eleven

Moments of Solace

With the drought in full swing, Jack was quickly entrusted by his father to journey up the dam for status reports on the well-being of the lake while his father handled issues elsewhere. …I assume they were more pressing than the river itself but whatever the task was, it was never made clear to me.

I digress. Once in the morning and once in the evening, Jack would trek up and down alongside the river—the… not-plains side of the river. He was only to be a messenger and was kindly treated as such; his father would make a trip of his own if any decision was to be made.

The dry season had ended last week—a few days after Luxia attacked him and Zoey at Shell's den. And since then, Zoey had constantly reminded him that every year, the very moment the dry season ended they would get swamped with rain for a week to the point the town would flood over. Every day without rain was another inch higher for when the floodwaters finally came. Another reason not to live in town, she said.

Well… that's Zoey for you.

The two had quickly agreed not to tell anyone what had happened at Shell's den. Jack didn't want to get into any trouble with his father and Zoey gloated she had gotten into a scuffle with one of the Cubone. No one believed her.

Meanwhile, Tyran had become a common sight on this side of the reservation. Over several days, Jack and Zoey watched him instruct the two hatchlings on how to build a camp, the site set between the hill and the plains. There, Tyran built a lean-to, a simple construction of sticks and branches to act as shelter yet it took an entire day for the two Cubone to understand the concept.

"It's not a hole in the ground," Zoey realized, then frowned at the look Jack was giving her, "What? No, really—this might be what Luxia was talking about, remember? They think shelter, and they see a cave."

"But Shell made armor," Jack tried to object, watching Shell's sticks fell over again. Hatch sniggered, but they'd been laughing at each other's efforts far too much to take it seriously. Tyran merely rubbed his eyes before remonstrating how deep the vertical struts needed to be driven into the ground.

"They also picked up a bone to hit me with, but that doesn't really say anything. 'sides, was terrible armor."

Jack sighed quietly. After a minute he spoke up, "You know for a tribe…"

…actually, I don't need to add that in for you, do I? Sorry. Nothing important, it's just a tangent I add in for those who don't know the tribe—a bit of a discussion on how rooted your Tribe is. These days, the connotation of a tribe is a group of Pokemon who move constantly. Nomads. But your Tribe has lived in the caverns for…. I'm sorry, I should have realized it and skipped it entirely. Anyway….

Anyway anyway anyway… where was I…?

…drought in full swing, Zoey's monsoon, truth as a lie, not a hole in the ground… ah, here we are.

It took the Hatchlings the entire day to get their little lean-to's constructed near Tyran's. Two triangles of branches, connected by another with leafy branches lent against it. Such a simple construction, and yet the two Cubone were excited when they had finished them, livid even.

Over the next few days, the little camp of three lean-to's developed a fire pit in the center. There, Tyran and the two hatchlings spent their days and nights around, the Marowak teaching the little ones with pictures drawn in the dirt. The lean-to's became wickiups—uh, like teepees. No…? Um… let's say better shelters and leave it at that. And during their breaks, Tyran stepped the two hatchlings through different types of combat drills.

Zoey and Jack had watched them for several days when they could, talking to themselves and amused by the antics of the Cubone. It was only when Tyran returned one morning with a Stantler over his shoulders that the two exchanged slightly-queasy glances and quickly left.

The drought wore on and the grass and leaves started to brow; and Jack had his hands full with navigating the river. Specifically, the wilds started to congregate around it. Stantler, Nidoran, Rattata, several types of birds… Mareep and Flaaffy wandered in from the plains, Shroomish from the forest…. Oddish and other grass-types took root along the banks. It was an uneasy peace amongst them, all too weary from the sun to fight, all not strong enough to find a place at the lake.

It still unnerved Jack as he made his treks up and down the river. Even with the opening of the dam, the water was shallow and, aside from an unlucky Lotad who had drifted into the current, it was clear of any Pokemon. With the banks of the river claimed by the wilds as temporary homes, the safest path was the water itself.

It didn't mean he didn't feel the eyes of several dozen wilds on him as he half-swam, half-crawled to and from the lake, twice a day. His father joined him every so often, glaring down the wilds and ensuring the safety of his son on the days the wilds were unruly.

Still, Jack quickly fell into the precaution of never making eye-contact with the wilds and kept his distance whenever one of them was near the water. Even with the looming figure of his father, the Stantler and Flaafy scared him. They were growing more and more agitated as week wore on. It took Zoey several days to find out why—Tyran had the hatchlings hunting them when they left the river to graze.

Back at the camp, Tyran and the Hatchlings had expanded it: improving their shelters and constructing several other things The summer wool coats of Mareep and Flaaffy had been collected and set aside in woven baskets for a cooler day to handle. Hides of Stantler were stretched over wooden frames, drying in the sun while their antlers were interlocked in some sort of cooking rack for the meat.

There were also a growing number of scavengers attracted by the smell of the cooking meat—Nidoran, Poochyena, Rattata, an Electrike or two. All far too timid to make a move in the daylight and too tired in the night.

There was one morning when a pack of Growlithe had encircled the camp. Tyran dealt with them before the Hatchlings could. With a single throw of his club, he knocked out four, the bone ricocheting between them, and the rest ran. Sending the Cubones off to hunt, he waited patiently for the four Growlithe to awake, meeting their bleary eyes with a glare that made a grown Arcanine whimper like a puppy, and then watched them run off. Or, that's how Zoey tells it at least.

Still, there was always then someone at camp. If it was Hatch, he'd end up falling asleep. Shell, more often than not, would too. And every so often, Jack and Zoey would catch sight of Tyran by himself. Somewhere along the way, he had gotten his hands on one of the smallest Lairon plates Shell had, one smaller than his palm.

Some days he would do is hold it out in front of him, pondering it, glancing between it and the firepit. He'd then shake his head, and set it aside back in his shelter before turning to another project, one involving wood that never seemed to go anywhere.

Later on, he'd spend his time idly scraping rocks against the metal plate as he watched the sun set over the plains. Slowly sharpening the metal into a small point.

Then, one afternoon, he had it. A small dagger, much like a steel version of my own scalchops. He pressed the blade against his palm and it came away with a small line of red. Tyran then held it up to the setting sun, watching the blood glisten, and the metal gleam.

Slowly, the Marowak cut the bindings holding his club to his forearm and the two weapons, taking each in a hand, looking down with them with empty eyes.

He laughed a laugh neither happy nor sad. A blunt, empty laugh.

"And that's all there is for it. Yet it's not…." He sighed and looked over the plains, to the central mountain, holding up the plate towards it. "Faizel. Cyril. …you were right. You were absolutely right. After everything… after everything is said, the words are lost upon saying them." He dropped his club onto the cracked earth, eyes quickly boiling to a rage. "But if our words are truly lost—if they truly mean nothing…! If they mean nothing, how then can we be found?!" Steady drops of red pattered down onto the dry earth from his shaking hand. "How can they be found when they turn away the Seeker?"

With a shout of rage, he threw down his skull, snapping his club. With another, he drove the blade into the skull's forehead. He sat back, looking down on his skull, seething until his rage subsided.

He stood. "And so I seek elsewhere."

Taking the blade in his bleeding hands, he marched up the hill. Hesitating only when he neared Shell's den.

Tyran laid a bloody hand on the entry, looking into the darkness of the den. Slowly, his gaze moved to the trickle of blood running down the rocks. He dropped his hand to his side and slowly, he left.

The camp disappeared overnight. The wickiups were missing, the fire pit scattered, the hides taken down, and the antlers gone. Tyran's skull gone. All abandoned, after only a month of habitation. And Tyran was never seen again.

The Hatchlings were back in their respective dens and the two saw Shell set out like he had before. Ah, without the armor, it was a bit hot for that—he hasn't been wearing that for a long while, not since his confrontation with Luxia.

Even if they couldn't make everything out from their tree, watching the Hatchlings fumble through Tyran's lessons was entertaining. Now… now there wasn't anything left to do, only for Jack to make his runs up and down the river and Zoey to lurk in the tree until she grew bored and returned home.

Two days after the camp had dispersed, Jack again stopped in the shadow of the bridge for a rest on his way back from the evening run. The report today wasn't good: the rivers feeding the lake had dried up completely and the lake itself was shrinking rapidly. Jack's river was only still flowing due to the Bibarels completely dismantling their dam and the Whiscash shifting the lake's waters into the river through their own efforts, and they recently had resorted to small earthquakes to force the water.

The small council had consisted of of the Whiscash of the lake, the Bibarels, and the Flygon who was the Caretaker for the lands past the lake—the foothills where Lucia hunted and the mountains east of the Caverns. They had met with Jack with forced pleasantries and gave him his message with strained faces.

Jack was carrying an ultimatum, the river couldn't be supported. In three days, the town's water would be halted.

A few Ekans and Dunsparce lazed under the bridge. Still, Jack was thankful, the Ariados from yesterday had moved on and only a single Ekans batted an eye at the Squirtle while the rest were asleep or unmoving. Either way, Jack crawled undisturbed under the bridge and to the shadow it cast and flopped onto the browned grass to take a few deep breaths. For all it was worth—the shade was as hot as the nights, very.

After a minute, he sensed movement and opened an eye.

Shell sat a few feet away, looking deeply into the absent eyes of the skull he held in his lap.

"You always have something on your mind, don't you Squirtle?" Shell said, glancing over. "Don't worry so much about the wilds; they can't spare the energy to fight." Jack stood up, "I'm not asking you to leave. It's a long way from the lake, take a rest."

Jack slowly sat back down, "…did you follow me?"

"We only gave the wilds something more to worry about than a Squirtle marching up and down the river," Shell shrugged innocently, "Maro told us what your duties are to your father and asked us to keep an eye on you." He looked over, making eye contact, "We kinda need this river too."

Jack glanced away for an instant, frowning, "Um… when you say 'Maro'…?"

"Wha…? Oh," Shell shook his head at himself, "Not the Pilgrim, my Maro. The one who lead you upstream that one time, our teacher. Though the Pilgrim had taken over for a little while, training us of all the things he learned on his Pilgrimage." He frowned at Jack's confused look. "Pilgrimage? He goes out of the Reservation and finds things to bring back to the tribe. Tools, ways to fight, bones and skulls… knowledge." He faded off, looking back down into his skull. "This… this sounds weird, but can I ask you something, Squirtle?"

Jack blinked, "Um, sure?"

"Did you see the... camp we had over there?" He said the words with uncertainty as he pointed back towards the plains.

"Um, yeah?"

"Maro and the Pilgrim keeps mentioning a 'town' and its bugging me. Is that like a bigger camp? I… can't remember the explanation the storytellers gave me."

"I… um…" Jack fumbled, blinking as he glanced away. Where was Zoey when he needed her? Then again, she'd probably tackle him to the ground and demand answers out of him that way. "I guess you can put it that way. I mean, no one lives in teepees."

Shell nodded, "Lattices of wood and stone, set in patterns to repel the weather and hold the warmth in the winter, and cool in the summer. The pilgrim called them…."

"Err, houses?"

"Houses, yeah. For dens." Shell unconsciously glanced up at his own up on the hill. "…and then there were places of exchange, one thing for another…?"

"Shops."

"That," Shell sighed, "I don't understand what he meant by that." He shook his head and looked back to Jack.

"Well… um… how…" Jack fumbled, sighing to himself as he glanced away. "I mean, if I can ask this, but how does your tribe… does anyone do work in exchange for something?"

Shell tilted his head, understanding the question but not what it meant, "…the hunters bring the food, the healers heal the sick, the storytellers tell the stories, the Chief leads the Council of Elders who lead the tribe, the warriors defend everyone, and the Bone Warriors protect the region. No one does it in exchange for anything, we do it for each other because that's what's right. If… shops are work in exchange for food—"

Jack groaned, falling onto his back.

"Now you know how I feel," Shell scoffed, bemused. After a second, he leaned back as well, resting the skull on his chest and looking up to the sky. "There were so many things the Pilgrim said that neither me or Hatch don't understand completely."

"You didn't ask him to explain?"

"He was never sure on how long he had with us, and wanted us to know as much as possible. Besides," Shell scoffed, "he isn't the greatest teacher. Not patient like Maro. And… his Pilgrimage changed him… There's times when he talks like Marshall does… a bit like you do. He gets frustrated easily with the Tribe and well, I can see why they sent him on Pilgrimage." Jack frowned, eyes confused. Shell glanced to him, "Do you know how he actually knows Marshall? He keeps mentioning him."

"Uh…." Jack hesitated, frowning as he tried to remember, "Marshall mentioned that there was something that happened with a group of Hatchlings—but said he'd tell me when I was older. …it's how he knew Maro, I think. And, uh, I think the, err, Pilgrim was one of the Hatchlings. …he came to town a few times."

Shell's head snapped to look at Jack, "He did?"

"I only saw him once or twice," Jack said uneasily. "And only going to the Library, maybe to find Marshall there."

"A library…" Shell nodded to himself, "…stories, engraved on pages like paintings on walls. A Library is a house that holds them, an unmoving teller of stories where the tales are never forgotten."

"…sure. That's where Marshall's office is for his Guild. Well… it was Derrik's office but Marshall's now managing the Guild himself. The Guild's big maps are also there but the rest of the Guild has their own base…." Jack sat up, "If you really want to know, I can show you the town—"

"Squirtle," Shell said quickly, very defensively, "the day I was given my den, Maro showed me a sign in the woods. And then another, and then another. I was told they encircled the entire Reservation and to learn to where these were. All of them were pointed away from us and, if I ever was able to read them, I would fail the Trials."

"…and then you get Exiled for leaving the Rez?"

"No," Shell lifted up the skull, looking back into its eyes. "I just lose my chance at being a Bone Warrior. They don't want us leaving for our own safety—I mean, we can go anywhere in the Reservation except to the Scyther's half, just not outside it. And even then, Maro still likes to know where we go." Shell sighed, biting his lip as he mulled something over.

He slowly started again. "The Pilgrim had so many ways of doing things, maybe… maybe too many and he didn't know what to do. But I do like doing things. The Elders say I should be a storyteller—a-a teacher and… and that's nice and all, but… Maro says I can do more than that—the Pilgrim says I can. …I want to take what I learn and build on it all. I want to be a Bone Warrior."

Jack scratched his head, "Um, what's that?"

Shell sighed proudly, almost dreamily, "They're the strongest Warriors in our Tribe. Alright, maybe not the strongest, but they're…." He scowled, looking away to reach under his skull to rub his face. "Sorry. Our Warriors defend the tribe, right? Bone Warriors, they go out of the Reservation and help out all over the area—they get to do so many amazing things every day. And they're more respected than our Elders because they are guided and answer only to the Spirits. But only a few Hatchlings are chosen to be Bone Warriors, but I have to pass the Trials to even be considered to be picked."

Shell fell silent for a second, eyes again lost in the ones of his skull. Jack bit his lip, glancing back to the tree for a second—what would Zoey ask? Right now? "…so, you really do have to stay out here for ten years?"

"Well… we don't have to," Shell said uncomfortably, rolling his shoulders a bit. "The Trials go on for a Hatchling for as long as they can last—do you remember my fight with… um… her at the river? She was trying to break… well, this thing," He tapped his shell. "If a Hatch manages to break their skull and they're not doing too well, they get taken out of the Trials so they don't get killed or anything." He glanced to Jack, "I mean, it usually goes that a Cubone manages get their skull broke, usually they're really hurt as well. …it's like the residents of the Reservation leaving after the Umberon was killed. Remove themselves from risk."

"That… makes sense, kinda," Jack said, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes in thought. "But, um… she tried to break your…?"

"Yeah, that counts too." The Cubone scoffed, shaking his head as his voice went dry, "If we can't hold our own against each other, than we can't hold our own against the wilds. Rule number seven of the Hatchling Trials," Shell scowled at no one. "…I broke my arm when I was a Yearling," He motioned to the scarring on his left arm. "Instead of the Warriors teaching me how to fight, they sent me to the Storytellers and learned the law of the tribe."

Jack winced, "That sounds kinda boring."

"Yeah… but it means I am the only Hatch who knows Trials's rules in full." The Cubone met Jack's eyes, "But I found I like learning, and out here I've found I like doing things and finding new things to learn. And, between the two…." He looked up to the heavy blue of the sky, "If I catch the world off guard, the Spirits can never stop me. Yeah?" Shell turned to see Jack frowning. Shell scoffed, rolling his eyes, "You're just like Hatch—he's content to just make it through the Trials and be a normal Warrior.

"No, if I can keep outside their reach, the Spirits will have no choice but to grant me the title in order for me to be under their control. Then they will empower my heart with what I need to protect the land and the souls that inhabit it." Shell sighed, glancing away as his voice lost enthusiasm. "Except, along with Hatch, I'm the weakest one in the cycle. My broken arm kept me from training."

"So what's Hatch's excuse?"

Shell choked a laugh down, "Oh, he's just flat out terrible at everything! He's only gotten this far because I've been helping him—don't tell anyone that. Actually… don't tell anyone that we talked, okay? It's… it's against Trial Rules to… to…" Shell faded off, eyes growing distant as he silently mumbled off the rules in his head.

"To make fr—"

"To receive or seek any sort of aid from someone outside the Tribe or engage extended conversation on matters. Trial Rule number two."

"…what's rule one?"

"Don't die."

Jack swallowed his words, glancing away and folding his arms. "…talking? We're not talking. I'm just sitting here, you just happen to be sitting there, and we're just thinking out loud." He glanced to Shell, "Our thoughts just so happen to sound like they're a conversation, there's not much we can do about that."

It took a second for Shell to laugh slightly, "That's good." He shook his head, digressing, "…but anyway, it's why the Elders never expected either of us to last this long, defiantly not me. It's why they used Wide Eyes in Nidoran to take my Luxio away. They… didn't want me to have Spirit Guardian more powerful than the Guardians of most of the Marowak before me."

He sat up, holding out the skull for Jack to see, the faintest of grins on his face, "But the Pilgrim and Maro got the Council to give me the chance I deserve. And while she didn't get off easy, she still can be our strongest warrior."

Jack raised an eyebrow—if he had an eyebrow he would raise it—he spoke, incredulously, "You're… not mad at her?"

"Honestly," Shell started, glancing around, "I'm glad she's forbidden from coming downriver, but I can't just blame her for something the Council told her Maro to have her do. She was doing what she thought was right even though it hurt her to do so. I respect her for that—she deserves to be a Bone Warrior." His voice grew irked, eyes giving a flat look down to his skull, "She just needs to think a little more and not blindly follow what her Maro says—follow what her heart says. Otherwise she'll have no soul."

Shell sighed and fell silent, looking to Jack, trying to get him to say something. Jack… really couldn't. Shell was saying a lot of things and he was too tired to absorb it all right now.

"Though to be honest," Shell glanced away awkwardly, "…I was hoping I'd catch you on your return trip. I want to thank you for stopping her." He held up his right hand for a moment, almost in a hesitant wave, before he dropped it, glancing away again. "…and for helping me getting my Luxio back. This means… it means a lot for me. A whole lot."

"Um well, you're welcome," Jack fumbled. "…so you finally have a skull to wear now, right?"

Shell flinched, eyes wide, "What?! Oh, no! No-no-no! Wearing the skull of my Spirit Guardian… the Shinx, Luxio, Luxray, they're the Protectors. I don't need that power, Squirtle! I don't think I can handle even handle it yet! And… besides, there's a reason I don't wear a proper skull. …most don't…" Shell swallowed his words and sighed, sitting back down. He suddenly blinked, realizing how long he had spoken.

"I'm sorry," the Cubone mumbled, rubbing his eyes through the skull, "The… Pilgrim left last night without saying goodbye to us and the other Marowak dismantled our camp before we could. And our Maro is still busy dealing with the other Hatchlings… I have a lot on my mind." He scoffed, amused, running a hand over the cracks in the skull again. "Much like you always seem to be." Shell rolled his eyes at himself, "I've went on for long enough, your turn."

"Well…" Jack glanced away, "I gotta tell my Dad something important. Really important." He glanced to the water. "…the river is going to dry up."

Shell bolted upright, choking on his words, "…r-really? Is the lake that low? …when Maro brought me my Luxio, he mentioned the Seers heard the Spirits whispering of rain soon." He glanced up. "I don't think its tonight, doesn't feel like rain. Squritle, you're blessed by the Water-Spirits, what do you think?"

"Umm," Jack hesitated, looking around. "I never usually feel the rain coming… not until it's about to start. I'm usually in the water anyway…. Maybe someone in town has a forecast or something."

Shell nodded, mindlessly tracing the cracks on the Luxio skull. "Well," He chuckled, "best if I feel it first. I'm still only a hatchling, I'd wash away if it was raining…" He frowned, "…raining Persians and Poochyenas…? …um…?"

"You got it right," Jack laughed silently, shaking his head, "I never understood that one either. Anyway, I… I gotta get going. My Mom's gonna start worrying."

"Right, sorry," Shell sighed, nodding. "You have your duties to go to. But… um… thanks… thanks again."

"Uh, yeah. No-no problem," Jack nodded back, stepping back into the stream. "Yeah, I mean. I couldn't just sit around and, um. And I'm glad things worked out. Nice, um…. Nice talking to you. See you around, I guess."

"Yeah, it was nice. Goodbye," Shell nodded and, again, half-waved. Jack nodded one final time and turned to march through the trickling water. Behind him, the Cubone's head slowly dropped to rest his forehead against the skull's.

The first raindrops started a few minutes after Jack returned to his family's den. It lightly showered all through the night and dawn was announced with distant thunder.