The Long Way Back
Chapter 2
The Pigs Need Slop
"So Henry," Gray hefted a large sack of feed onto his shoulder. Sweat dripped from his brow, and a small grunt left his lips as he adjusted his grip on it. "How're ya doing so far?"
How was Henry doing so far? For Henry, that was a stupid question. The sweat pouring down his face and staining his clothes, the beat-red complexion he bore, and the rough pants he gasped should have been a perfect answer. It must have been for Tobin because the yellow-clad guy rolled his eyes at Gray's question.
"I'm…" Henry wheezed, putting his hands on his knees. He managed to raise his gaze enough to see the large pile of feed bags standing in front of him. The sight made him sick to his stomach. He had labored for hours already, using every single muscle in his body, some he had no idea even existed, and the final task of the day was hauling heavy feed bags to the barn. This had to be some sort of twisted joke. "I'll live."
Why did I say that? He wondered as he gasped for breath.
Gray chuckled. "We'll see, now won't we? Just follow me and Tobin over to the barn with a bag or two. With three of us, this should be quick work."
"Two and a half, you mean?" Tobin joked, patting Henry on the back.
"Ha… ha." Was Henry's beleaguered reply.
He didn't even have the strength to try and share the laughter at his expense. All he could think about now, other than the amount of pain he was going to be in later, was lying down in bed. Any bed would do at this point. He'd take the crackling, scratchy, straw mattress he woke up on this morning. Hell, he'd even take the floor. He just wanted to get off his feet, stop lifting things, and rest.
I am not meant for manual labor.
With a despondent sigh, Henry resigned himself to his final task. He grasped one feed bag and lifted it.
Heavy! Henry's eyes bulged from his skull as he held his breath. His arms trembled and his knees knocked as he struggled to haul the bag onto his shoulder. Too heavy!
With a cry, he fell backward, the bag of feed landing on his chest with a hard thud. All the air in his lungs escaped with a sharp whoosh. Harsh coughs and shrill wheezes rattled his body. With what little strength remained in his toothpick arms, Henry shoved the bag off of him. At that point, he heard the footsteps rushing towards him.
"By the Earth Mother, are you alright, Henry?" Tobin asked.
"Looks like he's reached his limit," Gray noted, his face hovering over Henry's. Henry squeezed his eyes shut as he sucked wind. "Yup," Gray continued. "Guy's done for."
"Well, obviously. Now help him up," Tobin droned.
"Why can't you?"
"Because I still have a bag of feed in my arms, of course!" Tobin snapped. Henry's eyes cracked open in time to see a sheepish expression flash over Gray's face. "Get him up and help him back to Sir Mycen's. We can handle this for tonight."
"We can?" Gray winced when Tobin shot him a murderous look. "I mean, yeah, we can. Yup, I'm not interested in having a nice, early evening at all."
Tobin sighed and shook his head. "We do what we have to do. You know that, Gray."
"Yeah, yeah," Gray reached down, grabbed Henry's limp arm, and yanked Henry to his feet. After that, he slipped Henry's arm over his shoulders. A content sound left Henry's lips when he felt his weight shift from his legs to Gray's shoulders. "Alright, Henry, let's get you back to old man Mycen's place."
Each step along the town's only road felt taxing. Henry's feet pulsed and ached in his shoes. One step felt like pins and needles, the next felt like his feet were being squeezed by a vice. Never in his life had he stood and worked for so long without any rest. What made all of this even worse was that he was in a place that was stuck in time. There wouldn't be any ibuprofen to make the pain go away.
I'm beginning to hate this place more and more.
"So, Henry," Gray began, choosing to continue chatting. If there was one positive aspect to this misadventure, it was Tobin and Gray. Henry did like them. They were relaxed, mostly carefree (with Tobin being a bit more uptight than Gray), and easy to talk to. He couldn't say that about many people back home in Charlotte. "What's your home like?"
"My home?" Henry parroted, still a little delirious from nearly getting crushed by a burlap feed bag.
"Yeah, this Charlotte place. What's it like?"
"Big."
Gray chuckled. "Alright, but is it bigger than Castle Zofia?"
Henry managed to give him a weak shrug. "Never been to Castle Zofia, so I wouldn't know. I do know that's it's not so… old."
"Old?" Gray glanced around at the various huts with thatched roofs. "Well, Ram Village has seen better days, that's for sure. But it ain't that bad. Might be a bit on the older side but-"
"S-sorry," Henry stammered, some embarrassment washing over him. "Didn't mean that as an insult. Charlotte is an old city too, but the buildings aren't. The old stuff, especially downtown, got either torn down or refurbished. Replaced with hipster apartment blocks, skyscrapers, hotels-"
"Whoa, whoa," Gray interrupted. "What are you talking about?"
"Uh…" Did this guy seriously not know what apartment blocks or skyscrapers were? Henry refused to believe these people were that isolated. "Really tall buildings. So tall that they can practically touch the clouds."
Gray blinked as they stopped in front of Sir Mycen's house. Then, a small laugh bubbled from his throat. That laughter grew to a full-blown guffaw which made Henry frown. Last he checked, he didn't say anything funny.
"Oh, that's a good one." Gray slid Henry's arm off of his shoulders. "Tell ya what, if I ever see something like that one day, I'll believe it. Buildings that can touch the clouds. Heh, well, if there's one big thing around here, it's your imagination."
"I'm not lying!" Henry shot back. "Charlotte is a massive metropolis with huge highways and tall buildings. For Pete's sake, you can see it from miles away!"
"Yeah, yeah," Gray replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. When he noticed Henry wasn't smiling, his joking grin fell away. "You really are serious, aren't you?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" Henry frowned.
"Hey, hey, didn't mean to offend you," Gray remarked, raising his hands. "Something like that is hard to imagine, that's all. I mean, look around you. Do ya see anything that resembles those skyscrapers ya talked about?"
Henry flicked his eyes all around the village. He saw nothing that looked familiar to him. Every building belonged in a renaissance fair, not as a permanent home for people. He even saw a small herd of sheep moving along the village's old walls, a Shepherd guiding towards a pen near the stables.
I've either traveled back in time five hundred years, or I'm in a LARPers paradise.
"From that look on your face, I take it ya ain't even been on an actual farm before."
"I have!" Henry defended. "Just not anything like this. Farms do exist where I'm from. They're further out from the city."
"I bet. I guess that's one thing we might have in common in terms of our homes," Gray nodded. "I remember talking to a merchant that passed by here a couple of years back. Redhead, kinda cute, y'know. Anyways, me and Tobin asked her about Zofia's capitol and she was more than happy to tell us about it. She said nothing about any farms, so I guess they're a bit a ways away from the city."
At least there's one familiar aspect about this place. Henry thought. He took a couple of weary steps towards Sir Mycen's door.
"Oh, Henry," Gray tapped Henry's shoulder. "Rest up nice and good, okay? Got work tomorrow too, after all. Sir Mycen expects everyone around here to pull their weight, and you ain't no exception even if you're new to this sort of thing. Don't worry though. Me and Tobin will be around to help out, of course."
Henry gulped. More manual labor tomorrow? Yeah… no thank you, he was not interested. But, he couldn't be rude to Gray.
"Th-thanks," He hesitantly replied.
Gray gave him a toothy grin, nodded, then waved as he turned and walked away. Once he was a good distance away, Henry shoved his way into Sir Mycen's shack.
Sir Mycen was not home. That allowed Henry to utter a long, frustrated groan and run his hands over his sweaty, dirty face. He shook his head, more disbelief filling him as his frustration threatened to boil over.
"No," Henry muttered. "No, nope, no, not happening, absolutely not!" He stamped a foot, his voice rising with each word he spoke. "I can't do this. These glorified cosplayers are gonna be the death of me. I'm not going to deal with it anymore. They got free labor out of me today, but tomorrow, I'm out of here!"
He marched to the straw mattress he woke up on, plopped down on it, and folded his arms. After uttering a sharp huff, he reached down and took off his shoes. His nose wrinkled as he caught a whiff of his rancid feet. With a gag, he tilted his nose up and squeezed his eyes shut.
I'm going to have to go to bed like this, aren't I?
He looked around the shack. Of course, he didn't see a shower, a bath, or a sink. There was a small, empty pewter basin on a stand in the corner, but he couldn't wash in that.
Out of the corner of his eye, on top of the one, square table that sat in the shack, Henry spotted a pair of pants and a shirt folded with a note on top of it. He approached the clothes, surprised to see his name written on the note. Apparently, Sir Mycen thought it would be a good idea for him to have a fresh outfit.
Henry unfolded the shirt and held it up. It was too big for his skinny frame, and there were a few holes that had been patched over with squares of different fabrics. A long frown creased his lips. Now these people expected him to look like them too?
What would mother think if she saw me wearing this?
He shook his head but peeled his filthy clothes off anyways. After all, he was not about to sleep in his sweat and filth. That would be beyond uncomfortable. So, with a despondent, resigned sigh, he pulled on the shirt and pants. They scratched, they itched, but they would have to do.
Henry didn't even have the strength to find out if there would be dinner for him or not. All he wanted to do was lie down and close his eyes. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips as he laid down on the straw bed.
Maybe, when I open my eyes again, I'll be home.
His eyes closed, and he clung to that hope. Perhaps this was all just a very strange dream.
The rooster crowed once, and Henry screwed his eyes tighter. The damn bird did its morning call once again, and Henry groaned, throwing his pillow over his face.
When did I change my alarm to that? He swung his arm to the left, expecting his hand to smack against his nightstand, where he always kept his phone at night. When he hit nothing but air, confusion swelled inside of him. Where's my table?
Henry's eyes cracked open, and all he saw was the same, uneven shack floorboards and Sir Mycen donning a leather jerkin in front of the only mirror in the entire building. Henry's hazy eyes focused on his sleepy expression in the cracked mirror. The thing was so smudged and foggy that he could barely tell he had some massive bedhead.
"Wake up already, boy," Mycen grunted. "Pigs need slop."
"I know, I-" Henry froze as he ran a hand over his brow. His eyes shot wide open. "The pigs need slop."
"Aye," Sir Mycen said as he tightened the ties on his jerkin. "Is that some urgency I hear in you? That's good."
Henry sat upright, swung his legs out from his bed, and stared at the shack door. His jaw hung open. His eyes remained wide. Even though his stomach was growling something fierce, he couldn't find the energy to feel hungry. Nothing sounded appetizing at the moment, and that wasn't because he was about to go rolling around in the mud with pigs.
I wasn't dreaming? His shoulders hunched and his hands shot to his cheeks. This is real? Both palms ran down his face, pulling on his skin as all of his fears, frustrations, and anxieties boiled over. I am in a cosplaying cult!
Sir Mycen twisted to look at him, a puzzled expression on his grizzled face. "You look a bit off today, boy. Then again, you've been off since I met you. Something on your mind?"
Henry's mind raced. If he wasn't dreaming, then he really was in some isolated place far away from Charlotte. He couldn't be here. He had work, school, social obligations- what few he actually had at least. The last thing Henry wanted was to remain stuck among a bunch of LARPers living as if the medieval times had returned.
I need to get out.
"Henry?" Sir Mycen questioned again when Henry did not answer him.
Henry blinked. "The pigs need slop."
Sir Mycen gave Henry a slow nod. "That they do," He gestured at the shack door. "Get to it. Tobin and Gray will find you once you're done, I'm sure."
Henry shook his head hard again, shaking any sleep that lingered from his mind. He needed a clear head if he wanted to escape this place. If this was indeed some sort of strange cult then they probably won't let him leave of his own free will. He wasn't interested in meeting the business end of Sir Mycen's sword either. Even if all this medieval living crap was an act, the sharpness of that blade was not fake.
So, without any words of protest or complaint, Henry arose, put on his shoes, and marched out of the shack and into the crisp dawn air.
Ram Village was a sleepy little place at noon, and it was even quieter this early in the morning. A few chickens and roosters clucked and crowed as the morning sun rose in the east. Morning dew clung to the ground, wetting Henry's shoes and making his socks cling to his ankles and toes. A most uncomfortable feeling that made him scrunch his toes up within his shoes in an attempt to keep them dry.
The pig pen wasn't far from Sir Mycen's home. Like yesterday, the hogs were nowhere near the feeding trough. They were wandering all over the pen, and Henry knew he would have to go in, trudge through the mud, and wrestle every single pig over to the feeding trough. That was not an experience he was keen on repeating.
His despondent gaze rose from the pig pen to the road behind it. Down the road, he spotted the opening in Ram Village's wall. The gap that passed for a gate. It was right there, waiting, calling to him. It was his way out; his way home.
Damn what Sir Mycen said about dangers beyond the walls. What did he know? Did he ever leave this place? It sure didn't look like it! Henry would not be stuck here either. Charlotte was calling his name, and he would answer that call.
With renewed purpose, he strode past the pig pen, ignoring the snorts and hungry oinks. His soaked shoes squelched through the dewy grass and soft dirt. He didn't care if he made a bunch of noise as he left. What did he care about these people's opinions of him? If all worked out as he hoped, he would never see them again.
And good riddance. Henry huffed as he drew near the "gate". He peeked at the old watchtower towering over the gap. From what he could tell, no one was up there. So no one could sound the alarm that he was leaving. Even better. For a bunch of medieval cosplayers, they are very lax in their medieval security.
He paused at the gate, a sudden and strange feeling overtaking him and causing his steps to falter. It was a foreboding sensation. A warning that gnawed at his heart and gut, telling him not to take one step further. For a split second, Henry listened to it. After all, the pigs still needed slop.
But… I need my life back. Henry sucked in a deep breath and marched onward, passing through the gate's shadow and into a dense forest that surrounded Ram Village.
The orange beams of sunlight that lit Ram Village in a warm glow turned dull and gray within the eaves of the trees. The foreboding lingering in the back of his mind screamed in warning, telling him to turn back. He paused a few feet out from the gate, steps faltering. Something gripped him. Fear, probably, and it kept him rooted in place.
Henry thought that by stepping out of the village, he would feel fine, normal. He thought he would continue on his merry way, walking until he found the closest highway and flagged down someone who could help him. Even better, if he could find a gas station, he could call home and give his parents a location to pick him up at. He thought that it would only take him a couple of hours to find a way back to Charlotte.
At the rate he was going, that was not going to happen. Alarm bells rang in his head. Something felt very wrong. Henry could not escape the sensation that something was watching him from the thickets around the slender road, eyeing him, sizing him up. He felt like a deer frozen beneath the invisible gaze of a hunter. Every survival instinct inside of him told him to run back into the village.
But, he remained frozen, stuck between pressing onward and turning back. But why? What did he owe the people in Ram Village? They were nutjobs! A bunch of cosplayers run amok. What did he-
"Well lookie here boys," A slithering voice rasped nearby. It made Henry's hair stand on end. He twirled to face the voice and spotted a muscular man wearing fur pelts and hefting a large ax emerging from the brush. "We got ourselves a lost little sheep."
A few more large forms emerged from the thickets, partially obscured in the deep shadows cast by the morning sun passing through the forest canopy. All of them had weapons. Nasty, gnarled, hideous axes, hammers, and a couple of little bows with arrows that looked like gigantic barbs.
The sight was intimidating enough to cause Henry to scramble backward… right into a wall of muscle and bad BO. Henry froze when that wall uttered a dark chuckle. Slowly, he turned around and stared up at the bearded face of a man with crazed eyes and a bloodthirsty grin. A wicked ax shone in the sun as the behemoth of a man held it up to Henry's eyes.
"Where do you think you're going?" He asked. "Boss, this sheep thinks it can run back to its pen."
"I see that," The slithering voice replied. "We can't allow that, kid. Y'see, this here is a toll road. Set foot on it, and you have to pay the toll."
Henry gulped. Toll road? There weren't any signs. Last he checked, toll workers looked like incredibly bored people in a little booth, not muscled meatheads with weapons. His mouth turned dry as he turned to look at the owner of the slithering voice, the first bandit that alerted him earlier.
He was a tall, lanky individual, but he was muscled. The fur pelts he wore displayed corded bulges along his chest, arms, and shoulders. A few scars were visible beneath the pelts, all of them sickly ribbons of pink flesh. None of them looked fake. Henry doubted that any makeup could make them look that real.
"Well, boy?" The bandit leader asked, holding his ax in front of Henry's face. The edge dipped beneath Henry's chin. Cold steel kissed Henry's neck, making him freeze. "Got gold for the toll?"
"I-I-I-"
"That sounds like a no to me, boss," The big man behind Henry rumbled.
"Yeah, it does, don't it?" The Boss snagged Henry's shirt with a rough hand. "Got anything of value on you, hm? Or, do I have to search your cold body?"
Henry's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Fear silenced him, and he was pretty sure he felt something warm leaking down his pant leg.
"Search it is then," The Boss said with an evil grin.
The Boss swung his ax back. Henry could not take his eyes off of the wicked blade. As it rushed towards his head, he could see his petrified reflection in the metal. Even as he stared at his possible death, one thought plagued his mind.
The pigs need slop.
Henry braced himself for the ax to fall. But nothing ever came. There was no pain. He didn't scream. He didn't even squeeze his eyes shut. Instead, he flinched when something warm, wet, and sticky smacked into his face.
The Boss shrieked. His ax fell to the road with a hard thud. He staggered back, his arm nothing more than a bloody stump cradled in his other hand. The others in his gang were too shocked to notice the blur of green hair and blue armor surging into their midst.
Steel flashed, and one of their ranks fell with his guts pouring to the ground. A pair of war cries erupted afterward. Tobin and Gray sprinted past Henry, both jabbing swords through the neck of the large bandit keeping Henry from turning around.
Henry still didn't move when the big one fell hard to the ground, causing the earth to shake beneath his feet. Two more small bodies shot past him, both wielding simple swords.
The group from Ram Village took the fight to the bandits, driving them back into the forest. Tobin and Gray took down one more hammer-wielding bandit while the other two who charged after them drove off an archer. The person with armor and green hair made quick work of two bandits before spinning to watch the rest of the gang dart into the forest.
That fast, it was over. Several bodies laying bleeding in the road. None of them moved, and none of them made a sound. The young man with green hair flicked blood from his sword then smoothly sheathed the blade. A heavy sigh left his lips, then he turned to look at Henry.
"Are you alright?" He asked, voice surprisingly kind for someone that just butchered several grown men.
Words failed Henry. What was he supposed to say?
"He looks fine," Gray said with a casual wave of his hand. "We got here in time."
"Barely," Tobin remarked as he sheathed his sword. "How about you, Kliff, Faye? Are you two alright?"
Henry's gaze flicked to the last two individuals sharing the road with him. The young man was a blonde with a tired expression and a relaxed gait. He wiped a lock of his hair from his forehead then rested one hand on his hip even as the other gripped his sword out. A tired breath puffed from his lips, and he gave Tobin a weary nod.
Beside him stood a girl, maybe a year or two younger than Tobin and Gray. She wore a simple dress, common to the villagers in Ram, with a couple of frills and ruffles in it for decoration. A red, hooded cloak ran over her shoulders, adding a nice splash of color to her outfit. Unfortunately, it reminded Henry of all the blood soaking the ground around him, and that made him feel sick.
"I'm fine," The girl beside him replied. She glanced at Henry. "So, this is your new friend, Gray?"
"Hm, well yeah, I think? No idea what he's doing out here by himself," Gray remarked as he scratched the back of his head. "I thought your Grandpa told him not to wander, Alm?"
Henry turned his head with Gray to the green-haired guy that charged to the rescue first. Realization dawned on Henry. This was Alm, the friend both Tobin and Gray spoke about yesterday. He could see why both spoke highly of him. He stood tall and confident, but he didn't exude any arrogance as he approached Henry with a small, friendly smile and an outstretched hand.
"It might've slipped his mind," Alm replied to Gray before returning his attention to Henry. "Nice to meet you, Henry. I heard good things from Tobin and Gray about you. Sounds like you're a hard worker." He put his hands on his hips, a relieved breath puffing from his lips. "Good thing we got to you when we did. Good help around the village is hard to come by, especially from an outsider."
Henry gulped. Why couldn't he say anything? Why was he suddenly mute? Did the sight of bodies and blood really make him so petrified?
Am I really asking myself that question?
"Uh, hello, Henry?" Faye tiptoed to Henry and waved a hand in front of his face. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Henry gulped. His eyes darted between the bodies lying on the road; guts and blood staining the dirt path. A shiver ran up and down his spine. At that moment, he could only think of one thing.
"Th-the-" He swallowed hard. "The pigs need slop."
Alm, Faye, and Kliff didn't say anything, but both Tobin and Gray nearly fell over laughing.
"Hard worker, definitely!" Gray chuckled, holding his stomach. "Damn pigs. They do need to eat, don't they?"
"You might just fit in around here, Henry," Tobin snickered.
Both of their laughter came to an abrupt halt when a new shadow covered Henry. Alm's expression turned from friendly to deadly serious. Faye shrank. Kliff pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Good morning, Grandfather," Alm said, his voice stiff and measured.
"Good morning, Sir Mycen," All of Alm's friends said, fear lacing their voices.
A low rumble sounded behind Henry. Carefully, Henry managed to turn around. Sir Mycen glowered over him, anger and disappointment written on his weathered face. His calloused hand gripped his still sheathed sword, ready to draw it at a moment's notice.
"All of you back inside," He grunted to Alm and the others. He then looked specifically at Alm. "We need to talk."
"Grandfather I-"
Sir Mycen gave Alm a cold, stern glare. With a sigh, Alm bowed his head and dutifully followed. Faye and Kliff trailed after him, any expressions of victory long gone from their faces. Tobin and Gray were last to march back into the village. Gray slapped a hand against Henry's back, urging him forward with them.
"C'mon, we better get those pigs their slop," Gray muttered.
"Before Sir Mycen rips us a new one for that too," Tobin finished for Gray.
Henry swallowed hard. Against all of his instincts, he looked back at the road. The bodies were still there, still bleeding, still dead. They weren't actors or cosplayers playing a game. Alm, Tobin, Gray, Faye, and Kilff weren't LARPing with grown adults just now. They actually killed people who were trying to kill them… and him.
Henry's hands shook. He looked around Ram Village, his previous frustration morphing into terror.
I'm beginning to think this isn't all an act.
And chapter! This is chapter two of the fun commission requested by Aidanator800 over on Fiverr! If you're interested in commissioning something as well, message me over there. My username is the same as here, just all lowercase.
So, this was very fun to write. Handling FE characters that aren't from Awakening is proving to be both a challenge and a treat. Needless to say, I'm enjoying myself! I hope all of you are too. Let me know what you all think of this chapter! As always, I hope you all enjoyed it! Have a nice day!
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