Shaded Breeze

After the less-than-ideal encounter with the chief, we managed to settle in with the village surprisingly well. We treated the villagers with a base level of respect, which I would have thought was less than the bare minimum, but they seemed surprised and pleased by our courtesy. In return, they welcomed our presence, especially after Estelar used his magic abilities to make the soil more fertile.

I was learning more about how this world worked, and in this rural place, I began to figure out more about their farming practices. My world (which I still thought of as the “real world” despite the harsh reality of this one) had had a few agricultural revolutions over the centuries, with technology growing in bursts to improve crop yields and combat the problems inherent to over-farming. Unlike back home, though, this place seemed to have addressed many of those same issues by applying magic. In place of crop rotations and fertilizers, the magic users of this world researched charms and potions to keep the soil rich in nutrients. When more technology had begun to emerge here, it hadn’t taken the place of magic; instead, magical machines able to replicate the effects of the magicians became prominent in every village.

This village had an old and mostly broken version of such a device which they hadn’t bothered to use in a while, and which was now being repaired and “heavily upgraded” by Pira. Each time I looked in her direction, she was wielding a wrench against the rusty beast and wiping greasy hands on her coveralls, prattling away about the finer mechanics to a small group of fascinated children who sat cross legged on the ground beside her.

Andra made herself busy by gathering herbs and advising the younger, able-bodied villagers on hunting tricks and safety measures. At one point, I spotted her standing amid a group of young adults as she taught them a new way to affix arrowheads to shafts, and I spotted a slight smile on her face each time one of her students got it right.

The goodwill we received from most of the villagers in return for these simple bits of assistance felt almost embarrassingly excessive. We were plied with fresh food, blankets, the best lodgings available, and regular murmurs of thanks. Many of the older folks were still wary of us, the horrors of the previous hero generation still fresh in their minds, but even some of them were coming around slowly.

While the rest of my party members were in their elements, working to improve the village, I didn’t have much to do. Aside from offering a hand to a few people who asked for help with something or grabbing a needed item for my party members, I mostly just sat in the shade and watched the ebb and flow of village life unfolding before me. Ladren stopped by every so often to check on me, and she seemed to be uniquely adept at managing the everyday workings of the community. Everyone seemed to like her. I wondered what people thought of her father.

“Give me a good reason to trust you.” A familiar voice demanded from behind me as if summoned by my thoughts.

“Hello chief.” I began, turning towards him. He was standing, arms still crossed, towering above where I reclined on the ground. I didn’t give any indication that I felt intimidated; instead, I pondered his request. Finally, I settled on saying, “In my world, trust is something earned.”

I refused to break eye contact with him as I let my words hang in the air. He stared back at me without speaking. I wondered briefly if I’d crossed a line and been less than tactful in my response, but I banished the thought. The chief’s earlier behavior, his fake welcome that quickly became unwelcoming, had rubbed me the wrong way, and I was not inclined to make nice.

He seemed to be waiting for me to say more, so I elaborated. “You’ve seen what we can do to help your village. If what we have done thus far isn’t enough to at least start us on the path to earn your trust, then I’m not sure what else to do.”

“Hmph.” His reply was more of a grunt.

I felt a prickle of irritation. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that most of the village welcomes us. These are people that trust you, and that you trust, correct? Have you considered following their lead?”

He blinked, clearly surprised. Then he offered a begrudging nod.

“You’re a feisty youngster, aren’t you?” he sighed as he sat beside me in the shade. For a long moment, neither of us spoke, choosing instead to observe the peace around us.

The silence didn’t last forever. Eventually, the chief shifted his weight slightly, clearing his throat. I turned my gaze in his direction.

“I’m not sure I can ever trust a proxy, or any of this royal succession business,” he said. “From what I heard, and honestly from what I experienced myself, most of those people, the ones running things, they don’t see us here as people. We’re pieces in a game to be used for their ends. Dying would have been a mercy in some cases.”

“So do the other proxies deserve to die, then?” I asked without thinking, something in my guilty conscience pushing the words out. He glanced askance at me, eyebrow raised, so I hurried to clarify. “The ones who don’t win, they die, you know.”

The chief looked at me for a long minute, then shook his head as he looked down.

“Some, maybe. Not all of them.” He spoke slowly, deep in thought. “Just as our lives are more complex than they give us credit for, so are theirs. And all life is precious.”

I felt a dull ache in my chest at his words. When he’d first mentioned how other proxies had operated in previous competitions, I had begun to feel a bit justified in my clandestine actions. A part of my brain had grabbed onto the horror stories of the past for dear life, and I’d nearly convinced myself that assassinating other proxies was sort of like helping people like the chief. After all, if the other proxies were capable of using villagers as cannon fodder to rack up their own point totals, I was doing the world a service by getting rid of them, wasn’t I?

That justification now slipped away from me. All life was precious, he said. And not all proxies were bad. I was back to being a murderer.

I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the feel of the gentle breeze against my skin, the sound of the leaves rustling in the trees above, anything but the thoughts roiling through my mind. But my beating heart overtook everything I tried to think about.

“You got anyone back home?” The chief asked suddenly. “You know, like, back in your own world. You have a family?”

Just like that, the ache in my chest dissipated. My heart slowed, and the overwhelmed feeling that had been washing over me receded. I pictured my wife’s face.

“Yeah, I do.”