Bring it all to peace.
“Seems like an easy route to Gunth,” Jovin mused, unfolding his crossed arms and dragging a finger from Loggerstone to Gunth on the map.
“No, I remember Victus - an elder of Kelv, telling me there is something between Loggerstone and Gunth. But it’s an unexplored area; the cartographer left the space empty because he was unable to identify it,” Gen explained.
“Yes, there is something there. Unventured except for a few brave ones. Heading North from Loggerstone, you’d see columns of tall rock, almost like shards that fell from the sky. They’re colossal, and from afar they blend together on the landscape, forming an illusion of an impenetrable wall. It’s always foggy in those parts, and bloodcurdling noises can be heard, as if the breeding ground of some evil. To get to Gunth, you’d have to go around the rocks. That’ll add a few days to the journey but it’s better than going through them. Those who chose the shortcut never came out on the other side. It’s said that their screams still echo from beyond the ghostly fog today,” Will supplied.
Gen and Jovin looked to each other incredulously and almost laughed at the last part. Just as Tirips was a sweet bedtime story for well-behaved children, this rocky locale seemed like the opposite - a terrifying tale for the few gutsy little ones. Well then, if they were willing to believe in the eternal light of Tirips, why shouldn’t they also pay heed to this? If there really is a behemoth lurking beyond the rocky prison, it’d definitely be good to take caution.
Will was confused at Gen and Jovin’s skepticism. He’d never actually heard the shrieking wraiths himself but he was utterly convinced that something sinister skulked about the rocky terrain and he was worried for his friends.
“It’s best you start out early in the morning and make it to the southwest edge before nightfall. Don’t be near the rocks at night. It’s too dangerous. Moonlight alone cannot suffice because the fog gets thick when the air cools further,” Will advised.
Then came the time for Jovin and Gen to carry on with their journey and leave Loggerstone behind. Will would travel with them in spirit, the bond of friendship and brotherhood forged meant they’d be taking with them a piece of willpower from the man who above all, loved.
“I’ll be awaiting glad tidings,” Will smiled, patting Gen on the shoulder as they stood parting on the northern path under the young sun of a new day.
“And these coats. We’ll make sure your Pa’s legacy traverses the East lands and makes it back to you.”
And so began the lads’ journey northward into unknown territory. As they treaded on forlorn grass towards the looming shadow-grey structures, the sky began to darken in the distance. Clouds amassed ominously over the landscape, blocking out the sunlight - the diminishing currency of life.
“A storm’s brewing. We’d be in the middle of it if we keep going,” Jovin said from Gen’s side. The wind was indeed picking up and in a whipping, belligerent way. The foes on their quest were many and the weather was to be a formidable one.
Jovin surveyed the area and a rock shelter caught his eye. “There, we can wait out the storm under that overhang,” he pointed.
The first drops of rain began their pitter patter just as Gen and Jovin shuffled into the safety of the shelter. The overhang was a miraculous outcrop. There were but a few scattered across the plain. Jovin deduced that the area was once jagged and rock-strewn. But years of snowpack and hardened earth had raised the ground, leaving only a few peeking out the surface.
Drizzle turned downpour and soon the sky water pelted hard against the hollow. Gen and Jovin huddled further into the tiny cavern and watched the shadows dance with the rainfall and filtering light.
The storm must have lasted for hours for when the rain finally began to lighten and finish its course, the shadows were mellow and the sun was hanging low in the western sky. It was mid afternoon. They were well behind schedule.
“It’s getting late, if we set off now we won’t clear the forbidden rocks by nightfall. We should wait till morning,” Jovin suggested, then noticed that Gen wasn’t quite paying attention. He was glancing up at the sky, as if calculating the trajectory of the sun and ruminating on opportunity. His eyes darted back and forth, then up and down, then, without saying anything he crept to the opening of the hollow and stepped out into the misty turf. The air was humid, with petrichor permeating for miles around. It was almost intoxicating to say the least.
Refreshed and invigorated after taking a deep breath, Gen turned and called out to Jovin: “We can make it if we hurry, as long as the sun hasn’t set completely.”
Jovin remained unmoving for a moment or two. He stared at Gen, trying to discern whether his impulsivity held any ground. He yielded in the end, emerging from the shelter and joining Gen in the open.
They consciously quickened their footsteps, eyes ever watchful of the sun’s path in the reddening sky. Few words were spoken between them for they had committed to focusing only on getting to the southwest edge. No compromises, time was running out.
They trudged on and on and on in silence, until Jovin grabbed Gen’s arm and stilled him with a stern finger to the lip all of a sudden. His keen ears had picked up on the faint swish of grass, of stealthy footfall, of barely perceptible snarls. They remained completely still as a mountain breeze swept through the wild grass at their ankles.
Gen wasn’t sure what was happening, nor what to do. In that very moment, he was really thankful to have someone who was familiar with the things of the wild to compensate for his ineptness.
There was an audible dash against the grass in the far corner of the clearing. As Gen and Jovin snapped their heads in the direction of the noise, black shapes began to morph into being on the horizon. From a blurry mass of black, their outlines gradually grew distinct as they advanced on their prey.
“Wolves…,” Jovin muttered under his breath. The boys stood back to back, surveying their surroundings as more of the wild things emerged from all sides, beady eyes twinkling balefully, their deep growls echoing in the clearing, grotesque and guttural they were. There must have been two dozen of them...and they were surrounded, except for the rocks ahead of them and the area to their right that steeped against the mountain.
Thinking fast, Jovin tugged on Gen’s arm and the two began running towards the opening. But they soon skidded to a halt, Gen colliding into Jovin, boots scraping up a friction on the damp grass when a larger black beast emerged from the base of the mountain. The leader of the wolf pack. He snarled and gnashed his razor sharp fangs together, viscous saliva dripping down the sides of his savage mouth.
“They’re closing in on us!” Gen cried in alarm, whipping his head back and seeing the rest of the pack moving closer at dangerous speed, “We’ve nowhere to go!”
When the leader scraped his front paw on the turf and lowered his head, predatory gaze fixed on them, Jovin knew they had but a few seconds before he gave the command to give chase.
“They’re forcing us into the rocks…,” said Jovin. Gen glanced at him worriedly, afraid of what he was about to say next. Not that they had any other choice.
“Run!”
The wolves started chasing, barking and howling sinisterly as they closed the distance with ease. Gen and Jovin had a couple yards of safety but they couldn’t possibly outrun the wild things. The fog was beginning to cloud their path and all they could see was grey and more grey. But every time they burst forward there was ground for their feet and room for headway. They couldn’t even be certain there was an opening in the rock columns, they were just running and running for their lives as the sounds of their attackers drew near.
Not even knowing, they had passed a rock column and entered the eerie territory. Jovin ran with his arms outstretched before him, waving off the fog and checking if they’d hit a dead end. Gen was right behind him, with every step he looked back and met with the sanguinary teeth of the leader missing his flapping coat by inches.
The wolves’ growls and snarls were amplified as they bounced off the foreboding rock walls. One of the wolves broke from the pack and ran ahead. Gen could see it from the corner of his eye to his left. His heart beat erratically, fear at its maximum; this was somehow worse than when he was running from the darkness. As the wolf turned and was ready to pounce on him, it suddenly fell back as if an invisible force had pulled it to the ground. As Gen turned his focus back to ahead, wherever that was, he saw Jovin lowering his hand. He’d shot the wolf with a blow dart.
As they continued running, exhaustion crept in and their legs began to feel heavy and strained. Breath running short as they choked on the thick fog. Then it all happened in a moment. Gen stumbled on a protruding rock and fell over. A gust of wind suddenly caused the fog to disperse and a mighty screech could be heard from the sky. Jovin skidded to a halt and watched wide-eyed as the wolves advanced on Gen, who was clumsy with fright and struggling to get up.
Then a shadow fell upon Gen and the wolves pulled back. Gen and Jovin looked up to the sky that could now be seen. A giant eagle hovered just above them. The wolves barked and snagged at Gen but couldn’t go beyond the shadow’s edge. This gave Gen enough time to clamber to his feet. His right ankle hurt a little but he pushed on.
“Stay within the shadow!” Gen shouted as the eagle began to move forward and he caught up with Jovin. When the shadow made a turn, they turned too. It was leading them, and where it went the fog cleared just enough for Gen and Jovin to stay in its protection. Only when they passed it did they realise they’d been led around an obstacle and away from danger. They could still hear the wolves but their cries were indistinct and faltering.
The sky was reddening and the hues were melting into evening. The sun sat low in the west and the shadows were becoming longer and fainter. But the eagle’s shadow remained - steady and strong.
Just when Gen felt his knees about to buckle from pure exertion and his ankle getting increasingly uncomfortable, the fog ahead separated like a curtain and revealed a large, tall structure.
“It’s a tower!” Jovin exclaimed and the eagle led them right to its door. It hovered there just long enough for Gen and Jovin to scramble in and up the decaying stairs. The wolves continued barking at the base of the tower and Gen was almost afraid they were adept at stair climbing. But as they went higher, the sounds got fainter till they were nothing more than echoes in the wind.
Sometimes their feet slipped on the mossy surface, sometimes they tried to take on two steps at a time, yet other times they almost scrambled on all fours. The tower must have been about seven storeys tall and when they were about halfway up, they heard the resounding screech of the eagle as it departed. There were tiny windows letting in the last light - north, south, east, and west, all along the winding staircase but they didn’t stop till they reached the very top.
When they finally scraped the topmost step, they collapsed in a heap on the cold and damp floor, panting and trying to catch their breath. The reality of their narrow escape dawned on them with heavy clarity and they lay there - Gen sprawled on the floor and Jovin half-propped up against the grimy wall as sheer exhaustion set in and sank into their bones. With the adrenaline rush subsided, the sharp pain returned to Gen’s ankle and he lay there wincing.
“You alright?” Jovin asked in a strained, out-of-breath voice.
“Just a sprain,” Gen huffed in response, closing his eyes and allowing the coolness of the stone beneath him to soothe his aching body.
Time flew by and now the light through the little window to the West had turned from red to a magical purple for the moon had risen and taken command of the sky.
Gen sat up and dug through his bag, retrieving the ointment from home and rubbing it into his injured foot. Then finally tuning in to his empty stomach’s protest, from the bag he pulled out two pieces of cornbread and handed one to Jovin. They ate in silence and drank from their canteens and missed the hot soup they’d enjoyed at Will’s house. The bottle with the fireflies sat in the middle of the circle, providing them with a low glow. Lusiah’s lightning bugs were not only swifter, they had longer lives too - one of the affordances of sub-alpine conditions.
When they were finished and had dusted the crumbs off their coats, Gen retrieved the map from his bag. He then sharpened the piece of charcoal with a small blade till its end became a tip and point.
“We now know what lies in this empty space,” Gen smiled, bringing the scroll under the small window of moonlight and scratching the landmark onto the parchment.
“Imagine Will’s reaction when we tell him there’s an abandoned strong tower in the middle of this supposedly nightmarish territory,” Jovin chimed in, the hope that they’d return - in time, bringing an end to this age of darkness, burned bright.
“Strong tower...I like it, it’s simple and to the point,” Gen nodded, etching the very words above the little structure he’d drawn amidst the scattered rocks. For such an ancient, decrepit structure, it was an unlikely refuge, yet likely to have been an enduring one for civilisations past.
They had a restful and well-deserved sleep that night and the sturdy walls of the tower kept them from the doleful cries of the midnight wolves far off in the distance. They did not feel the need to keep watch for the cover of eternal darkness nor the return of the wolves. The tower - in its bygone glory, was safe as a father’s arms, unbending in the face of all evil.
In the morning when the first light shone through from the far east, the boys awoke refreshed. Gen stood up, unsteady on his right leg, and stretched, looking out of the window to the east and partially shielding his eyes from the magnificent sun. The mountain slope greeted him and he glimpsed the first cover of snow. He then looked through the north window.
Walking up to it, he watched the morning fog wander over the rocks with the air currents, until it dispelled slightly and a patch of vermillion came into view.
“Gunth!” Gen yelled in excitement and Jovin swiftly joined him by the window, staring wide-eyed at the city, “It’s nearer than we thought! This really is a shortcut!”
The tower must have been the tallest structure for miles around, no one knew who built it or why it was built, but it allowed our travellers to see all the way to Gunth, unobscured.
The mighty screech of the eagle could be heard once again. Gen and Jovin ran to the western window and saw their majestic guide hovering just outside. They hurriedly gathered their belongings and skipped down the steps. There was no telling how long the eagle might wait for them and they longed to be within the bounds of its shadow as they crossed the last stretch of the forbidden land.
This time the eagle kept a measured, leisurely pace. Perhaps it knew that the wolves had abandoned their chase; perhaps it knew that Gen could only hobble to keep the pressure off his right ankle. Gen and Jovin believed that it was all-knowing and all-seeing, and it was in their best interest to follow without question the one that is lifted high.
When they had passed the last of the rock columns and left the fog completely behind, the eagle rose and soared, disappearing into the East and leaving them to cross the distance to the fortified city.
As they walked, Gen began to fall behind because of the pain in his ankle. Jovin went to his side and supported him, allowing Gen to sling his arm around his neck and shoulder as they walked.
When they were within range of the city wall with a couple of yards more to its gate, they were suddenly stopped in their tracks by an arrow that hit the ground and narrowly missed their feet. Gen jumped back, staggered by the attack, and almost fell but Jovin caught him in time, his stance ever steady.
The wayfarer squinted into the distance and up the orange walls. He caught a figure clad in silver lowering his bow. Another figure walked up next to him and brought a horn-like instrument to his chin.
“Halt. Remain where the ground swallows your last footstep and declare your intentions, or we will not hesitate to let the arrows fly,” the watchman sounded them out and a dozen more men took their positions along the wall and drew their bows.
The next thing they knew, Gen and Jovin were being escorted - manhandled, through the city gate by soldiers in full armour and an assortment of weapons. The soldiers’ faces were mostly masked by their protective helmets but Gen could guess that the features that lay behind weren’t going to be much different than their unyielding cover. The clinking and clanking of metal was almost too jarring for their ears and they winced with every boot that scraped against the stone floor.
“Hey! Careful, he’s injured!” Jovin yelled across the group and the soldiers behind jabbed him in the back with the pommels of their swords.
As Gen struggled under the iron hands of the guards, he caught sight of a child, who was probably no older than eight, walking past them. Thing is - the kid was fully decked in armour and had his hand perched on the hilt of his sword as he trudged laboriously under the heavy metal and among the other guards.
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.
“Clear,” one of the guards nodded to the others. Then the sea of soldiers parted, heads tipped in respect as two generals stepped through. The one in front had piercing blue eyes and an unhappy mouth - yes, it was unhappy, quite unlike the fierceness and stoicness painted on the others’ faces like a template. The other was an older, taller man.
When a bowman walked up from behind Gen and Jovin, the older general’s stony expression broke and pride took its place for a moment. It was the bowman who had shot at and expertly missed them.
“Teige, my son! First day at the watching wall and already apprehending intruders; you do not disappoint,” he clapped him on the shoulders. The bowman beamed and Gen could tell from his childish demeanor that he was indeed very young, but very skilled nonetheless.
“We’re not intruders, we’re-”
“Take them to the Facility,” the older general fiercely cut Gen off and gave the order.
The unhappy general turned around on command and led the way.
“On what business do you trespass Gunth?” Mr Unhappy asked, removing his helmet and setting it on the desk behind him as the guards relinquished Gen and Jovin and left the room. His hair was a soft ash brown and his face was long, and still unhappy.
“We told you, we’re just passing through Gunth to get to Meadori,” Gen explained, then when Mr Unhappy seemed unsatisfied, he added: “We’re crossing the mountain range to get to the East.”
“And why would you want to travel East?” Mr Unhappy asked, as with proper interrogation protocol, though he seemed less interested in the topic himself.
“To get to Mount Hallow,” Jovin supplied.
“You’d have to get past the Galvigon.”
“We know.”
“And for what would you risk that?”
Gen and Jovin told him all about the darkness, the River, and their journey so far, especially the part about the eagle and the Strong Tower, which actually evoked a slight change in Mr Unhappy’s expression.
“Do you believe us?”
“Yes. There is no reason for you to lie,” he concluded, “You are free to go. You will not find solace here, but resources we have aplenty. Tell us what you need.”
Before Gen could thank him, the older general stormed in, the bowman at his heels.
“Tyrce! What the hell are you doing?” the aged man demanded. His face was scrunched up in fury and it was obvious even behind his helmet.
“They’re not our enemies, they’re only asking for safe passage and assistance on their journey to the East.”
“The East? Why would they be travelling to the Bad Lands? We cannot let them go! For all we know they might be spies taking information back to those wretched parts!”
“Just because the Galvigon live in the East doesn’t make the whole East bad! Haven’t we already ascertained that they’re not Galvigon?” The tension rose as with their voices. Gen and Jovin could only watch on in silence. They had briefly heard from Will about the Galvigon attack on Gunth, which explains their wariness.
“We have to fight for our peace!” the old general’s tone was severe.
“We’ll never achieve peace by treating everyone as our enemy!” Tyrce burst out. It seemed too well thought out a response to be an impulsive one - it had come from the very depths of his soul that had been stewing for years, locked up behind an iron ribcage, now finally free.
“Have you forgotten what they did to us? To our family?” the old general continued, relentless in proving his stance. He gestured wildly and almost crushed his armour under his fist.
“I’ve never forgotten. And that’s why I don’t want to be the reason someone else loses their mother - or their sons,” Tyrce softened, then bowed his head and brushed past his father and brother on his way out of the room. As he passed the cabinet by the door, he left his sword on it, violating the foremost rule in Gunth - to never be found without your weapon.
Gen and Jovin were unsure what to do, but when Tyrce’s father huffed a harsh “Go”, they hurriedly left the Facility before he could change his mind.
The duo wandered about the city, feeling increasingly odd to be the only ‘common’ people on the street. No one was spared from the burden of warfare - the kid that Gen saw was merely one in hundreds, their faces grim and hardened with thoughts of battle. The joys and freedom of youth a distant fantasy, dreams snuffed out by the heavy helmets that echoed only conflict. The only arms they knew were those they carried on hand and in their scabbards. The arms of warmth and longing remained in the realm above, untouchable like the mist of the glade rising into clouds. For in Gunth, heart to heart was metal to metal.
Men, women, and even the elderly were part of the effort. Some were smiths and others worked in the mills and storehouses. All so the Gunthian’s future - if necessary - war efforts could be sustained. Though they never invaded any lands, they’d very much allowed the disquiet to invade theirs.
As they wandered near the outskirts of the city wall, Gen and Jovin found an inconspicuous, unguarded opening. It was overgrown with hanging weeds and had a pile of crates stacked up against it. It must have been divine insight that led them there.
They squeezed past the narrow opening and emerged on the other side into a beautiful glade. There were horses grazing in the distance, horses free from the constraints of armour and leather. The air was fresher and the sunshine could be felt in a deeper, soul-reaching way than mere warmth on their skin. Little clumps of snowdrops and purple speedwells were scattered all around. And under the lone beech tree sat Tyrce.
His breastplate and pauldron sat in the lithe, rustling grass by his side while he lay against the bark in a chainmail vest. As Gen and Jovin strolled towards him, they saw a few snow-white butterflies descend on Tyrce. He lifted his hand and offered a finger as a perch and one of the gentle creatures settled on it, gracefully fluttering its wings.
Gen and Jovin approached silently and sat down next to Tyrce without saying a word.
“This is the dove butterfly. They’re such peaceful creatures,” Tyrce explained, then let the tiny friend on his finger flutter off to join the rest in the field. The butterflies landed on the backs of the grazing horses, unfazed by their subtle motions and neighing.
“Yeah, I’ve never seen anything like this. Back in Derri, it’s always warm and humid and the wildlife was so different. We had tigers and dragonflies.”
They sat sighing and taking in the tranquil sounds of nature - the free chirping of sparrows, knowing their lives are but a whiff in the passing of time yet they have no worries for they are well taken care of by nature’s Guardian.
Then Jovin began to play his flute, a melody in perfect harmony with the lively chorus of flora and fauna. Tyrce sat up and turned to him.
“I vaguely remember merry music such as this - before the invasion. For years after, that magic died out and was replaced by battle horns and discordant sounds of metal scraping metal day after day. So many of my people die never knowing peace.”
Gen could tell Tyrce was very unlike the others in Gunth. He longed for a world of peace, both within people and between people. He longed to put an end to what the Galvigon started.
“Thank you for trusting us. I know it’s not easy after what happened.”
“My father always said that the enemy is out there. Yet, here, I seem to be the enemy of our ideology. My brother, Teige, he completely agrees with all this. He was only two when the invaders came...we lost our mother,” Tyrce began, head bowed, absently thumbing through the links in his chainmail, “It’s been twenty years,” he looked up, “We’ve prolonged this war for far too long. But now, we’re entering a new era of war, one even the sharpest of earthy weapons quake at. I wish you all the best on your quest. For even the mightiest warrior in Gunth cannot stand against this darkness,” said Tyrce, leaning forward with his arms on his knees and staring out into the distance.
“For now, tell me everything about the wolves, the eagle and the Strong Tower,” he smiled, finally. Mr Unhappy was now in his happy place.
Face claim for Tyrce: Max Irons
Author's note: There are at least 5 biblical references in this chapter :)
(Video ambient sound from Zapsplat.com)
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