HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYBODY!
The forest was quiet, except for the distant voices of birds calling to each other across the sea of green crowns. Tired from his continuous effort, Hero stopped picking berries and looked with pride at the sixth basket that he gathered – three more than he was supposed to.
His white eyes fell on the scattered berry bushes growing around Appa's Tree, their branches still full of the delicious, sweet berries – ripe red and glistening in the sunlight. Noticing the long shadows cast from trunks of trees growing at some distance from the surrounding large meadow, little boy glanced at the sky.
It was getting late. He had to start home or else he would be late for dinner.
Leaving his last basket only partly filled, Hero dismissed it to his inventory. He curiously looked around himself.
"Albert? Albert, where are you?" He called to the forest around him. A moment later, familiar tall being appeared next to him amid floating bits of vanishing purple embers. A large grin crossed Hero's face.
"Albert!" He said with fondness, lifting his chin all the way up so he could look at the being's face. Looking down at him with his pink eyes, the Traveler softly rumbled in response.
"Rrrrurp." It sounded a little bit like a question.
"Can you take me back closer to the village? Please? My feet hurt from all the walking I did already." Hero complained, lifting his small hand and grasping on to one of the Traveler's long, clawed fingers.
Pink eyes stared at him without outward expression on an unmoving, alien face, but Hero suddenly gratefully smiled.
"Thanks! You are my best friend, Albert."
In the next moment, both figures vanished from the oak meadow and appeared in the small clearing in the woods on the west side of the village. Just beyond the scarce edge of the woods lay the Field of Remembrance, white moon lilies adorning some of the newer markers.
Casting a sad glance in that direction, Hero sighed and looked back at the tall creature next to him, still holding on to its hand.
"Thanks again, Albert. I'm going to go trade now, and then I'm going home, alright? I'll see you again tomorrow?" Little boy's white eyes looked up to the being hopefully. "Want to build with me?... Alright! Then I'll see you tomorrow."
"Rurp rurp." Another soft sound came from the being, who looked down at the child almost fondly. One of the long arms lifted and held on his head, making Hero laugh a little.
"I wish you could come with me to the village, but you cannot. You'll scare everyone." Hero said with a guilty look on his face next. "Don't worry, I'll be fine…"
"Rurp…" The being that Hero grew used to calling Albert, after a Human Knight from one of the librarian's stories, made another small sound of confirmation and vanished, leaving Hero to stand on the edge of the field in the woods.
Hero stood and watched the particles melt for a little bit, before glancing at the Field of Remembrance once more, searching for the one marker that he now knew well. Only he already visited it this morning and spoke to Appa Grake about everything that he wanted to talk about.
And, it was getting late.
Reluctantly turning away from the field, Hero stepped out of the woods upon a small, winding trail that lead through the field to the houses, where it then widened out to a larger path that led through the village to the Market.
Soon, he was walking through the village. He didn't see any villagers mulling by their houses, just as he expected. Everyone except for caretakers tasked with making dinner would be at the Market at this time – the best time to Trade.
Turning the corner around one of the houses, Hero saw a group of children gathered by uncle Tot's house, who was a very friendly baker and often drew the attention of all the little villagers, hoping for a tasty treat. Hero slowed down, squinting his white eyes at the group.
It was Marish's group, not Terrik's. Both Marish and Kish were there, the children of the two villagers who for some reason strongly disliked him, Hero. There were also Luk, Mirs, and Deras… Appa Grake told him to simply stay away from them, to avoid any arguments. They were right on the side of the path leading to the Market, though, and it was a long way around.
Frowning, Hero stubbornly resumed his walk to the Market.
He was following all the rules and most of the villagers traded with him now, so there was nothing wrong if he simply walked past them on his way.
Just in case, Hero produced his large basket of berries, clutching it in his hands as he approached them.
They soon noticed him coming closer and stopped talking, turning to follow him with their green eyes. They then began to smirk a little, exchanging a few whispered remarks.
He was already nearly past them, relieved that they simply let him pass, when the oldest little villager, Marish, called out to him idly.
"Hey, Briny… What are you going to trade this time?"
Hero reluctantly stopped. It was considered rude if a younger villager didn't respond to an older villager when asked a question. Quietly turning around, he faced the small group and silently showed his basket.
"Berries? I need to get some for a pie." Youngest villager, Kish, commented with his usual smirk. "Will you trade with me? I have cooked chicken."
"You want to trade?" Hero blinked at the other child with disbelief. Kish was Narid the butcher's child, the brother of Smith Oren, who was atta of Marish and the village smith.
The little villager huffed. "I offered, didn't I? You're supposed to come and ask the terms."
Hero frowned, not really wanting to trade anything to them, but couldn't deny the rules that Appa Grake and Uncle Rangil took so much effort to teach him, just so he could trade in the Village.
Overcoming his own reluctance, he slowly approached them.
"I have six baskets of berries. Four meant for trading and two for my uncle to make juice. He will bring it to Trade to the market tomorrow. What do you have?" He asked mistrustfully.
A few snickers came from the other children.
"He smells." Mirs said quietly to Deras, but just loud enough so Hero overheard him. Immediately, Hero felt heat come to his cheeks and he glared at the child.
"I was working all day!"
"I wasn't talking to you, Briny." Mirs scoffed. Hero felt his hands clench into fists around the handle of his basket and familiar heat spark across his fingers. The eyes of the children curiously watched him. Realizing that they might be testing him on purpose, Hero did his best to calm down and relax, taking deep breaths just as appa Grake told him to whenever he started getting angry. It didn't always work, though.
"I have chicken. Twelve pieces. And chops. Six. For all four baskets of berries."
Hero hesitated. It was not a bad deal.
He was suspicious of what these children might really want of him, though. Maybe they were just going to tie him up here until all the Trading in the Market was done for the day and he would have to go home with nothing? Or, the chicken is bad?
"I want to see them, first." He declared with a stubborn frown, his white eyes narrowing.
"Look at that… And your appa says he is a Nitwit. He isn't." Luk told the other children with a huff and they nodded, slight respect appearing in their eyes. Hero puffed out his chest at that unwilling praise a little, feeling good about himself.
"Not bad. But I really offered you a good deal." Marish grinned. "I'm not making it up. Look."
A small table with several trays appears in front of the older little villager as he looks down at Hero with a smirk. Hero suspiciously looks over the chicken pieces, suddenly realizing that he doesn't know what to look for or check. He has never traded for these items before.
Looking at his unsure expression, the older child smirks again.
"First of all, you look at the color. Then, you smell it, to make sure there is no bad smell. That's how you check. Here is a bad chicken piece for comparison."
Marish idly produces a second tray and Hero winces at the rancid smell that suddenly hits his nose, while he is still leaning over the chicken. He leans away sharply, gasping, colliding with the Kish, who somehow appeared right at his side.
A moment later, Hero's basket of berries awkwardly tilts, hitting the other child's chest, and slips out from his small hands, falling to the ground.
"Ooops. Sorry about that." Kish grins in mocking apology.
Hero blinks with a lost expression on a good half hour worth of work that's now scattered on the dusty ground. Then, he begins to sniffle, his eyes instantly filling with salty water.
"His eyes really do make water, huh?" Deras comments to the other children. The table with the chicken pieces disappears.
"That's why we call him Briny."
"Briny the Hero."
"Herobrine."
The children starting to snicker is the last straw and Hero makes a loud wail as he hides his wet face in his hands. For a moment everything goes hazy for him as strong feelings of embarrassment, frustration, and anger at being fooled so easily sweep through him. And just when he thought that they were friendly to him for once.
"I h-hate you! You d-did this on purpose!" He blurts loudly, no longer caring if anyone hears him or if he is being impolite.
A moment passes before he becomes aware that no more snickers sound. Then an adult voice sounds. It's old Grisham, Hero recognizes the voice.
"What's going on here?"
"Nothing, uncle Grish."
"The Human dropped his basket."
"Yeah, he was just clumsy, that's all."
Marish's younger friends all claim honestly, which makes Hero cry only harder. He cannot find the space to say any words, because what they claim is kind of true, even if it wasn't completely his fault. He now lost one of the four baskets!
"Is that what happened, Hero?" Older villager asks gruffly and Hero feels his calloused hand gently grasp his shoulder as the villager leans closer to him. That encourages Hero just enough to calm down a little.
"Y-yeah… We… I was making a trade… And then chicken… bad… And…"
"You were making him a bad trade?" Older villager looks with disapproval at the group. Marish sighs, giving his cousin Kish an annoyed look.
"No. I was showing him what to look for in a bad trade. And he accidentally knocked into Kish here and dropped his basket."
"I see…"
"Hey, Hero. I'll make you a discount on your trade, okay? Same amount of chicken, just for three baskets. All right?" Marish offers reluctantly. "Twelve pieces of chicken and six chops for three baskets of berries. That's more than fair."
"Hmmm… Not a bad deal. Let me see them."
Again, the small table with trays appears, this time with no bad chicken piece for comparison. Through blurry eyes, still sniffling, Hero watches the older villager do exactly as Marish had said earlier and inspect the chicken pieces and smell them. Then, he nods to Hero in approval.
"Good pieces. You can trade now if you want, Hero."
Hero hesitates, but then shakes his head. "No, thank you. I will… go trade in the Market now. I need to get bread and milk."
"Ugh… Why didn't you say so right away?" Marish rolls his eyes irritably and his table once again disappears.
Hero looks regretfully at the spilled berries under his feet, and then begins to gather those of them that are still good. He can just wash them later, since none had been smooshed.
"You should help him, children." Grisham scolds after a moment.
With frustrated looks, the children move to help, keeping their comments to themselves while the older villager is nearby.
"What's going on here?" Narid the butcher's irritated voice startles everyone, most of all Kish and Marish, both of whom gasp, their eyes widening.
"N-nothing…" Kish mutters.
"Stop! Right now! Get away from that Human." The other grown up villager says sternly. "How many times do I have to tell you to not mess around with him! You didn't hear me? Huh?" He hit the back of the little villager's head, making him stumble and huff.
Hero's eyes widened, alarmed, while old Grisham frowned at the scene.
"Don't punish him for something I told them to do. I told them to help him." Old villager says in a clipped voice. Narid huffs.
"You told them? You had no right my child what to do! Especially after I said that he cannot talk to that dirty Human."
"First of all, I'm older than you. And second, he is clean enough."
"He smells like a dirty pig that's been rolling in the mud. And I don't care how old you are, you old nitwit!" Narid yells. Grisham's jaw falls open in disbelief.
"This is… This is outrageous! Such blatant disrespect to your elders, child."
"Don't child me! I'm no child of yours, you old toad!"
"Scrawny field mouse!"
"Wrinkled rotten pumpkin!"
Smirking once more, the younger villagers listen to the exchange as more grown-up villagers begin to join them from the market, attracted by the noise. Startled, Hero pauses in gathering his berries, while his white eyes flick from one villager to another as they huff at each other, sticking out their chests like fighting roosters.
Marish sadly looks at the scene too, though he also smirks, amused. Noticing Hero staring, he steps closer to him and quickly picks up the berries, which he throws into his basket, now partially refilled.
"Listen… You should go now and do your trading in the market, or the whole village will soon be here to watch those two." He told Hero with a slight smirk, almost as if Hero was another villager, even extending his hand to him to help him up.
Hero blinks at him and then nods, hesitantly taking his hand. The older child pulls him to his feet.
"Go on. Go."
Encouraged, Hero quietly backs away and sneaks between the approaching villagers as he makes a wide circle around the center of attention in the growing group. As he walks away to the Market, he still hears their voices arguing behind him with gusto, trying to outdo each other.
"Slime bucket!"
"Maggot breath!"
Wincing at the terms, he silently made his way to the stall of friendly farmer Samnil to get milk. The heavy set villager was curiously craning his neck in direction of the word fight as Hero approached his stall, and took a moment to notice him.
"Uncle Samnil? It's Hero. Will you trade with me?"
"Of course, of course. Lets trade."
…
Hero traded for milk and bread and brought it all home to his uncle.
"Good job." The villager smiled, stepping away from the stove, the smell of freshly baked potatoes wafting through the house. "Go and wash up. I'll send one of your brothers to call you for dinner in a bit."
"Why do you keep saying that? He isn't our brother, because he isn't a Villager." Margol grumbled, standing in the doors with Tnul peeking behind him.
Their uncle sighed. "Your Atta accepted him as a blessing, therefore he is your brother. Now, don't argue, go and wash up for dinner."
Frowning, Margol huffed and disappeared behind the door. Hero followed him with a sad, lost look.
"Hey. Don't let it bother you. It's just Margol being his grumpy self." Rangil told the child's retreating back and Hero glanced back at him, before following the other two Villagers out of the house to the back, shielded from view by a tight fence. Several large buckets of sun-warmed water stood there, prepared by their uncle for them to use.
Margol and Tnul were already soaping their hands and faces with a soapy weed. Dismissing his clothing, Hero climbed fully into one of the buckets and began doing the same, wincing as the soapy weed made his eyes sting a bit. He doesn't mind it too much, though, already used to it. He rubbed the foam next into his hair, trying to scrub himself spotlessly clean so no one at home will complain that he smells again.
"Hero?..." Tnul's voice came uncertain, and Hero squinted at the young villager, blinking off the soap.
"Yeah?"
"Did you have… any more dreams about atta?" Tnul asked hopefully.
Hero regretfully shook his head, feeling genuinely sorry.
But he had only four dreams in the last six months since he had seen their atta step through that portal. He had been to the same abandoned human village, and saw the garden that their atta planted there grow up wild, fruits hanging ripened from the branches and the heavy yellow wheat stalks swaying in the breeze, forgotten. The portal wouldn't activate at his touch anymore, though, no matter how many times he tried to touch it and will it to come alive again.
And trying too much made him wake up with a terrible headache, so tired that he could not do anything for the whole day.
"I saw that broken place again…" Hero told the little villager quietly. "But no one was there…"
"That's because it was just a dream! Our atta is gone! And he is not coming back… Not for years! If he even remembers us." The little villager pouted, before throwing Hero a resentful look and walking away. "Anyway, lets go wait for dinner. Hero, hurry up." He irritably threw the words over his shoulder.
Stopping, he huffed and stepped back to grasp reluctant Tnul's hand, pulling him along by his hand. The younger villager followed his older brother, although his lips turned upside down.
Hero frowned at this, but didn't say anything. He, himself, was not sure if his dreams were real or not. There is no way he could check it.
Picking up a big, fluffy cloth, he quickly toweled himself dry, put on a new set of his favorite trousers and soft, teal shirt, and hurried around the house to the front door.
He could again smell the delicious smell of freshly prepared dinner and quickened his step, hearing his own stomach make a small growling noise. The familiar warmth and scents of home greeted him as soon as he walked through the door.
He paused briefly, unwillingly glancing at the small room that's across from the place that used to be his, but now has been given to Tnul. Grandpa Grake's rocking chair had been moved from its spot.
Hero frowned, searching around the hall with his eyes until he found it by uncle Rangil's room, several blankets stacked on it.
He looked at it for a moment, not sure how he felt about that. Finally, he simply looked away, accepting things as they are without judging. Instead, he looks at the dinner table and sees his own chair already waiting for him – the chair that Grandpa Grake and atta Beor made for him when he was little. Even after he was kicked out of the house to sleep in the barn, the chair remained where it had always been.
His plate, heaped with a generous double portion, was also there.
Perking up, Hero eagerly climbed up on his seat and waited. Just then, uncle Rangil placed two baskets of freshly warmed up bread rolls on the table. Two bowls of melted butter followed.
All three children followed uncle Rangil's movements with eager eyes, patiently waiting for him to set everything up. Glancing at them all, the older villager faintly smiled and bent to the oven to open it. With mitts on his hands, he produced a berry pie. His eyes turned to Hero with a kind and pleased expression.
"Say thank you to Hero. He gathered so much today and yesterday."
Hero could not help a big smile from appearing on his face. Tnul grinned as well, his eyes held on the pie.
"Thank you, Hero!" He readily said.
Margol delayed, then huffed. "Thanks, Herobrine." He grudgingly acknowledged Hero's effort with a slightly mocking nickname that the younger villagers had recently made up for him.
Uncle Rangil looked at Margol with disapproval, but Hero only continued to grin. He was so grateful to uncle Rangil for this moment! It made his whole day seem good to get praised like this by those he valued most.
A warm, good feeling settled within him and he contently waited for permission to eat, his white eyes held on the food.
Finally, uncle Rangil say down in his own wooden chair with little flowers cut into the edges, and smiled at them all.
"Thank you to all of you, children. You have been working so hard to make this meal possible. And thanks be to our Creators, who made us and who made it possible for us to enjoy everything good that they brought into the worlds for us…"
Glancing at the waiting children, Rangil nodded. "You can eat now."
Margol immediately reached for the bowl of bread and butter, sliding it closer to himself so fast that he spilled a little butter on the table. Not minding uncle Rangil's reproaching look, he began dipping his bread rolls into the butter and wolfing them down, before switching his attention to his main plate.
Hero no longer paid attention to anything but his own plate, though.
It was so, so good!
At this moment, he was simply grateful for everything that he had and for the people he was with – his family…
…
After dinner, back in his tiny, but cozy house, his belly satisfyingly full, he smiled as he cuddled in his bed. Drawing the soft blanket all the way to his nose, his white eyes slowly drifted closed as sluggish thoughts went through his head.
He glanced at the weakness potion he is supposed to drink before going to sleep and winced. Uncle Rangil and Grandpa Grake told him before that he had to drink it to keep his fire from appearing and from having nightmares. But… he hasn't been using it in a while.
The nightmares… weren't real, after all. They were just stories his mind made up because of all the stories that appa Grake used to read to him when he was little, about monsters, Humans, and their adventures. That's why he was dreaming about all those strange places and things sometimes – dreams where he was a grown up and very strong. He could do so many things in his dreams, too. Things he would try to do after he would wake up and fail to his frustration. But that only proved that his nightmares were not real, which was good, because some of them were quite scary sometimes.
He wished that he could see atta Beor again, though. He had been remembering more and more of him lately, helping appa Grake. Mostly, he remembered his large, calloused hands lifting him up and carrying him.
He had been so little when he disappeared…
"Please, let him be alright." Hero whispered sleepily, earnestly, although he is not sure who he is talking to. Maybe those creators that many villagers believe made them and their whole worlds?
"And please, take care of Appa Grake, wherever he is right now." Hero adds next, wondering to himself when the world would finally send Grandpa Grake back to them.
He worried quite a bit on how they will recognize him when he would appear, just a small baby. Uncle Rangil wouldn't be able to accept any more children, because he was taking care of all three of them already. Which meant that someone else would end up adopting little grandpa Grake. And it would be another several years before he began to remember anything from his previous life at all.
Would he even remember him, Hero? He wasn't a villager, but appa Grake loved him and he loved him back. And all the Villager beliefs said that all Villagers returned to those whom they loved and who loved them back.
Hero sighed, turning in his bed to his side.
He would have to be very, very patient and wait for a long, long time.
"Please help Grandpa Grake come back to us soon and to remember me and everyone else as quickly as he can." Hero sleepily pled, his white eyes already closing.
"And… don't give me any nightmares. They are scary sometimes." He murmurs, before dowsing off.
His small chest rose and fell with a gentle rhythm, his form small and still in the cozy light of the small fireplace in the corner of his living space.
The untouched bottle of weakness potion remained forgotten on the table…