Episode 03 - Ch 12: No

Aelric's mouth dropped open. "The Tainted?"

He had heard the term before. It meant someone who was demon-touched. A person who knowingly consorted with demons and the devil himself. A dark sorcerer.

Sharp turned to him, a look of regret in his eyes. "I shouldn't have told you that. Don't speak of this to anyone else, Aelric. We cannot let her know that we are wary of her. She is indeed an Ascendant like you claim, and the best we can hope for is that she passes through our village quietly without trouble. No one can be allowed to confront her. I will speak to the other elders…" Sharp let out a harsh hiss of realization. "If she is not a fool, she will have kept an eye on you and has likely seen us together. I cannot speak to any of them at the feast otherwise it would rouse her suspicions. No… it will have to happen afterward."

"What should I do?"

"Nothing. In fact, I am going to shout loudly at you now, and you are to turn around and act as if you have been admonished."

"For what?"

"I don't know, asking me something stupid, I suppose. Boyhood relationship advice?" There was a look in Elder Sharp's eye that suggested he knew something about his and Feyna's break.

"How do you—"

"Get out of here with that! I have no time for love-sick fools like you!"

Aelric blinked, surprised by Sharp's sudden vitriol.

"Scram!" Sharp barked, and he started hitting Aelric with his stick when he did not move fast enough.

Aelric leaped up and out of Sharp's strike range, rubbing his shoulder where the cane had landed. He stared back at the old man in disarray, but moved away as he'd been told, back toward the crowds. Others were looking in his direction now, drawn by the commotion, some laughing.

Then he saw her in the midst of the square. She had turned just at the moment, she had been smiling, and their eyes met. She looked beautiful, wearing a white linen dress and matching white flowers braided into her bright red hair.

Her expression changed instantly and she looked away. She did not want to see him. Did not want to speak to him. She left her position, heading deeper into the crowds, and he lost sight of her.

He wanted to chase after her, to demand that she speak with him. But he knew it was pointless. Nothing had changed about his situation. His father's plan at the market had failed. There was nothing he could offer her. And how could he blame her? Who would want to be part of the suffering that his family experienced?

A voice broke through his thoughts.

"What did you do to old Sharp? He's far too old for you, Aelric."

Aelric turned to see Yorge swaggering toward him and his heart dropped. The boy was a year younger, but nearly tall as Aelric and much wider. Aelric's physique was nearly all muscle due to his family's situation. For the same reason, Yorge's frame was heavy with fat.

"What do you want, Yorge?" Aelric said.

"Who do you think you are, taking that tone with me?" Yorge said.

And he was right, Aelric realized. He never spoke with such casual impatience. Usually he was timid, or at best, bristling with contained anger.

Yorge got right up into Aelric's face. He could smell the waft of cider on the boy's breath. "I don't even know why you're allowed to attend the festival. You eat plenty but donate a trifle. This village has no room for beggars."

Aelric felt the old heat then. "We don't beg. And we brought more than what we take."

Yorge’s smirked then, getting what he wanted from Aelric. “Right, right. I suppose crumbs are better than nothing.”

Aelric knew Yorge was itching for a fight. And he knew how it would end. Yorge would take him on physically, and if he lost the uperhand, then he would use his arcana. It would matter that Aelric lost or who started the fight, it would only bring shame on Aelric’s family. As his grandfather once said, When trouble finds the poor, everyone believes it is deserved.

But Aelric found his fingers tightening into fists all the same. He was waiting for Yorge to say something about his parents next. He always did, and Aelric would not accept that.

“Back off, Yorge,” said a new voice.

Aelric turned to see Brint standing nearby, filling his mug from a pitcher at the cider table. Brint’s usually cocky demeanor was replaced with something softer. He didn’t look at Aelric, but the command in his voice was clear.

Yorge frowned, clearly annoyed at being interrupted. He also looked confused and off balance. Usually Brint was the one who was taunting Aelric. “What’s it to you, Brint?”

Brint shrugged and took a long loud sip from his mug that Yorge had to wait for. Then he let out a loud satisfied sigh and said, "It's a feast and you're pulling down my spirits."

Yorge pointed at Aelric. "He's the one pulling down everyone's spirits. It's like you said before, Brint. Just looking at him makes me feel bad about my village."

"Then why don’t you leave? We don't want you feeling bad, do we?"

"What?" Yorge said, obviously confused. "No… I'm not the one…" Looking befuddled and afraid to be the new target of Brint's torment, he shook his head and walked away.

Aelric stood in disbelief as he turned to Brint. "Why did you do that?"

Brint shrugged again. "Just felt like it."

"You just felt like it?"

"Yeah," Brint said. "It's the harvest festival and he was being an ass."

"You're always an ass to me. Do you remember what you said to me last harvest festival?"

Brint grinned. "Yeah, that's true. But that stuff doesn't matter anymore. Guess I've got bigger things on my mind."

Aelric almost laughed at that. Brint was the son of the wealthiest hunter in the village—he never had to worry about anything. But he bit back his retort, not wanting to provoke him.

"You take care of yourself, Aelric," Brint said with a raise of his mug. “Here’s to hoping you grow out of being a cry baby.”

There was the barb that Aelric had been waiting for. But that had been all of it. Without waiting for a reply, Brint walked away, leaving Aelric alone beside the cider table. Where was the follow up? Yorge’s taunts were nothing compared to Brint’s. But the boy disappeared into the crowd, and Aelric wondered what could possibly be weighing on Brint so heavily that it would make him abandon his usual tormenting ways.

Then he caught sight of the Ascendant again. She was speaking with Chief Clarity now at the elder’s table. Again he wondered what she was doing here. But his eyes did not linger long, remembering what Sharp had said, and he headed back toward the benches to find his parents.

✣ ✣ ✣

Aelric settled onto the wooden bench not far from his parents, feeling the warmth of the harvest festival crowd around him. His father was deep in conversation with Charl, another struggling farmer from their part of the village. Despite both their plights, they spoke of light topics with smiles on their faces.

Nearby, Aelric's mother conversed with a small group of village women. He noticed Feyna's mother among them, her back turned to him. The women laughed softly, their voices rising and falling with the rhythm of the festival.

Someone put a plate of honey cakes in front of him. It was Nymet, an old widower who had lost her husband several years ago to an infection from an oxen accident. Fortunately, her many children and their families helped keep her farm in good shape.

"Have some cake, Aelric," Nymet said cheerfully.

Aelric smiled politely, though he had already eaten more than he intended to.

"Thank you Matron Nymet, but I'm already far too stuffed."

Nymet smiled knowingly at him and did not move her plate. She waited.

"Ah.. yes, I suppose I will, thank you," he said, taking a piece. He knew that she loved to hear compliments on her deserts, and usually they were quite good.

He took a bite of the small piece he'd taken. "How are your child—Bright Heleric, this is amazing!” Aelric looked down at the golden half-bitten cake in his hand. “It's light and fluffy, with just the right amount of sweetness."

"Good boy," Nymet beamed.

Aelric finished the rest and swallowed and licked the crumbs off of his thumb. "My mother would love to have your recipe."

"Who wouldn't?" Nymet cackled. "I have perfected it this year."

Aelric reached for another bite. "Perhaps I could try—"

With an uncanny swiftness, Nymet spun the plate away and was already off to find another victim.

Aelric watched her go and shook his head, chuckling to himself. Everyone would be at Nymet’s door the next day for the recipe.

As the afternoon wore on, Aelric watched the subtle shift in his fellow villagers. The initial tension of a weak season seemed to melt away. Farmers who had been frustrated by poor rains now clinked mugs and shared stories. Children chased each other between the adults, their excitement infectious. Conversations grew louder, punctuated by bursts of laughter.

Aelric watched the growing spirits of the village square, feeling both part of and separate from the celebration. His gaze darted again to the Ascendant. What was she plotting?

A pair of small hands closed over his eyes. "Don't move, Aelric, son of Aelryn. I am a demon and I have taken your sight. Answer me this riddle correctly and I shall return your eyes to you. Answer me wrong, and be lost to darkness for eternity."

Aelric grinned beneath his cupped eyes. "I fear no darkness. State your riddle, demon."

"I love to dance without feet,

I'm always ready to eat.

Men shy away from my touch,

Demons don't like me very much.

What am I?"

"What kind of demon would ask such a riddle?"

"Ha! Surrendered already have you?" said the demon.

"Fire!" Aelric exclaimed and grabbed the little girl from behind, carrying her onto his back, spinning her around, as she screeched with joy.

"Aelric!" she chirped, as he set her down. Her bright green eyes were bright with mischief and her hair was striking red hair just like her older sister’s. But then something shifted in her expression, becoming strangely serious for a seven-year-old's face.

"Sis said you won't be coming around anymore," Feyla said, sadly.

Aelric felt the familiar ache in his chest. "Did she?" he said, not knowing how to reply. "Well… I'll still come by to see you."

Feyla nodded as if that had always been a certainty. Then she shot her gaze up at him, her small fists tightend at her sides. "Can't you do something? She won't listen to me. I don't know why she won't let you come around anymore. She just says it's not your fault but won't tell me why. And now she talks about something else when I ask her about it."

Aelric couldn't help but smile. "I'll think of something to change her mind."

Feyla considered this, then nodded. "Promise?"

"Promise," Aelric confirmed.

"Okay, I'm going to go tell her."

"No, wait!"

But Feyla had already flashed him a grin and darted off into the festival crowd to find Feyna, her small form weaving between the legs of celebrating villagers.

Aelric sighed and wondered how Feyna would reply. He wanted to follow after her to see the interaction, but Chief Clarity had stepped to the center of the square again, her hands clasped together. At the sight of her form, the villagers began to quiet. Then when she raised her hands, the last murmurs fell away.

“Good evening, friends!” Clarity’s voice carried easily over the square. “Tonight, we celebrate another harvest, and beyond that, we celebrate our community—our strength, our unity, and the future we continue to build together.”

A cheer erupted from the crowd, and Aelric found himself clapping along.

Chief Clarity continued, his voice warm and steady. “First, let us congratulate young Mirla, who has been accepted as an apprentice with a potter in Greytown.”

Applause filled the square. The people around Mirla parted so that she could be seen by everyone else. The young woman blushed and gave a small curtsy. Aelric smiled; she had always been good with her hands, crafting intricate figurines from clay or weaving delicate patterns into cloth.

Chief Clarity’s voice rang out again, drawing Aelric’s attention back to the platform.

“Next, let us give recognition to our friend Renas!” The crowd whooped at this one, some people shouting Renas' name. The burly farmer who stood at the edge of the square, with a wide grin on his face.

Clarity continued, “Renas has recently earned a badge of merit from the Legionnaire for courageously bringing down the wolf that had been terrorizing our lands."

The villagers laughed at Chief Clarity's choice of words. Everyone knew the story. Renas was no hunter nor fighter, he was just a regular farmer like most of Village Aldin. He’d gone out one morning like he always did in late summer to gather firewood for his family. He possessed a tree downing spell, and after one of those trees had fallen, he found a dead wolf lain below it. To everyone's amazement, this wolf had the markings of one that Legionaire Kallow had been hunting for seven seasons. The wolf had killed a dozen livestock across Legionnaire Kallow’s lands. But that was Renas, he was always lucky.

“And now,” Clarity said, his tone shifting, “I have an announcement that marks a turning point in our village’s history.”

The crowd hushed.

Chief Clarity’s gaze swept across the gathered villagers before settling on someone near the front. “Brint, step forward.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd as Brint emerged.

Clarity placed a firm hand on Brint’s shoulder. “Brint has been chosen to study beneath the tutelage of an arcanist!"

Shock spread through the crowd. Earthborn did not study magic. It was unheard of. Even Sealed were rarely granted such an opportunity. There was no greater honor.

Aelric knew then that this was what the Ascendant woman had come for. She had come to find a pupil and that pupil was Brint. Was this what Brint meant by he had bigger things on his mind?

"He will study for five years. And when his tutelage is complete, he will return to the village as our new Chieftain!"

Aelric had heard this, and so had the rest of the villagers, for soon they were chanting "Chief in Wait! Chief in Wait!"

Chief Clarity muttered a few words to Brint who nodded. Aelric watched in stunned silence as Chief Clarity stepped back, yielding the platform to Brint. The murmur of the gathered villagers faded into an expectant hush. Brint hesitated for only a moment, then took a deep breath, his expression shifting from surprise to steady determination.

“Thank you, Chief Clarity,” Brint began, his voice clear and firm. “And thank you, all of you, for your trust and support.”

Aelric clenched his jaw, forcing himself to remain still as Brint continued.

“I am honored,” Brint said, letting his gaze sweep across the square. “I know I have tall boots to fill, but I intend to leave an even greater legacy when I am done.”

Aelric wanted to roll his eyes at Brint’s words, but he found none of the other villagers reacting to Brint’s arrogance. Then he remembered that in their eyes, he was someone different. A leader amongst his generation and possessed of a powerful arcumen.

“We will face hardships, as we always have. Bad weather and poor harvests—these will come.” Brint squared his shoulders. “But together, we will endure. With the knowledge gained from my studies, I will build Village Aldin a better and greater future that can withstand any hardship!”

There was a wave of applause and murmurs of approval. Some even cheered. Aelric remained silent and he noticed the Ascendant again standing in the back of the crowd. Her hood was pulled low, masking her eyes in its darkness, but he could see that her lips were pressed together in a small frown.

“I owe much of myself to my father,” Brint continued, turning toward the front of the crowd. His father, standing tall among the villagers, returned his gaze with quiet pride. “He taught me the means to provide for myself and for others. To face the predators of the forest and to nurture the lands. Today marks the seventeeth year of my birth. I shall join the hunters in the Harvest Hunt tonight, and I shall return to you, Village Aldin, a man that is ready to lead.”

Another wave of applause followed, and Aelric heard whoops from the men and cheers from the women. Something in his heart felt heavy then, and he knew it to be envy. But he was not prepared for what would come next.

Brint inhaled deeply. “There is one more thing I wish to share tonight,” he announced, his tone softening.

The square fell into absolute silence. Aelric felt a strange sense of foreboding, the hairs on his arms rising.

Brint’s gaze settled on someone in the crowd. Aelric followed it, his pulse hammering.

Feyna.

She stood among her friends, her expression open but uncertain. As Brint called her name, the villagers turned to her, parting the space between them.

Aelric stopped breathing.

Brint stepped down from the platform and moved toward Feyna. His every step deliberate, his expression unreadable save for the intensity in his eyes.

“Feyna,” he said, his voice quieter but no less powerful. “We have known each other since we were children. Through every season, you have been by my side.”

Feyna’s breath caught. Aelric saw it—saw the flicker of hesitation in her eyes as she glanced, just for a second, in his direction.

Brint continued, his voice warm with admiration. “You are kind, strong, and unwavering. There is no one I would rather have beside me on this journey.”

The realization rippled through the crowd in waves. A hush of anticipation.

Brint dropped to his knees and bowed before her, his head touching the ground once as tradition dictated before rising and holding out his hands.

“Feyna,” Brint said, holding her gaze, “will you bring me the joy and honor of becoming my wife?”

The world slowed. A pause before Feyna’s lips parted to reply. The gathered villagers collectively held their breath.

Aelric fought to move, to breathe, to speak—but he could do nothing as he waited the eternity of that moment.

Feyna turned her gaze once more—this time meeting Aelric’s. A silent moment stretched between them, heavy with meaning.

Then, softly but clearly, she spoke.

“I will.”

The word rang through Aelric’s skull like the striking of a mallet.

Brint took Feyna’s hand and lifted it high, sealing the moment in the eyes of the village.

Clapping hands, arms raised high, feet jumping with excitement. Laughter. Celebration.

Someone was shouting at the top of his lungs. Aelric found it was himself, standing on the bench before him.

"NOOOOOO!"

All heads turned to him. Hands over mouths. Eyes wide with alarm. Brint glaring at him with anger. Feyna shaking her head at him, her features pleading.

But he spoke the words before he even knew what he was saying. From somewhere deep within, they sprang out of him.

"Brint, son of Brant, I challenge you to a duel!"