Empire
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Author's Notes: I meant to post this chapter last weekend but I had social responsibilities that took precedence. That said, this chapter's shorter than usual so the next one, which will be longer, will be out on or before the weekend. Let me know what you think! Enjoy!
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BOOK ONE
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Chapter Five
There was a quote Hermione remembered reading at the library once. Something about a single step being the beginning of a long journey. And now, as she stood at the entrance to Dweller Haven, she didn't think there was a more appropriate saying for her current situation.
She looked out on the open dirt road that wound down from the cave in front of her with held breath, her stomach twisting in tight knots of anxiety. Her blood pumped loudly in her ears.
One more step, she thought. One more step and she would leave the safety of the Dell and Dweller Haven behind her – forever – never to return. One more step…towards a world where magic awaited.
One more step.
"Lat's gae, lass," Mr Kelly beckoned in a rough, gravelly voice.
Hermione finally blew out a breath. This was it. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes falling upon her parents' solemn figures, committing their familiar features to memory. She saw nothing but love and worry in their eyes, both pairs gleaming with tears. Her gaze drifted to her best friend, perched at the back of the wagon. He gave her an encouraging nod. She nodded her head in return, bolstered.
When she turned back to the open path in front of her – to the world beyond Dweller Haven – she braced herself and moved forward.
One step. That was all it took for one's life to change forever.
Hermione Granger was ten when she first stepped out into a world beyond her wildest imaginations.
.:OOO:.
Within a matter of minutes, one step had quickly turned into a hundred and within an hour, into a thousand– no, possibly even thousands. Thousands. Hermione didn't like to complain, especially not to a man who looked like he could tear a whole tree in half, but they had been walking without rest for ages.
"Erm, ex-excuse me, Mister...er, Mr Kelly?" she began hesitantly, her stride faltering on the uneven road as she tried to keep up with the big man's larger strides. Her feet were sore and she was exhausted. "Could we, erm, perhaps — rest for a bit?"
Mr Kelly glanced back at her, stopping abruptly, his eyes shadowed beneath the brim of his hat.
Hermione faltered, intimidated by the piercing gaze she was pinned with. She stuttered, "I-I mean, please?"
Silently, the man looked around the uneven terrain they were in – a quiet, bumpy path with nothing but large trees and rocks all around – before he nodded his head in the direction towards Hermione's left. "This wey, lass," he said and he headed towards the direction he'd indicated.
Hermione hesitated for a short second, before she followed suit. Mr Kelly lumbered deeper into the trees, away from the narrow dirt path, pulling his donkey behind him, then directed her to sit at a large upturned root on the base of an enormous tree, which she did, stiffly, fidgeting with the strap of the satchel that was slung across the moss green longcoat she wore.
Hermione had worked herself up with anticipation for the day she left Dweller Haven, for the day she would meet actual clobs for the first time, but she'd never anticipated meeting a mercenary, instead — of all people. She'd prepared herself to meet clobs, not mercenaries!
As Governor Martin had said, mercenary guilds did work with merchant caravans. They were the ones who ensured the safe passage of the travelling merchants as they passed through the Empire to reach the Freelands. But, although the caravans always came every month and she'd met all sorts of merchants, she'd never actually met or seen a mercenary before. They were usually asked to stay outside of the village, though Miss Green, her teacher, had never really explicitly said why. Hermione had assumed it was so they could guard the entrance of the settlement. But now she wasn't so sure…Perhaps the reason had been because they looked far too terrifying to be around...ordinary folk.
Hermione cast Mr Kelly a quick side-eye glance. If all other mercenaries looked like Mr Douglas Kelly, she doubted the merchants would be able to sell anything at all if they were present. Not only was the man enormous – he'd towered even her dad – he also had a gruff square face that was reminiscent of a bear, grizzled-looking from his full red beard and leathery cheeks.
In short, he was the scariest man Hermione had ever met.
"Hae ye etten, lass?" Mr Kelly's deep voice rolled out in the morning air.
Hermione started. She turned towards her escort, who'd positioned himself against the rough trunk of a tree a few paces away from where she sat. She blinked up at him in surprise. Now that he'd mentioned it, she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and even then she'd only eaten crumbs of bread and a small piece of the sausage her mum had prepared. She'd been far too nervous to eat anything else.
For a second, Hermione considered lying; she didn't want to be an inconvenience to a man who looked like he could snap her in two if she annoyed him. But before she could, her stomach let out a loud grumble. Instead, she flushed in embarrassment.
Mr Kelly smirked in amusement and Hermione was mortified. She heard some rustling and when she looked up again, she found the mercenary towering over her, handing her a small leather pouch. Hermione, speechless, accepted the packet reflexively and watched as he walked back to the tree he'd been leaning against.
She looked down, opened the bag and found a bunch of biscuits inside. The smell that wafted up to her nose was mouthwatering. Surprised by the treats, she quickly shook her head, too polite to impose. "Oh, no, I couldn't, Mr Kelly. I have some sandwiches that my mum packed for me…"
"Ye kin save tha' fir laeter," said Mr Kelly, arms coming up to rest across his chest. He tipped his hat back to survey the sky. The day was blessedly dry, with the late autumn sun high in the sky, not a cloud in sight. "A rackon ye'll need it. At the rate we're gaein', we'll be on the road fur at least three days."
Hermione gawked. "Three days?"
"Aye." Mr Kelly brought his hat back down over his eyes. "Meetin' pynt cannae be anywhere naur the settlements. We meet midwey."
Hermione could only blink up blankly at him. Three days. Oy. Her eyes drifted down to the pouch of biscuits in her hands just as the reality of her situation sunk in. This was a longer journey than she'd anticipated.
Finally, she picked one up and dug in.
"Thank you," she murmured belatedly.
Hermione ate silently for the next few moments, savouring the sweet and buttery taste that filtered into her mouth. They were delicious. As delicious as her mum's!
She stopped abruptly, looking down at her half-eaten biscuit. It suddenly hit her that, aside from the few sandwiches she had in her satchel, she would never, ever get to eat her mum's cooking ever again. Her eyes watered. No. She wouldn't cry again. She was ten. She was too big to miss her mother at this age. And it had only been at least two hours.
Don't be such a baby, Hermione, she admonished herself.
Suddenly losing her appetite, Hermione looked up and surveyed the woods around them. She hadn't thought much about what lay beyond the Dell, and aside from what the books had mentioned about them, she had always imagined it would look more...fantastical, out of this world.
As it was, they only looked like they were in the middle of nowhere. The trees were large and dense, some leafless and brittle. There weren't any streets or roads, aside from the narrow dirt path they'd been trudging on. Just acres and acres of woods and foliage. If she was being honest with herself, she was a bit disappointed. The books made it sound like it was more dangerous than this, but aside from the threat of getting lost, there didn't seem to be any immediate danger.
At that thought, Hermione brought her gaze back to the hulking mercenary close by. Perhaps it had been the food, or perhaps it was because she'd finally been lulled into a sense of safety in the silence of the forest, that she finally found the courage to find her voice. "Mr Kelly?"
Mr Kelly looked up from...
Hermione blicked.
…Polishing his gun.
Hermione faltered at the sight, gawping at the metal barrel sitting in his large hand. She knew some of the people in Dweller Haven had one and she'd seen people carry them around once or twice before, in the summer, when it was hunting season, but she knew next to nothing about it. She gulped and forced her eyes back up to Mr Kelly's surly stare. He raised her eyebrows at her, expecting her to continue.
Hermione hesitated, unsure now if she should be asking such a question or if she'd insult him by doing so. Unfortunately, Hermione was a child unaccustomed to lying and was rarely ever under pressure, so she blurted out the first thought that popped in her head. "D-do you hate c-clobs too?" Mr Kelly's eyes narrowed and there was a pregnant pause. Hermione quailed under his stern glare. "E-everyone is Dweller Haven hates clobs. They — I…" she floundered, babbling in her anxiety, thinking she'd made him angry.
"I'm a squib," Mr Kelly informed her curtly, as if that answered her question, though it really didn't.
But Hermion was impressed. Her eyes widened. A squib! That was unexpected. "Really? My friend Archie is a squib," she provided excitedly, warming up to him now that she felt a sudden kinship towards him now.
"Is tha' richt?" The mercenary went back to polishing his gun.
Hermione nodded, feeling her nerves ease the more Mr Kelly responded. It helped that it was a topic she could talk about. She couldn't help but talk when she was nervous. "He was there earlier, you know, at the Dell. He came to see me off." She looked down on her knees at the reminder of the people she was forced to leave behind, her eyes watering again.
She sniffled in the silence that ensued.
Then—
"Hou auld are ye, lass?"
Hermione looked up, finding Mr Kelly's intense blue eyes on her. He looked less intimidating now, sitting on a fallen tree close by.
"I'm ten," she answered.
Mr Kelly rubbed at his beard as he regarded her with sharp, assessing eyes. "A bi' auld, arnae ye? Normally, bairns crossing settlements are little-wee things," the mercenary expounded. "Ye—well, yir the oldest one I've transported."
Hermione looked down at her trousers again at those words. She didn't know how she should respond to that. Would he tell on her parents if she told him they'd been keeping her magic a secret for years now? The last thing she wanted was to get her parents in trouble for breaking the rules.
"No' that it matters," continued Mr Kelly, shrugging. He looked up at the sky again, before he stood, patting his hands on his knees. "Come alang, then. We need tae meet the clobs three day hence, and we've still gat a ways tae gae."
Hermione looked up. Clobs. Now there was a topic she was deathly curious about. "Have you ever met a clob, Mr. Kelly?" she found herself asking as she stood and followed him to where he was untying the donkey's reins around a thick branch. "What are they like?"
Mr Kelly paused to look at her over his shoulder. "I rackon they're juist like ye and me."
"Do you think…" she started, looking down at the ground and suddenly feeling unsure. She scuffed the toe of her boot against the forest floor. "Do you think they'll like me?"
Mr Kelly was silent again, the only response Hermione could hear were the sounds of the reins and bags being propped back into place. Archie had been picked on by the kids at school at Dweller Haven just because he was born to clob parents. She'd never thought that it could work the other way 'round, but it was a possibility.
What if they didn't like her?
"Well, I'm no clob, lass, ye ken?" Mr Kelly moved forward and Hermione followed his lead. "But fir mercs like me, we've no time tae care aboot what other people say, be they clob or no'." He cast her a sideways glance. "Nae, I doobt a wee lass like ye would like to become a merc, bu' let me tell ye something: ye dinna need tae care aboot wha' other folks think. At the end of the day, yir a witch. Even if no one else welcomes ye, yer magic will."
.:OOO:.
Hermione continued to travel with Mr Kelly on foot, past bare, muddy meadows and marches, and across a rushing river that first day. Camping out in the open took some getting used to and sleeping in the woods that first night had been terrifying (not to mention uncomfortable), but by the second day, Hermione was quickly discovering that she was more adaptable than she ever thought she would be.
After their first conversation, Hermione took to Mr Kelly in the way kids often did with adults they'd found a liking to. It became apparent over the course of a few hours that Mr Kelly was the gentle sort, if a bit rough around the edges. He never coddled her but he never pushed her. He made sure they took frequent breaks to rest her feet and gave her snacks and water every so often during the long trek. He hunted for their food, shooting down deer or pheasant that he would roast over the fire.
The constant travel was exhausting, however. Hermione didn't think it was possible to walk so much in her life! But at least Mr Kelly kept her entertained with stories of his travels as a mercenary and of his childhood. Hermione found all of it so fascinating. She'd only ever read about things Beyond the Dell through books, but to hear someone speak of living most of their life out in the open, seeing different places, meeting different people…
It was more than what people in Dweller Haven could ever expect or dream of.
"And then what happened, Mr Kelly?" Hermione prompted eagerly as she sat across the fire, watching Mr Kelly roasted two fishes he'd taught her to catch and gut for dinner. She hadn't been very keen on it (she'd been beyond disgusted), but it was an…experience.
"An' then, me an' me squad hid in the cover of the trees." Mr Kelly squinted his eyes in recollection of the time he'd encountered imperial clobs while escorting a small caravan of textile merchants. "Then we rooned back an' teuk our poseitions at higher grund." Mr Kelly pulled out one of his guns, pretended to aim at the shadows, then winked at her. "It gies ye a better vantage of yer opponents. They were easy pickin's, after tha'."
Hermione listened in rapt attention. She was sure Archie would have loved to hear this too. But Archie would have his own adventures one day, when he joined the merchants caravan. She hoped he'd have a grand time.
Her eyes fell on the wicked weapon in Mr Kelly's hands and a morbid thought crossed her mind. With the blatant curiosity of a ten-year-old driving her forward, Hermione asked before she could stop herself. "Have you...have you ever killed anyone, Mr Kelly? W-with your gun?"
Mr Kelly regarded her silently for a long moment, long enough to make Hermione shift uncomfortably and regret asking, before he sighed a tired, heavy kind of sigh. "Aye, lass, I have." He ran a hand down his full beard as he reflected on his next words. "Oot o the settlements, everything here is clob territory." He pinned her here with a grave look that engraved the gravity of his words into Hermione's mind. "Imperial clobs, ye hear? Everything, as far these clobs see it, belangs tae the Clob Emperor. An' oot here, free muggles, clobs and squibs alike are hunted doon like dogs. Unner those circumstances, ye dae what ye kin tae survive, ye ken?"
Hermione nodded mutely, swallowing her fear.
"Listen well, lass." Mr Kelly sat forward and adjusted his wide-brimmed hat. "Nae maiter where or who ye are, trouble kin broo everywhere. An' when tha' happens, ye've gat to dae what it takes to survive. Ye've gat no time to care aboot what else when ye've gat that at stake. Ye hesitate, ye dee."
They both subsided into silence, with Hermione ruminating on Mr Kelly's grave words. Objectively, she knew the imperial clobs were dangerous. She'd known this fact for years, and they talked about it in school all the time. Not to mention, the villagers in Dweller Haven talked about the war with them incessantly. But somehow, hearing Mr Kelly tell her the exact same thing, as someone who lived through it all the time, shook her more than it ever did before.
Nervously, Hermione fiddled with the a patch of grass on the ground. What were once far-off stories, cautionary yet intangible warnings, now seemed like real, tangible shadows.
Mr Kelly sighed and Hermione looked up to see him shake his head. He rubbed at his beard, shifting uncomfortably. "I'm sairie. I didna mean tae skeer ye."
Hermione shook her head vigorously. "No, not at all. I…I understand what you're trying to say." When her eyes strayed on the gun Mr Kelly had lain on the log beside him, the long, dark metal barrel glinting in the midday sun, a thought bloomed. She blurted it out as soon as idea took hold. "Will you teach me how to shoot, Mr Kelly?"
Mr Kelly's head whipped back up to gape at her in disbelief. He shook his head and turned the skewer over the fire. "I dinna think ye ken whit yir askin', lass."
"But I do!" Hermione insisted, warming up to her plan. She shuffled closer for emphasis and leaned forward. "We've got today and tomorrow left of travel and I should learn to protect myself, shouldn't I?"
"I rackon that's whit I'm hir fur," Mr Kelly responded dryly.
"But what if we get separated or you get injured. I must at least know how to defend myself. And the quickest way to go about it is to learn to shoot a gun!" she reasoned.
"Ye realise yir a witch, dinna ye? Ye'll be lairnin' magic suin eneuch. Ye winna be needin' tae use guns."
"But you just said trouble can come from anytime and anywhere, Mr Kelly! Anytime can also mean right now," Hermione rebutted. "I'll need to at least know how to take care of myself if I'm to survive out here right now!"
"Weel nou—"
"And you said I've got to do whatever it takes to survive. Then I must learn it." Hermione finished with a resolute nod. "For my survival."
Mr Kelly blinked down at her, looking utterly gobsmacked that she'd thrown what he'd just warned her about right back at him.
Seeing her chance in his surprise, Hermione wheedled some more, bringing her hands together beseechingly. "Oh, please, won't you teach me, Mr Kelly?"
After a moment of speechlessness, Mr Kelly shook his head in disbelief and sighed in defeat. He smirked at her wryly and uttered, "Ye dinna often lose an argument, dae ye, lass?"
Hermione smiled prettily. She, in fact, did not lose arguments at all.
.:OOO:.
True to his word, Douglas Kelly gave Hermione her first shooting lesson that same afternoon. They'd packed up their camp site and found an empty clearing deep in the woods not long after. There, Mr Kelly guided her through the safety rules and fundamentals.
As he impressed upon her the rules of gun safety, Kelly felt a sense of surreality in the situation. Here he was, on a typical solo escort job of a magical child and he was now teaching said child to shoot a gun. This was certainly not in his regular job description. Most mercs tended to avoid escorting children because they small, loud, and smelly. While these types of jobs were not Kelly's favourite, he didn't overly mind them either, having grown up in a house of five other children. What he hadn't expected was how much older the child was than the ones he'd escorted before.
After a day's travel with Hermione, it became clear to Kelly that she was a precocious girl. It seemed to him that she was much brighter and more eager to learn than most children her age – not that he spent much time in the company of children her age. He'd never transported a child older than seven years old. That was what made her all the curiouser.
Nevertheless, the chit had managed to convince him to teach her to handle a gun, so he walked her through it as best he could. He himself had learned to shoot at only eight years old and he hadn't really a reason not to teach her. It would be easier to protect her if she could carry a bit of her own weight, just in case.
"Nou," Kelly began as he took out his pistol, a jet black Browning Hi-Power Mark III, from his holster and emptied the magazine of its bullets, "Before ye set yer guns ableize, yiv gat tae make shuir yir hauden it the richt wey." He handed her the blank firearm.
The little girl gingerly took it with a look that could only be described as morbid fascination. Kelly then proceeded to instruct her on how to wield the weapon, from her grip to her stance, from her breathing to her aim and trigger control. And before long, she was ready to take her first shot nearly half an hour in.
Kelly set up makeshift targets by carving a bulls eye on a tree trunk, at first, at eight to ten metres away. He guided her through the steps again, reminding her to brace for the noise and the recoil. Her first few of shots, as expected, missed the target by a wide berth, but she started to hit her stride by her fourth or fifth shot, actually managing to graze the targets after some more positioning advice.
Kelly nodded in approval. Hermione was turning out to be a quick study. He might even say she had a knack for marksmanship. He reckoned it had more to do with the determined hyper-focus she possessed. Kelly had never seen the likes of it in a child.
"Weel?" he asked once she'd unloaded a full magazine.
The little girl beamed up at him almost mystified. "That…was…brilliant!"
Kelly smirked down at her. He'd had the same exact feeling, all those years ago. Shame she'd soon likely be firing a wand at someone instead of a gun.
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