His visitor had already left, but he still stood there with Grake's foundling in his arms, staring at the dark vial clasped in his hand. His heart beat numb, lost in indecision.
"Appa…" A small voice said softly. Beor found the child's white eyes hopefully turned to the door. Distant voices approached. Margol's and Tnul's giggles broke out and Rangil and uncle Grake chuckled lightly at something.
His family! Startled, the young villager cast around a nervous look. Nothing seemed out of place to suggest that anyone had come to their home in his family's absence. Beor froze again, his green eyes once again falling to the small bottle.
His lips downturned.
His family were coming back, and he should have been happy. He was so calm and happy this morning. Everything was all right. His oldest child was finally old enough to start learning the rules, becoming a true little Villager. There were no more arguments, either, since the monsters stopped coming across the village Boundary. It was all finally so well and nice! Now, he felt numb and afraid. And uncertain. There was a chocking, dead weight in his stomach, as he tried to decide what he should do. He didn't want to believe what the Witch told him, he didn't! Only the Witches really didn't lie. All the tales he ever heard spoke of this…
"Appa! Appa!" The child in his hands exclaimed, this time impatient as he tried to wiggle out. Beor let him and watched the small being run to the door to greet his favorite caretaker. He was quite fast now. Hopping to reach the lock, which snapped open at the touch of his fingers, the child ran outside. Beor stifled a sigh.
"Hero! There you are!" Came his uncle's glad voice.
Was this the right thing to do? Beor frowned at the bottle.
He wished so badly that he could ask someone. But the Witch was right, he could not go to the elders with this. They would probably cast them all out and then spread the word to the other villages, too, so they would not find a new home anywhere.
He could not tell his brother about this, either, because Rangil would go to the elders.
And he could not hope to approach their uncle about this at all. He simply would not listen! Just the memory of their arguments earlier made Beor's heart stumble and fall, rolling over with both anger and guilt. He didn't want this to continue. This wasn't how it was supposed to be in a family!
He and Rangil were happy before they came here. He used to be happy and feel calm in his heart, content and sure that all was well and how it should be. He has not been able to feel so well since the day that he saw Grake's foundling playing with those wild, deadly creatures from the woods. And now he knew that it was much, much worse! Everything was terribly wrong!
What was he supposed to do?
Beor's hand shook a little, still holding the potion. There was no time to think about it longer just now. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and tried to settle his face into his usual, confident expression. The bottle vanishing from his hands, the young villager stepped toward the door to greet everyone, giving his uncle and brother a friendly hug, and then ushering his children indoors.
Their outside gowns needed to be changed over and their hands washed. The meal was not done cooking, either, though it didn't burn up. Beor hurried to do all the things that he was supposed to have done in the last half hour, apologizing to his family for his oversight.
They only smiled at him, encouraging that everything was fine.
Everything was wrong.
For the rest of the evening, Beor went through the motions almost without thinking. No guidance emerged, one way or another.
'Beings like him do not change! That I can promise you on my hope of rebirth!...'
'You really don't understand the forces that you're dealing with here, do you? Do you really think that when he remembers who he is, he will still care about your stupid rules?...'
'He will probably torture you... Bring you back from the brink of death again and again. He won't spare your children, either. You are going to watch them suffer and regret that when you had the chance, you listened to your dumb heart rather than your good sense…'
Beor tried not to look at his uncle's foundling as the Witch's words kept repeating over and over in his head, mixing with the terrible images of the burning village. The grown up Monster's cold, heartless gaze watched him silently from his mind's eye.
Unaware of Beor's numb look, the older villager gently patted the child's hair as he patiently spoke to him at the dinner table, where Hero tarried with his food. White eyes looked to the older villager with trust and affection that made him seem nothing like the terrifying being from Beor's vision. Some of the fear in Beor's heart let go.
Margol and Tnul giggled again, chasing each around the table, the plates that they were supposed to take to the wash basin, still in their hands.
"Margol! Tnul!" Beor's brother scolded, coming out of his room and pointed to the basin. Giving him disgruntled looks, the little villagers obeyed. Grake's foundling gave them a curious look, slightly tilting his head to the side. Beor's heart skipped a beat, a cold feeling flaring up once more.
Shaken, he gave a nod to his uncle and brother and retreated outside, busying himself with the last shores. Tools needed to be put away and the shed closed. No more monsters appeared nearby, but they all remained cautious.
Afterward, not willing to come in, Beor heavily settled on the wooden step of their porch, still warmed by the sun, though last bright rays were already quickly dimming behind the wooded mountain tops.
'Only you can do something about it. It's not even that hard. You'll just have to give him to me. Then I'll do what must be done. I'll keep him from hurting you.'
His visitor's scratchy voice promised. Beor sighed, lowering his face to look at the freshly tilled ground. He needed to finish planting their crops, an absent-minded thought occurred. Soft, evening shadows descended upon the world.
"Brother? Is everything all right?" Rangil's voice came from partly open door behind him, from where comforting sounds of everyday affairs drifted. The clanking of dishes and giggling of his children came as they helped grandpa Grake wash dishes. They splashed more than helped.
Beor could see them. Margol and Tnul stood on a chair as they tried to wipe the large pot where Beor had cooked dinner. Little Hero was not there, probably already asleep. Grandpa Grake still made sure to take him to his bed early or else he would get tired and cranky.
Looking up, Beor found his brother's concerned eyes holding on him. Of course, his brother noticed that he was not his usual self.
"I…" Beor's voice broke off.
He didn't know what to say. He couldn't… couldn't tell him. His brother was still so young. He should not have to worry about all this.
"This is about him again." Rangil guessed, frowning, as hurt slipped into his voice at Beor's delay. His dark, green eyes held reproach.
"It… It is, but… don't worry. It will be all right." Beor reassured and smiled with confidence he couldn't feel. He would make it all right. It was his duty as the oldest brother to protect his family the best he knew how.
Rangil looked at him silently, then nodded, still hurt, and went back into the house. Beor looked at the darkening woods.
It was his duty to protect everyone, his uncle, his children, and his brother. So, he would, even if it meant living with guilt. Even if it meant that he might respawn as one of them - the ugly Pale Faced - his punishment for his choices. Only no matter what he chose, it still felt wrong. Signing, Beor stood up and walked back inside the comfortable little house that he helped build with his own two hands. Warm light burned in the fireplace, reflecting in the windows from the outside.
"Finish up your chores. It's almost dark. Time to sleep." He told his children, who immediately pouted, not quite ready to finish their fun splashing.
Grandpa Grake, though, hoisted each young villager down, grunting a bit. "There is another day tomorrow and many more to come. Listen to your Atta."
Margol reluctantly nodded while Tnul only gaped a little with a silly expression.
"Come on, let's get your clothes changed." The elder villager led them away to the lit fireplace, where he pulled off their top gowns and folded them into the basin of clothes to be taken out and washed tomorrow. A small cyan shirt and slightly worn trousers, torn at the knees after Hero's last fall, were there also. Beor's eyes held on those.
He used to think it funny that Grake's foundling would wear these and no others. He even humored his preference. There were a dozen soft cyan shirts folded in their storage chests, some smaller and others for when Grake's foundling would grow older.
But that being in Beor's dream – he also wore those clothes.
'Beings like that do not change. That I can promise you on my hope of rebirth.'
"Don't worry about that, uncle. I'll take care of all this tomorrow." Beor reassured. "It's my turn."
"All right, all right." His uncle grumbled and shuffled off to his room. Beor watched him go.
With everyone gone, the dark vial reappeared in his hands. He frowned, looking at it.
"Here, give this to him before you bring him to me. Its just a sleeping portion and stronger than what you villagers use."
The potion bottle vanished again. Beor's decision formed, though doubts remained, beating away at it like the wind against closed window shutters in a bad storm.
…
"Hero, drink your milk. You need to eat well so you can grow up big and strong. Like the heroes in stories that you like. Remember? They became so strong because they ate well." Uncle Grake encouraged, pushing the toddler's cup back to him.
The child pouted at it, making a huff. Beor watched, unwillingly holding his breath. It was already morning of the next day and he dared to do what the Witch said.
"Hero. We don't waste food. Both your uncles and I work hard to have it. You'll also be hungry later if you don't eat now." Uncle Grake gently reproached.
The child blinked. Still pouting, he reached to the cup of milk that he rejected earlier and patiently began to drink. Beor quietly watched from where he stood behind his uncle, so his uncle could not see his expression. He held his breath.
"Well done, kari." Uncle Grake smiled and patted the child's head, taking the empty cup away to the basin, where others already waited. His foundling shifted, his stubborn frown relaxing. White eyes followed the older villager with trust. Beor's heart clenched as guilt flared stronger, yet relief also came. It was done.
"Atta?" Margol's voice distracted him and Beor went to help his children put on their outside gowns. Rangil was already outside, doing chores.
Done getting ready to go to the market, his own gown on and his badge of honor displayed at the belt that he adjusted with pride, uncle Grake looked up to check on his foundling. Little Hero was visibly nodding off, his plate of food unfinished, though he still held a piece of bread in his hand. Seeing the child's head nodding again, about to fall face first in his plate, Beor hurried to step in and picked him up.
Making a sigh, the child leaned against him and relaxed, surrendering to sleep.
"Well, he seems tired today." Uncle Grake noticed, frowning a little.
"Its fine. He can stay home with me." Beor reassured, keeping his voice level. After a moment, his uncle nodded.
"Well, don't let him sleep too long. Or else he will be up all night. Might run away when we are not watching." The elder villager grumbled, already at the door. Beor could hear his children's excited voices outside, with Rangil trying to be patient as he directed them to wait.
"I know, uncle. I know." Beor said and gently lowered the child to the barred crib, where they now kept Hero during the day if they had to step out of the house for any reason. It was Beor's invention. Wooden pieces reached high and connected with bars, so the child could not climb out on his own.
When Unkle Grake first saw it, he rejected it, complaining that it looked like a pen or a cage. Hero wasn't an animal. Then, Margol and Tnul went missing and they found them playing with Hero beyond the village boundary, with that strange monster from the End nearby, stacking blocks into a little pyramid while children cheered. The grown-up villagers froze at the sight, holding their breath. And when they got home and Beor put Hero in the barred crib so he couldn't run off again, his uncle did not complain, only sighed. Locks simply didn't work anymore.
Margol and Tnul got punished, too. Hearing his children cry as they stood in the corner, knowing that they would get no dinner and what's worse, seeing their father angry at them, had hurt Beor's heart, but it was also necessary.
Taking his eyes away from the barred crib, where uncle Grake's foundling now slept soundly, Beor went outside and waved goodbye, watching his family leave.
Glancing at the mountains, where the sun had not yet risen beyond the threshold, Beor turned away and began doing his chores. Rhythmically swinging and dragging his hoe across the ground in powerful, easy motions that he was well used to, he began to till the far side of the field, preparing it for the next crop. He almost lost himself in his work, finally forgetting his doubts, when the familiar, purple-robed figure appeared, hobbling from the woods.
The hoe fell from the villager's hands. Startling, he strode into the house, where he carefully picked up Grake's foundling, making sure to wrap his favorite blanket around him. He had to force himself to walk outside, where the Witch stood, waiting. She gave him a disgruntled look.
"You are late! You were supposed to meet me on the way." Not bothering to hear Beor's excuses, the being turned around and began to walk back. Beor hurried after her.
"I am… I am sorry. It took a while this morning to get everything ready and..."
"That potion doesn't last forever! Did you make sure that he drank all of it?" Witch demanded sharply. Beor nodded, guiltily dropping his gaze to the peacefully sleeping toddler's face.
"Good. Come along." The Witch directed. Dropping his head, Beor followed her to the woods and then along the faint trail, that hardly anyone used unless they had to.
Noticing the young villager's discouraged look, the Witch humphed.
"Do not fret! You will have your little monster back safe and sound before the sunset today. If not, I am sure you can make a sensible story. You lost him again, how about that?" The Witch offered. Beor sighed a bit, his guilt flaring up even more.
"I went back. I won't ever hurt him again." He muttered under his nose. The Witch made an amused chuckle, giving him a sidelong, skeptical look, but ignored it. She might not believe this, but he fully intended to follow the promise he made after his terrible mistake. His guilty eyes returned to the child in his arms. Little Hero slept, his dark brown curls softly framing his face like unruly feathers. In some way, Grake's little foundling looked even cute despite his slightly alien look. Only his glowing eyes were uncanny. Even before, when Beor didn't know about the child's past, sometimes he felt a chill when the child looked at him with those strange, empty eyes. The other villagers had noticed it, too.
Grake, are you sure that's a Human? A few of them asked Grake when they came to visit. Thankfully, it had been already after the monsters stopped coming. Grake still avoided taking Hero to the Market with them, saying that he was still far too young to learn their rules, because he was a Human and they all had to wait.
"Well, I still think that your decision is a mistake, Villager. But it's your choice, of course. I won't try to convince you anymore. Still, just so you understand, what I am about to do will be only a temporary option. From time to time, his Bindings will have to be renewed again. You will know when it must be done easily enough. The moment that you see him doing anything strange, you will have to bring him to me. Immediately! Most likely, it will be fire magic of some sort. That seemed to be his favorite element."
Beor swallowed unwillingly at the reminder, paling a little as images from the vision of the village burning returned to haunt him.
"Do not worry. It won't be that bad at first. Just a trickle of power. But it will grow, so be careful. Watch over him. You cannot remain as careless as you are now."
"I do watch him. Me and my brother. We take care of him." Beor frowned stubbornly at the derisive remark. The Witch scoffed.
"You allow him to run off into the woods whenever he feels like it. Do you know how many other death marks I see on him, besides the one where you took part?" The Witch's violet accused. Beor's eyes guiltily turned to Grake's little foundling.
"Sixteen! And that's just in the past year or so. If he was really a Human, he would have never made it with caretakers like you. Humans are very fragile when they are this little. And that's what he will be without most of his power – Human. So, since despite all good sense, you still intend to keep him, keep that in mind. Make sure he doesn't come to harm. Each time he gets hurt, his remaining power will seek to heal him and that will weaken the Bindings. Especially respawns! Just a few, and everything I've done will be for nothing. You must bring him to me at once, or else." The Witch's voice turned ominous.
Beor hesitantly nodded. The Witch made a thoughtful humph, then skeptically shook her head, returning her attention to the uneven terrain as they both followed the trail leading down into the lower part of the valley. Beor said nothing else, withdrawing into a glum mood. Even though the Witch promised that Hero would not be hurt, he still felt unsure and bad about what was going to happen. She was going to take Hero's power somehow, doubtlessly for herself. She didn't care what would happen to him or to the villagers here after she got what she wanted.
Beor frowned at a thought that suddenly occurred to him. "What will happen… if you are not here? W-when it happens?"
The Witch cast him a sideways glance. "You mean, if his Bindings fail and he starts using magic?"
Beor nodded. She humphed. "What do you think will happen, villager?" She prodded; her tone amused. Beor frowned. Talking to this Witch was so frustrating. Why would he ask if he already knew?
Not getting an answer, the Witch humphed and turned away with disappointment.
"Well, its quite obvious if you just use your Wits a little." She grumbled. "He won't be able to remember things, even if his magic returns. I will make sure of that. But I cannot cut him off from all magic completely since you wish him to live. So, when his magic returns, hmph… He will still be weak. You should be able to get rid of him, then. If I'm not here, it will be your only chance. Just make sure to use the opposite element. So, if he starts using fire, then make it water. Earth? Probably the same will work. And just make sure that he cannot get away. After a few respawns, his power will run out completely, and then he will die and not respawn again…"
Beor paused in his step, a cold feeling sinking in his stomach. So that's how she planned to do earlier. Beor pressed uncle Grake's foundling tighter to his chest.
"I w-will… n-never do that…" He mumbled. The Witch shrugged.
"Well, that's up to you. But I think you will rethink all this when he hurts someone."
"But you said… That he won't remember anything… about before…"
"He also won't remember how to use his magic, yet it will continue to grow. How do you think your people will react if he hurts someone? Your children will tease him. If he gets upset and hurts one of them, what will happen?"
"The e-elders… will cast him out." Beor blinked, his limbs heavy. All of this was too much! Too scary. He simply didn't know how to make this right!
"That's right. And what will those other monsters do if your little Monster gets upset?"
Beor blinked again, confusion settling on his face. "M-monsters? But I thought… Won't they… I thought they all left…" Beor's eyes unwillingly strayed to the patches of tall grass between the trees as he and the Witch resumed walking. He didn't see any forms lurking there like they did before. He had not seen any monsters in a while now, only that one strange Enderman. But even he now came less often, avoiding entering the village grounds during the day unless Hero managed to get away.
"If his magic begins to return, that power will return also. And I know what this monster will do if he gets hurt by someone else. He will get angry and wish that those who hurt him pay! You cannot change his true nature, no matter how many rules you teach him. Like I said before, beings like this do not change!" Violet eyes narrowed as the Witch cast Beor's burden a hostile look. Seeing Beor clutch the child closer to him, her lips drew flat and she turned away.
"Whatever happens next will fall on you, villager. Just so you understand it."
Beor didn't answer that, just forced himself to walk, fear and doubts eating away at what little remained of his confidence in his heart. His eyes unwillingly fell and held on the sleeping child once more. Again, he wished that he didn't have to carry such burden.
Lost in his thoughts, the villager remained silent the rest of the way and didn't pay attention, until he almost bumped into the Witch as she came to a stop.
"Far enough. I will take it from here." She reached her gnarled hands toward the child. The hostility in her eyes was gone, replaced by pleased anticipation instead. Beor swallowed, but reluctantly handed the sleeping toddler to her. He frowned, following him helplessly with his eyes as the Witch began to carry him away to her small, broken down, wooden hut that stood directly ahead, shaded by the tall oaks. Their green leaves peacefully rustled overhead.
"You w-wont… hurt him…" Beor verified, his hands clenching into fists as his heart urged him to run after and tear the child from that being's hands. The Witch paused, slightly turning her head as she waited.
"Promise! On your hope of rebirth!" Beor demanded, the bad feeling within him growing stronger. No Witch would ever break an agreement, despite being contrary and nasty beings who would bend the Truth. They would follow their own rules, just like the Villagers did. Even the Pale Faced, murderers and oath-breakers as they were, had their own rules that they would not break. That's what all tales claimed.
A smile twitched the being's gray lips. "Do not fret. Expect him back to you by this afternoon, safe and sound." Her scratchy voice held confidence. "Go home. Do not worry. No one will know about this. Only us."
The Witch turned away and walked into her dwelling, shutting the door behind her. Beor remained standing, lost, her last words settling in a cold, dead weight in his chest. Were his actions wrong? Did he make a bad choice? Only, there was no other way that he could see to make this better. No one he could turn to for advice! Not even his brother. Poor Rangil would be horrified that Beor even allowed the Witch to enter their dwelling in defiance of their uncle's warning.
Again, doubts coiled and pressed, relentless upon his mind. Beor let out a long, discouraged breath and turned, his broad shoulders slumping as he followed the faint trail back to his village.