Jovin was fortunate to have slept through the horrors of disdain and denigration. Like hail from the heavenlies, they pierced and wounded without mercy.
First footsteps on cobblestone, worn sole burnishing alien ground. Wild grass and red earth had no place here. This was still the West Lands, though very much its fringes. Yet a patch of forest was all it took to draw a great divide in culture and civilisation as Gen knew it.
Gen marvelled at the stone structures lined up orderly on both sides of the street. Kelv was built upon stone, grey as this place was grey, but not anywhere like this. The roofs were slanted and tiled, with a strange column protruding on one side from which smoke emerged. The windows were framed a different colour from the facade of brick, with neither edges of jagged stone nor dried earth that was whisked away at every rendezvous with the wind.
At the sight of towns folk milling about the hoary crossroads, Jovin gradually fell out of step with Gen, eclipsing himself with Gen’s shadow. His astute confidence ebbed away as the jarring sounds of civilisation stifled him. Hooded eyes darting about fearfully like wounded prey scanning his surroundings, anticipating a second attack. Shoulders hunched, arms subconsciously hugging his upper body and not just because of the bracing wind. On high alert, fight or flight.
Jovin wasn’t like this in the wilderness. That was his comfort zone and he thrived, with ease. Even the prowling beasts of the lands - the untameable, unnerved him less than people who looked his kind. The world, tipped on its end, separating two young lives with an ice wall - that they may walk on the same grounds but experience life in polar dimensions. Gen was beginning to wonder, perhaps this fear was justified.
He placed a sympathetic hand on Jovin’s arm and flashed him a kind smile, resolving to take the lead in this foreign not-so-foreign afterall territory.
A middle-aged lady traipsed past them, wrapped in a grey coat and with black boots peeking out from under her long skirt. For a moment, her soft features and petite figure reminded Gen of Ma. He was drawn to approach her instantly, heart and mind racing ahead of him with imaginations of motherly warmth.
“Excuse me ma'am, can you tell us where we can find warm supplies and sustenance?”
Soft turned to harsh in the split of a moment. She shot them a scornful glare and spat at their feet, causing both Gen and Jovin to jump backwards in shock.
Maybe she had a bad day? Gen thought, keeping his disappointment from bubbling to the surface. With the end of light at their heels, looking on the bright side was a starved but much needed perspective.
Gen now realised he’d taken Ket’s words too lightly. The boy had warned him of Loggerstone’s ...unfriendliness. Whether the word meant what it meant or more, Gen and Jovin were soon to find out.
The duo walked on and Jovin fell behind. Gen didn’t look back for he assumed that his unassuming friend was following closely.
That was when a burly man in strong leather pushed past Jovin with such force that he was knocked to the ground. As his back collided with coarse, weathered stone, he let out a grunt, elbows scraping the surface painfully. Just as Gen was about to turn around, he heard an unfamiliar voice.
“Are you alright?” it said. When Gen finally spun round, Jovin was being helped to his feet by a young man, who was also in fine leather, though his vest was a pale bluish-grey rather than black or brown. It seemed to be the distinct highland culture - with cattle that bore more resilient hide at such altitudes, the leather-clad folk were making the most of what was given unto them.
Jovin nodded in response almost unnoticeably, cradling his left elbow in his hand and rubbing where it had been grazed.
“It seems you both aren’t from these parts. You’re wearing too little for such weather, come with me,” the young man said without missing a beat. He’d not introduced himself, nor asked for their names and their intentions. Simply, Gen and Jovin were weary travellers who were very obviously shivering from the cold.
They took to the soft-eyed stranger immediately. He’d, afterall, been the only one who came to their aid when the town seemed a mayhem of uncontrolled stones each rolling their course without any heed for the others, scathing anyone who dared cross their path. Indeed, the people of Loggerstone and their stony dispositions could easily supplant even the tumbling boulders of the most massive avalanche.
As they followed after their local guide deeper into the town, the boys experienced an immanent coldness that was distinct from that of the subalpine air. Even as they passed a bakery expecting a waft of baked aromatic goodness, what hit them was sour, bitter, and foul.
Still, the bread looked delicious. Gen and Jovin struggled to recount when they had their last meal. The memory of Lusiah was a disquieting one; one that even sunshine filtering through the trees on crisp mornings could not change.
“Thank you for showing us the way. I’m Gen. And this is Jovin,” Gen began from behind the group, genuinely polite as Ma had raised him.
“Oh gosh how rude of me, I’m so sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Will,” he turned around and gave a little bow and smile, all while still walking.
“You two must be starving, we’ll get you something to eat after you put on some warm clothes. By the way, you came from the far West? Where are you headed?”
“Yes, I came from Derri, past Lusiah and the Gilded Hills. We’re travelling East to Mount Hallow. We’re hoping to cross the mountain range,” Gen replied, deciding against revealing the details of their quest all at once. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Will. Such solemn matters were best left to when they settled around a toasty fire, if they did; when their minds were unburdened of hunger and cold. Also, it was unmannerly to spring upon their new friend the horrors of what was leaping at their shadows.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to make a detour. The easiest col through the mountains is next to Meadori in the north. The most accessible pass used to be at the neighbouring city, Gunth. But after the Galvigon came through from there, the Gunthians destroyed it, leaving the only passage to the East Lands at Meadori,” Will explained, gesturing with his hands along the mountain range running extensively into the distance.
As they turned down a corner of the street, Will suddenly told them to wait where they were for a moment before sprinting off diagonally.
Gen and Jovin watched him approach an old lady who was carrying two heavy-looking baskets up some steps. A young man was by her side, hands, too, occupied with two sacks of flour. Will took the baskets from the old lady and as she sauntered up the steps, she instructed the young man to leave the sacks of flour on the bottom step. Her grandson - it seemed, then followed after her and they disappeared round some hedges.
It was clear what had happened - they were taking advantage of Will. And he was willingly allowing them to. Gen began to wonder if this was a regular occurrence, and that everyone in town knew of Will’s manners.
Some time passed after they saw Will come back for the sacks of flour and running after the ungrateful folk. Then he made a dash back to them, face flushed and breathing uneven.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, let’s go.”
They turned down a quaint alley and at its end was a cottage. It looked nice and peaceful, with garments hanging in the yard. That was where Will lived.
“Sorry, my Ma doesn’t like visitors. Wait for me here while I get you some coats.”
Will left Gen and Jovin by a large wooden shed and when Jovin peered in through the broken window, he saw a bed, a lamp atop some crates, and what looked to be personal belongings scattered around the place.
“Somebody lives here?” Jovin asked quietly. Gen had almost forgotten the sound of his voice. It was a nice reminder that he was still there.
The shed looked more like a stable for ponies than appropriate for any human. That was what Gen thought. As for Jovin, he was grateful for shelter. The modest-looking bed with the splintering frame - that looked more comfortable in a moment than the years of nestling against weather-smoothed rocks.
As they continued speculating about the occupant of the shed, Will returned with two sturdy coats draped over his left arm. He glanced back at the house a few times as he made his way to them.
“Here. These were my Pa’s. They’ve been sitting in a chest for years. It’s time they’re passed on to friends who need them more. Pa would have wanted that.”
There was a tinge of longing in his voice, which led Gen and Jovin to conclude that Will’s father had died.
“I have some extra shirts, trousers, and boots. I think they should be warm enough for the mountains,” Will continued, then led Gen and Jovin into the shed, to which they followed with puzzlement.
Inside the shed, Will rummaged through a crate filled with leather and cloth, selecting two sets of clothing for his new friends. Meanwhile, Gen observed the cluttered little space. The shed had looked expansive from the outside. But it was a shed afterall, which meant there were piles of supplies and tools. In one corner was what they had seen through the window - where the bed was.
“You live here?” Gen finally asked, unable to bear the speculation, just as Will stood up to hand them the clothes.
Will turned red with embarrassment (for but a moment), which was the last thing Gen intended when he asked that question.
“...Yeah. Sorry, it’s messy and not at all hospitable,” he said, chafing the back of his neck, “You can sit here if you don’t mind, I’ll be right back with some soup.”
With that, he was off, back to the cottage.
Gen and Jovin glanced at each other. Deciding to leave the elephant in the room for later, they changed into the warm clothes. It never got cold in Derri. It was the land beyond the Gilded Hills after all; the far West was warm all-year. The clothes felt like a pleasant second skin Gen never knew he needed; like the warmth of a mother’s embrace in the face of biting uncertainties.
A shout and the sound of porcelain shattering punctured the air just as Gen was balancing unsteadily on his left foot and putting on his right boot. The commotion was coming from the cottage. Gen and Jovin walked over to the window of the shed and peered into the open window of the cottage opposite.
Will was standing there next to a lady in a chair who looked really angry. He had mentioned that his Ma didn’t like visitors; that must be her.
“Get out cursed one!” she shouted so loudly that the neighbours must hear. But when Will spoke, his voice was inaudible. As he moved to placate her, she recoiled and struck him on the shoulder, causing him to stumble backward. He then disappeared behind a wall, wounded and defeated.
Gen and Jovin continued staring at the cottage and waited with bated breath. When Will emerged from the front door with two bowls of soup in his hands, his left hand shaking and struggling to keep the bowl steady, Gen felt a wave of sympathy wash over him. He wondered and briefly connected the dots as to why this ramshackled shed was Will’s dwelling place. The broken window - it was possibly a crime of anger too. The cruelty witnessed was almost too much to bear and Gen shuddered to remind himself it was but an instance of a glimpse into Will’s life. Multiply these instances and glimpses and weave them into the quilt of daily life, of months and years, Gen sensed a fracture in his heart and betrayal taking on a new meaning.
The door to the shed was gingerly opened and revealed Will, back against the panel, shuffling into the space slowly.
“I see that the clothes fit well. Here, have some hot soup. A warm soul makes for a good balm against the cold,” he smiled, but underneath the curl of his lips was a veil of shame; it was clear, and distilling the many layers was a plea: do not ask me about what happened, please.
The realisation sat uncomfortably on Gen’s heart. Try as he might, he couldn’t ignore the scald - red and raw, on Will’s left wrist.
Respecting the facade of normalcy Will had chosen to hide behind, Gen reached into his bag and pulled out a vial of yellow liquid.
“It’s an ointment from home, works wonders,” he left the unspeakable unspoken and handed Will the salve. He looked thankful but still embarrassed in the very least as he accepted it and began rubbing it into his wound. It stung, but many good things sting before their wonders are revealed.
They sat in silence finishing the soup. Will did not eat and neither did Gen and Jovin ask why. They’d made an agreement to stay in town for two days before moving on to Meadori. Of all the things Will offered in aid: his shed, his service in gathering supplies and planning their route, it was his friendship that meant the most and made the quest to Tirips less of a lonely one.
Sometime later, in the lowe of an oil lamp, conversation bled into the night hushed and unrushed and the three young men found themselves finally ready to face reality. Will was sitting on the floor, back against a wooden pallet, Jovin perched atop a crate, and Gen balancing at the edge of the bed (he felt bad about taking that spot when it should have belonged to his host).
“We’d been in the forest for two days. It’s very different than the last time I remembered.”
“The forest is ill. Berries and pine nuts no longer grow on the shrubs and trees,” Will replied, folding his arms and tilting his head back till it touched the soft wood.
Gen took a deep breath and exhaled. The messenger must deliver the message. “There’s a darkness heading Eastward. My village was ravaged and I’m the only one who escaped. We’re going to Mount Hallow to find the River Tirips, it may be our only hope.”
Will sat upright, leaning forward with interest and curiosity, a glimmer dancing in his eyes, illuminated by the fire light.
“Tirips is real? I thought it was just a fairytale that parents told their children for sweet dreams,” he chuckled faintly.
“Fairytale or not, we’ll find out when we get there. For now, it’s as real as we are willing to believe it to be,” Gen said resolvedly. He’d come this far, too far to be merely hanging on to a thread of fantasy. A Derrian in the East Lands, that by far seemed more fantastical than anything.
“Derri isn’t far from here. I have to warn my people. We can leave this town and move to somewhere safe -”
“- nowhere is safe...The darkness covers all. Only with the light of Tirips can we even hope to defeat the darkness,” Gen added regrettably, bowing his head low as visions of the great ruins of Kelv flooded his mind. And Ket. He pictured the boy staring up at the sky as the darkness curled its tentacles round the ancient buildings, the only one boasting a hopeful defiance in the teeth of such evil.
“Do you believe?” Gen found himself asking Will. So few believed. And among those who believed, even fewer hoped.
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you come with us? Who knows if the darkness will destroy this town before we can get to the river,” Jovin said, earnestly. He’d been stewing on something and it was difficult to guess exactly what. He had a tough exterior, and in matters of emotions, he was equally tough to read.
“My people need me,” Will answered without hesitation, “My Ma needs me too.”
“Why? They don’t even treat you right,” Jovin relented.
To their surprise, Will only smiled. And it wasn’t a cryptic one, nor was it a mask for the pain. Then after a moment, looking down into his lap, he muttered something close to a whisper, almost like the air he exhaled.
“Because I love them.”
It was as simple as that. And Gen figured why he said it that way. Like each breath leaving his lungs, so was his love for his people and family. He lived and breathed love.
The silence resumed after Will’s heartfelt confession until he spoke again, finally having two confidantes whom he could share his heart with. Though they do not always understand, they were present and patient. Funny thing how strangers from afar can provide the solace expected of close family.
“Everyone used to say I take after my Pa. He taught me about love. I don’t know why but after his death, everyone seemed to lose all hope in love. They said love cannot triumph tragedy, so what was the point? They said love did not last, for like a flame meeting a gust of wind, all is wiped out in a moment.”
“Love does last. Love leaves a legacy. It can never be wiped out; one flame burning bright only ignites another,” Gen answered, looking up at Will with empathy. Jovin too, turned his eyes to Will, a softness had taken over his usually stoic gaze.
They were staring in clarity at the answer, who himself was confused yet committed nonetheless.
It took a moment but Will let out a sigh of relief.
For a town so rich in everything but so poor in love, from his fullness Will fed the starved, who may never know they’ve been hungry. Yet fullness knows no limit and while the impoverished will take and take, one day emptiness must know wholeness.
Like he owed the world some unpayable debt, Will will ever be paying. Thing is, love is a debt we owe to all, and if we’re all paying, no one will be lacking.
As the night wore on, they fell into well-deserved rest.
Will took to the comfort of a distant memory. One of his little hands grasping Ma’s, dancing to the strum of an instrument he did not recognise then, but in clarity was the person strumming - Pa with his kind face and crinkles by his eyes...
Face claim for Will: Thomas McDonell
Author's note: I procrastinated soooo long for this but once I got to writing it, the chapter kinda had a mind of its own and flowed pretty much unplanned. Initially, this chapter was challenging because I had to describe in detail and dramatise unloving behaviour without making it too cliche and exaggerated but still bring out this defining characteristic of Loggerstone
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