Disclaimer: Please. I own nothing.
So. So. So. A very long hiatus because I ended up being very busy and having no Internet for A FREAKING WEEK. URGH.
Chapter 23: Stirring
It was the morning after the speech. Garrow watched twelve men depart from Carvahall to fetch the people who were hidden in Igualda Falls. His body was sore – he was truly getting old for these kinds of things. He shuffled to the kitchen, where Horst was contemplating a mug of ale.
"Morning, Garrow," the blacksmith said.
Garrow merely grunted in reply as he grabbed a piece of bread from the counter and sat on the opposite end of the table. He noticed that Horst looked tired and unkempt. "You've been awake all night," he said. "What is happening outside?"
"Men had to talk to their families," Horst growled. "People have been running back and forth from the Spine since the crack of dawn." He set down his mug. He regarded Garrow with his bloodshot eyes. "You don't know exactly what you've wrought upon the village. Asking us to live? Every damn person in Carvahall is in turmoil. You backed us into a corner with only your way as the solution, and many hate you for it. Many of them, of course, are already angry for you causing all of this in the first place."
Garrow frowned. He set down his bread. "What about the others?"
Horst grimaced. "The rest of them adore you. I never expected a man like you to stir the village simply with words, but you did it, old man. You already did." He began to sip his ale, eyes still trained on the farmer. "I built this home for Elain and my children. It took me seven years to finish everything. That beam over the door? I broke three toes just to get it in place, but you know what? I'll give it up, just because of what you said last night."
Garrow stared at Horst. He managed to gain the desired effect of his words. Their only choice was to leave Carvahall, and he knew that it was the right thing to do. There was no need for him to feel guilty. If it was what was needed, then he must accept any kind of outcome. It might end up badly, but it was the only way for them to escape and survive.
Horst leaned forward, a threatening look upon his face. "Remember. If the truth is something far from the words you have spoken, you will pay direly for it. Give people hope and then take it away? They will destroy you."
Garrow nodded. He knew that it would happen if that was the case. Surda would definitely accept them with open arms, especially if the rebels truly hid there. If they didn't, then their debts would more than cover their debts. "Where is your family?"
Horst scowled, clearly not pleased by the sudden change of subject. "Elain is out back, but I know not about my sons." He stood up, smoothing his tunic glumly. "I must clear out the smithy, decide which tools must be taken. I will hide or destroy the rest. We can't let the Empire benefit from my work."
"Need my help?"
"No. This is a task for me and my son. The forge has been our entire life, and besides, Elain might have a use for you."
Garrow found Elain and Gertrude outside, talking beside a large pile of firewood that was kept year-round for emergencies. After an exchange of pleasantries, Gertrude headed back to her hut, leaving Garrow with Elain.
"We should prepare for the trip. I have to sort through the kitchen first. Could you go upstairs to gather the clothes, bedding and everything else that might come in useful?" Elain asked.
After a moment of studying the route they must take, Garrow realized that the mountains were too steep for wagons. The forest would be no good either. They were limited to how much they could carry, and how much they could make the horses handle. They had to keep one unburdened to carry Elain too.
Another problem would be that not all families in Carvahall had steeds to carry their provisions and those who cannot trek the mountains on foot all the time. People would have to share resources, and that would be another challenge. Aside from Birgit and Delwin's family, Garrow was not sure about who else was going.
By the time they finished packing up the essentials – food, shelter and some clothing – Elain sent Garrow to ask the others about any extra storage they might need, or any that they would be willing to lend, as she did not want to abandon some items that were not essential to the journey.
People scurried through the many streets lining the village, and yet a blanket of strange calm enveloped Carvahall, covering the frenzy of activity that should have thrown the place in chaos. Silence reigned, and everyone worked while thinking deeply.
Garrow had to pound on the knocker for a long time before the farmer named Orval answered the door. "Oh. Garrow." Orval stepped out of the porch with a solemn look. "I'm sorry for making you wait. I was quite busy. Do you need something?" He tapped his pipe absent-mindedly before rolling it between his fingers. Behind him, the shoving of chairs and the banging of cooking utensils could be heard.
Garrow explained Elain's offer and request warily. Orval gazed at the sky. "We've got enough room for our things. You can ask around but if you still need space, I've got a pair of oxen that can hold a bit more for you."
"So, you will be going?" Garrow asked.
"Not exactly. We are just preparing for anything that may happen."
Puzzled, Garrow bade farewell and headed to Kiselt's house, where nobody wanted to reveal their decisions. It was made even more confusing by the fact that the preparations for departure were in plain sight.
The villagers all treated Garrow differently, and it was unsettling. The smallest gestures were the easiest to notice. People told him that they were also concerned with his sons. They listened quietly when he spoke, and murmured their assent when he made a statement that needed it. It was as if something shifted, and he began to intimidate the people he knew since he was young. It distanced him from them. Lost in his thoughts, Garrow trudged through the mud and headed for a puddle. He examined his reflection quietly to see if something about his appearance marked his sudden difference.
It was like facing a truly different man.
He saw a man in his late thirties, dressed in ragged, blood-stained clothes, with a body that was once hungrily thin but was now simply lean and fit. His beard has grown even longer, and his wispy hair was matted. His eyes remained sunken but now blazed with a strange fire that was filled with rage, desperation and longing.
Garrow grinned, and it added a more feral air to his entire visage. He liked the way he looked now, though he wasn't sure that his boys would appreciate it. Maybe it was how he managed to influence the villagers, and maybe he could use it against the Forsworn if he needed to.
After encountering Thane – who couldn't stop thanking him for giving him hope – he headed to the Seven Sheaves, which was strangely quiet. A blast of thick, smoky air greeted him as he stepped beneath the Urgal horns that hung over the door. "Is anyone here?" he called.
The door to the back rooms flew open and Tara stepped out, followed by Morn. They both glared at Garrow, but they looked too glum for it to be effective. Tara put her hands on her hips. "What do you want, Garrow?"
Apparently, Tara and Morn were not pleased with him, especially since they had to get rid of their stock, lest the soldiers do it themselves. And most importantly, they did not like the fact that they would not be able to take their trade with them, unlike Horst and Gedric. They were afraid to starve and be doomed.
After a few more words, Garrow left and took a drink at Fisk's well. Birgit joined him, watching him bring up the water bucket and take a sip. He handed it to her wordlessly and watched her drink her fill. "I'm glad that you have agreed to come with us," he said.
Birgit's amber eyes were steely. "I know what drives you, Garrow. I am a parent who wishes to give the best to her children. Is that not what you are, too?" She paused. "It is just that with your sons gone, you have become a father to almost all of Carvahall. But once we do get out of this predicament, I will have my compensation from you. For Quimby's death. Do not forget." She tossed the bucket back into the well and left.
Garrow felt disturbed by her declaration, but he was also pleased. He knew that he had someone who could help him keep the entire village safe until they reached Surda. He would have to pay the price or kill her only when the time comes. It was the only way to resolve matters such as that.
Horst and his sons returned home by evening, bringing a couple of small bundles that were wrapped in oilcloth. The men looked glum, but determined. They added these bundles to the luggage and headed back to the kitchen for dinner.
Talk around the table was subdued. Albreich and Baldor quietly discussed the covert preparations that many villagers were making. Garrow listened as he bit into his cheese and bread, studying the situation. He tried to remember who lent donkeys to others, the ones that had no signs of leaving, and those which might need help.
"Food might be a problem," Baldor said. "Sloan was busy all day, preserving his meat and distributing all that he could to people. Even with that, we can only carry so much. Hunting in the Spine wouldn't have been a problem, but we must feed two or three hundred people."
Horst nodded. "Hunting would be no good, unless it is to supplement our own supplies. The villagers have enough sheep and goats to feed everyone for a month, so the flocks must be brought."
"What about wolves?" Garrow asked.
Albreich nodded. "He's right. They might become dinner for wolves instead of dinner for villagers."
"The bigger problem would be herding them," Horst replied. "They might start wandering off into that blasted forest."
The next day was spent with the entire village helping each other in the preparation. Nobody spoke too much, but everyone seemed willing to lend a helping hand to another, and so the work was much faster. Garrow found himself helping people secure their packs, while Horst assisted some young men in gathering all the sheep. Everyone tumbled into bed tired but hopeful – and excited – that night.
Dawn awakened Garrow, and he sat up almost immediately. He felt like he was expecting something. He just wasn't sure what it was. He felt fear and hope fighting each other within him and ignored the strange feeling it brought. His breath fogged up due to the cold mountain air, but he didn't care one bit. All he cared about was the possibilities that the new day would bring.
Breakfast was subdued, like it was since Garrow's speech. Horst brought the horses to the front of the house, where Garrow, Albreich and Baldor loaded them with saddlebags and bundles of supplies. Garrow took up his own pack, which contained the few things he salvaged from his ruined home. His bow and arrows were now with Nolfavrell, while his grandfather's sword and his small ax hung from his belt.
Horst closed the door to the house, touching it and casting one last look before taking Elain's hand and leading the way through Carvahall. Throughout the village, somber families were gathered outside their house with their supplies and their livestock. Sheelp and dogs bore bags, while children were hoisted on donkeys and some horses. Other steeds had makeshift sledges filled with crates of chickens or other supplies.
He was seeing the fruits of his effort, and he did not know how to feel about it.
They stopped at the north end of Carvahall, waiting to see who would join them. A minute passed before Birgit approached from the side with Nolfavrell and her other children. She greeted Horst and Elain before stationing herself nearby. Sloan arrived next with a big pack that was no doubt full of nothing but food and clothing. Four knives and two cleavers hung from his belt.
Ridley's family emerged from the wall of trees, driving a herd of over a hundred sheep from the east. "Figured it would be better if they were kept out of Carvahall," he called out.
"Good thinking," Horst told him.
Delwin, Lenna and their five children trailed Orval's family. Loring and his sons were right behind them. Calitha and Thane were followed by Kiselt's entire clan. The recently widowed women and their children clustered around Birgit. As the sun began to rise over the mountain peaks, most of the village was finally assembled along the wall. Not all, though.
Ivor arrived, but not without any supplies. "You're staying?" Garrow asked, stepping aside to give space to the goats that Gertrude was restraining, and the few sheep Ivor decided to give to their cause.
Ivor nodded wearily. He glanced at the rising sun wistfully. "Svart didn't want to leave and I can't just abandon him. Getting him into the Spine was a chore already, and I have to look after him. I have no children anyway and I can't just give up the farm."
"But… what will you do when the soldiers arrive?"
"Give them a fight to remember, of course!"
Garrow laughed, but it sounded half-hearted. Carvahall will not be the same without Ivor. Neither of them spoke of the fate that was sure to befall anyone who would remain. Ethlbert, a thin, middle-aged man, headed to the group and pointed a gnarled finger at them. "You mad fools!" he cried. People turned to look at him – some with sullen glares. "I have spoken not once against this madness, but I will not entrust my life to a madman! If you were swayed by his words, then you are following him to your destruction. I will not have any of this! If I must, I will take my chances against the soldiers and find refuge in Therinsford. At least they are our own people, not barbarians like those in Surda." He spat on the ground and stalked off.
Terror clutched Garrow. Ethlbert might convince others to defect from the cause. Luckily, the crowd seemed nothing more annoyed and restless. Still, too much dawdling might change their minds. He glanced at Horst. "How much should we wait?"
Horst pondered for a moment. "Albreich, take your brother and check if anyone else wants to join us. Else, we must leave."
The brothers nodded and dashed away in opposite directions. Baldor was the first to return half an hour later with Fisk, Isold and the horse they borrowed. Isold pushed past the people who were in her way and faced Horst and Elain. Her hair was a mess but she did not seem to care. "Forgive me for my lateness," she said. With a hysterical laugh, she regarded the blacksmith. "Fisk had trouble closing up the shop, not sure of what tools to bring."
Horst grinned tiredly. "Oh, I know how that feels."
"Where's Albreich?" Garrow asked worriedly.
"Look," Horst said, pointing.
Albreich stalked toward them with three beer casks tied to his backed. His face was scrunched up in a long suffering look. He was flanked by Morn and Tara who brought enormous packs, followed by their equally burdened donkey and two goats.
"How will they last a mile?" Sloan asked.
"Not just that, they're not bringing enough food. How will we feed them?" snapped Garrow.
"Food will not be a problem," Horst assured them. "His beer is good for morale. Many people would be enough to give him extra meals. You'll see."
"Is that everyone?" Garrow asked as Albreich unloaded the casks.
"Yes. Parr and Knute's families didn't want to come either."
"Well, we can't force them to come."
"We shouldn't stay any longer," Sloan grunted. "We must go."
A sense of excitement passed through the assembly. The moment they have been waiting for – and dreading – finally arrived. Six men opened the tree-wall and laid planks over the trench for them to cross.
Horst held out his hands. "Take the lead, Garrow."
"Wait," Fisk said, running to Garrow. With pride, he held out a blackened, six-foot-long staff made of hawthorn wood. It had a knot of polished roots at the top, and a blunt spike of blue steel at the base. "Made it last night. Thought you might need it."
"Wouldn't ask for anything better," Garrow said with a grin. "Thank you. It is wonderful."
With a smile, Fisk bowed his head and backed away.
Garrow was aware of the staring crowd. He faced the mountains and the Igualda Falls. Behind them lay the bones of many people who lived and died in the village. Behind them lay everything that they knew for their entire lives. Behind them were the few men who were brave – and foolish – enough to stay. Before them were the massive, cursed peaks that were between them and freedom, and they will conquer.
Head held high, the farmer moved forward, leading the procession out of the village. Even if they were to return someday, they were sure that nothing would be the same again. For better or for worse, they started a great changed. With this thought in his mind, Garrow led the villagers out of Carvahall and into the wilderness.
There was no looking back.
I will be addressing questions next chapter! And expect a bit of League of Legends reference with the new Riders. Do any of you guys play that?
Anyway, is there any good place for me to upload my original story aside from Fictionpress?
I'm sorry for the long wait for a very short chapter, I'll make up to you guys soon!
Read and review, as always!