Chapter 8: The Exodus

Nights in the village were usually steeped in quiet darkness. With no lamps, no candles to spare, and only the cold glow of the moon and stars stood watch. The world sank into a still, hushed serenity once the sun slipped behind the mountains. The silence was so deep that even the croak of a lone frog or the cry of a night bird seemed loud enough to echo through every hut.

But tonight, that familiar stillness was broken. The village blazed with torchlight, their sparks flew up into the night air like fragments of a funeral pyre. The village blazed with torchlight, their sparks spiraling into the night sky like fragments of a funeral pyre.

The silence was gone, replaced with a restless clamor, hurried footsteps, shouted calls, and the anxious clatter of hushed muttering of people who just went through the motions..

Something was happening, something big enough to wake even the dead corners of the village.

“Mother! The village chief calls everyone in the village to gather at the village square,” Aina’s eldest son panted as he burst through the door.

“At this hour?” Aina frowned. A meeting so soon after the army’s departure? That could only mean trouble.

“I don’t know what it’s about. But it sounds important.”

“Alright. Irek, Varn and Rhi, let’s go. Tal and Vi will stay home.”

“I want to go too!” Vila whined

“No,” Aina snapped, sharper than she intended. “There will be too many people. If you fall, you’ll be trampled by hundreds of people before anyone even notices,” she added, trying her best to scare the little girl into staying home.

Vila’s face went pale as she imagined being trampled by hundreds of people. She didn’t know how many hundreds of people would be like, but she knew it was more than twenty. Twenty was the biggest number she could count. Getting trampled by twenty people was already scary enough for her, what would it be like if it was more than that? Quietly, she slumped onto the stool by the table, sweat prickling her brow.

“Good girl,” Aina said aloud and patted her daughter’s head.

The square, when they arrived, was ablaze with torchlight, hundreds of them, their flames turning the night into a trembling sea of gold. Faces glowed in the firelight, etched with confusion and uncertainty. Not a single one looked at her. Even her presence, usually enough to draw mutters and side glances went unnoticed in the oppressive weight of the moment.

The village chief’s son dragged out a table, setting it before the gates. The chief climbed onto it, his cane in hand, and surveyed the crowd. But the torches blinded him as much as they revealed. As a result, he could see only flickering silhouettes and featureless faces. Clearing his throat, he raised his voice, forcing the restless noise to fall still.

“My fellow villagers,” he began, “I have gathered you all tonight to speak of our food supplies. Thanks to the warstriders, the beast is dead. The mountains are safe again for foraging.”

The words were met not with relief, but with bitter laughter.

“Forage? There’s nothing left!” someone shouted.

“I went today. It is all bare dirt and fallen trees!” another cried.

“A waste of time! Even before the beast came, there was nothing to take!”

More villages chimed in with their experiences. Their voices rose together, a chorus of despair. The mountains were already stripped clean, even before the beast came. That there was nothing to forage in the mountains. And when the army came, it was scarred further by their fierce battle. Nothing worth foraging had remained..

The chief slammed his cane on the table. making his son look at him in worry of him poking a hole in the old table.“Enough! I know this. That is why I am proposing another way. We shall send ox carts to the county town to buy food.”

“What if they too are suffering a famine?”

“Unlike us, they are not a farming community. Their supplies came from being a trading hub for the entire province. They would be getting their grain shipments from far-off towns and cities. They shouldn’t be affected much by the drought.”

But the village chief’s words rang hollow, drowned by mutters of doubt.

“What’s the point? With what coin do we buy it?”

The village chief spoke with a softer tone this time, as he understood the villager’s troubles. “I understand what you’re saying. But let us think of another way, maybe-”

“Village chief! Village chief!” A young boy of about 10 years of age called from outside the crowd.

“What is it!” The village chief replied, annoyed.

“The well! The well is dry!”

A stunned silence fell before the crowd surged as one, racing to see if it was true. At the last well, the only one left after years of drought, they peered into the stone mouth and found only bare rocks in the darkness. At the bottom, a few shallow puddles gleamed, no more than a handful of buckets. Barely enough for a few families, nowhere near enough for two hundred souls.

Even back when there were three wells, it took all three wells to support the entire population. After the two wells ran dry, the last well had to be rationed. Each family could only take one bucket a day per head. That left none for the farms. As a result, the crops were thin and very likely to fail.

The implication of the loss of their last well suddenly dawned on them. Panic rolled like thunder through the crowd. In the time it took for one to breathe, the sentiment had spread through everyone present.

“Village chief! The well is dry! Forget food, we will die of thirst long before we run out of food!”

“What will we do?”

“What do we drink?!”

“Village chief!”

“Village chief!”

“Enough!” The chief struck his cane again, his voice trembling now. “We… we have no choice. We must leave the village!”

The words were like an axe to the heart. Leave? Their homes, their fields, the graves of their ancestors? The villagers wailed, refusing to leave the lands they had worked hard on for generations. To leave the fields they had worked hard on, just a month before harvest?

But the village chief’s voice cut in, raw with desperation: “Would you rather stay and die?”

Shouts and sobs tore through the gathering.

“Let’s go! The heavens have abandoned us! There is no future for us here!”

“Oh great ancestors, why have you forsaken us?”

Aina felt her chest tighten. To say that Aina wasn’t worried would be a lie. Having grown up in a place of abundance, she had plenty of clean and cheap water to drink anytime she wanted. Transmigrating here, she had learned the sharp edge of thirst, but it was still acceptable. After all, the land was in the north and the day wasn’t as hot as where she was in the old world.

But when the only well ceased to provide its bounties, things have truly turned from worse to worst! How could anyone survive without water? Clearly this place was no longer habitable.

“Those who agree to leave, raise your hands!” the chief commanded.

Hands went up like a field of shadows swaying in torchlight. Aina raised hers too, her heart heavy, offering a vote to leave the village. But the moment was shattered by a voice.

“Rinia Virell! YOU will not come with us!” the chief’s son shouted.

The village chief turned to his son and was about to argue before the crowd reacted. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Faces turned around, looking at the people standing next to them.

“Rinia Virell? Where? Where?”

“No! She’s standing next to me!”

“Go away! I’m going to be cursed!”

Within moments, the people near her recoiled, leaving Aina and her children standing alone in a ring of empty space. Fear and disgust radiated from the crowd. Aina knew that she died and people were probably afraid of that, but seeing them like this hurt her feelings slightly. Just a little bit.

“Rinia Virell, your family can’t come with us!” The village chief’s son repeated.

“What do you mean by that!” The eldest son demanded.

“You refused to donate food for the feast yesterday night. My father told me not to make a fuss about that. That’s fine, I won’t bother you about that.”

“They didn’t donate food?”

“That was an option?”

“But! You yourself said you ran out of food! If we let you join, are you going to smooch off all of us?”

“Smooched off again?”

“I already gave a lot of my own food for the rest-in-peace ritual last time. She’s going to take more?”

“I’m not donating more food. Ban her! No! Don’t curse me!”

The son smiled grimly, letting the mob condemn her. He had hoped that the villagers would speak their minds and was satisfied with the result. It seemed like the whole village was united against letting the Virell house join their exodus. This way, he was sure even his father, the village chief, couldn't intervene.

Aina bit down hard, grinding her teeth. She wanted to refute it, but to refute would mean admitting that she lied about not having supplies. But was that really her fault? She had so little grain, that she thought even what she had would run out in a week.

“Then it’s decided. Her family stays,” the son said coldly. “If she dares to follow, then don’t blame me for being rude!”

“Leave me behind too!” Came a voice from the crowd.

“Who said that?” the village chief’s son asked.

“That’s Old Jine!” the village chief said.

“I am old, my bones are weak and I won’t survive the long journey east. I’d rather spend the rest of my life here in the village I was born in and grew old in.”

“But if you stay, there will be no food, no water. You will die!” The village chief’s son felt a bit conflicted as he softened his tone.

“Little Trel, if we go on the journey, we still won’t survive. It’s a long walk. We will just die on the road. At least here, we will have a grave,” Old Jine’s wife explained.

“Don’t worry about us. This is where we were born, this is where we will die. Better to die here, where our graves will stand among our kin,” Old Jine said, the tone of his voice clear that he will not change his mind.

Silence suddenly enveloped the village. Faver Jine was the only son of Laiun Jine, the previous village chief. The Jine, together with the Amus which is the current village chief’s family as well as the Jumo were the first three families of the village. They were highly respected and considered the greatest families in the village. Despite being old and frail, his voice carried a heavy weight.

“We will also stay.” A voice broke the silence.

“Old Hunter Gen, why are you staying? Surely you aren’t wanting for food,” the village chief’s son asked.

“Ah, if it’s just about food, we won’t worry. But if it’s about going all the way to the west, I won’t make it.”

He pulled up the hem of his pants and showed them his left ankle. It was swollen from twisting his ankles running away from the beast last time. In time, it would heal, but tomorrow would certainly be too soon for that to happen.

“If it’s just walking a little, I can do it. But I can’t walk for such a long distance. Besides, my son lives in the county town. If I move, how will he find me?”

“Maybe you can sit in a cart and someone will pull it.”

“Who? My old lady? My grandson? Or any of you? No, you people go. We will make do.”

It wasn’t long before a few other families chose to stay. They either had old people who wouldn’t make the journey or, similar to the Virell family, they didn’t have provisions or money to buy more. As a result, they chose to stay and make do with the few drops of water in the last well.

In the end, eight families, including Virell, chose to stay behind. Though in the case of the Virell household, they had no choice. Had they insisted on going along, they might one day find a knife lodged in their backs in the middle of nowhere.

At this point, the village chief’s son shook his head. He said no more, getting down from the table and vanishing into the house. He had completely forgotten about his grudge with house Virell and started making a mental list to prepare for the exodus.

Now that his son was no longer meddling, the village chief was finally free to explain the details of the exodus to the rest of the village. Well, only to the ones going.

Rinia and her family, along with the others staying behind, quietly went back to their homes. For Aina, and for those who would not or could not leave, there was nothing more to plan. They walked back through the empty streets, their steps heavy. The future stretched before them like the dry mouth of the well. A hollow darkness, and nothing more.

As they walked, they pondered what tomorrow would hold for them.

Or if they had any tomorrow at all.