Chapter 21: The Sighting

With water no longer the desperate crisis it once was, Aina had turned her attention to the next problem gnawing at the villagers, food. The days of scraping by on dried scraps and scavenged rations were numbered. Now that the well could reliably provide clean water, the foundation of farming had returned. What they lacked was a plan.

At Old Man Jine’s insistence, the villagers gathered in the former chief’s mansion, which was the only structure in the village large enough to host them all at once. Men and women alike sat on the floor or sat slumped against the walls, their bodies still weak from hunger and malnutrition. Even so, the air carried a restless energy. The villagers wanted to work their land again, to plant, to eat something of their own making

But reality quickly doused the fire. Everyone wanted to revive their personal farms, yet with labor so scarce and strength in such short supply, the idea of scattering their efforts across dozens of half-dead plots was folly. One voice after another argued, but none had a solution that was half-way satisfying

For once, Aina was not a silent bystander. Though few would admit it aloud, the new well was already called Rinia’s Well, an unofficial name that functioned as a reminder that it was her strider that cracked through the bedrock and gave them water. Even those who disliked her could not deny that decisions about the well’s use needed her voice.

One man suggested digging irrigation ditches, like the great canals of the south, to carry water far across the valley. Nods rippled through the crowd until another man pointed out the obvious problem. While the well had water, it was still quite shallow. Even if all the water in the well was used for irrigation, there would be nothing left by the time water trickled out to the farthest fields

Then came a bolder idea by one of the teenage boys. He asked why not use the strider itself to dig more wells closer to the outlying farms? The murmur turned hopeful, but Aina cut it down sharply. “Fuel is limited. We do not have any way to way to replenish the strider’s fuel. Plus, there is no guarantee water will appear. You might end up with nothing but a cesspit.” Her blunt tone drew some glares, but she didn’t care. Better their resentment now than wasted days chasing dry soil

The arguments dragged on, the sun slipping lower, shadows stretching long across the ruined village square. As frustration mounted, Aina stood and made her own proposal, a radical proposal so foreign it was almost incomprehensible to them.

“Stop fighting over whose farm gets water. Until food and water are secure, there should be no private ownership of fields. We will work together, on the same land, side by side. Pool our strength, our tools, our seed. There are between twenty to twenty-five of us who can work. That means we can manage about twenty acres together. Twenty acres worked together will yield far more than thirty scattered plots half-abandoned.”

Her words fell like stones into still water. Shock rippled through the gathering. Aina called it community work, part of the ideals of socialism. The rest of the villagers had never heard of either terminology, and so they had no name for it at all. To them it sounded like tearing down the very walls that defined who they were.

The pushback was immediate. A few shouted that a man has the right to his own soil, that their fathers and grandfathers had bled for those fields. Others argued that without their personal farms, what guarantee did they have they would ever taste the fruit of their labor?

But other voices rose in her defense. They suggested that if they only work on the fields nearest to the well, they could build ditches short enough to water the farmlands properly. It would also conserve their own strength.

That, however, brought an entirely different storm. The land closest to the well belonged to only two families, the Jines and the Virells. While Old Man Jine was trusted by all, the same could not be said for Rinia Virell. Whispers rose like smoke, snaking between the villagers.

The question loomed, “When the harvest comes, what if she claims it all as hers? What if this is just another of her tricks?”

They could not say it aloud in her presence, but the suspicion hung thick in the air

Aina didn’t understand their hangups about the suggestion. To her, it made sense to pool their resources and work together for the greater good, with how few of them left behind. She didn’t understand the insistence of working hard for meager gains. It wasn’t like you could feed your belly on pride.

She didn’t understand that it wasn’t pride that drove them, it was distrust. To them Rinia Virell could not be trusted not to screw them over when it mattered the most. Sure she was amicable now, even friendly, if one could believe that. But the villagers had been on the receiving end of her schemes from time to time. It was hard to believe that Rinia Virell would so easily change her skin.

As if understanding their worries, Old Man Jine asked Aina the question on everyone’s mind, “Rinia, you wouldn’t take all the harvest for yourself when it comes, right?”

Aina blinked, caught off guard. “Of course not. Everyone will get their own fair share. But..” her voice hardened, her eyes narrowing,“if anyone dares try to steal my share, don’t expect any mercy.”

For a heartbeat, Old Man Jine feared her blunt threat would doom the discussion. But to his surprise, it had the opposite effect. The villagers, long used to Rinia’s ruthlessness, found her vow strangely comforting. If she promised equal division and promised to guard her share fiercely, then perhaps no one else could monopolize the harvest either. In a twisted way, her threat became reassurance. Agreement rippled through the crowd.

So from the next day, the villagers started prepping the land. Aina used the drill as a makeshift plow to turn the unused farmland nearest her home for the purpose of growing vegetables. While the other villagers spread fertilizer and formed ridges that would be seeded later. For the whole day, the village spent their time only fertilizing and watering.

That afternoon, Aina had her arm tool replaced with a grappler and a hammer. She was dissatisfied with the makeshift gantry and looking at it that day, the dissatisfaction only increased. She thought it looked way too ugly and way too sloppy.

So she decided to improve it. Unfortunately she only had the tall, big and dry timber to work with, but she thought it would be enough for the time being. The construction was done quickly with the help of her sons and instead of just one, she had the time to build two of them.

Aina hoped she could build a second mecha soon. She had the engine, but not the components or the steel. Hopefully she could buy them somewhere. She wondered if the county town would sell strider parts.

The day of the harvest went uneventfully. As expected, there wasn’t much harvest due to the lack of water. But they did get some harvest, just enough to use as seed for their communal farmland. For the foreseeable future, they would have to continue frugally eating the military rations they liberated from the warstriders weeks earlier.

They could not put their hopes on the food that the soldier promised. After all, the promise was made with Rinia Virell as a consequence of not being able to pay the repair fee. It had nothing to do with them. It was folly to even think that Rinia Virell would share anything with them.

So with a heavy heart, they dropped the baskets of grain into the collective barrel, to be used as seed for the next planting.

As pilot of the Iron Blossom, the mecha that she built, Aina’s only role in the harvest was using the mecha to pull carriages carrying baskets of grain from the outlying farms to the mansion. As she was not directly involved in the harvest, there was no need for her to stay at the farms. At this moment, she was drinking a cup of refreshing iced water.

“No good! The beast is back! The beast is back!” Old Hunter Gen suddenly shouted as he walked past the mansion gates.

Old Man Jine, in the middle of weighing and bagging grain, froze. His slate fell from his hands. “It hasn’t even been two months since the last one!”

“I’m telling you…” Old Hunter Gen’s eyes darted to Aina’s cup of refreshing iced water. Without asking, he snatched it and downed the water in one greedy gulp.

“Hey!” Aina snapped, glaring at him.

Old Hunter Gen continued as he put the empty cup back into Aina’s hands,” Regardless, it’s real. I saw it myself. It’s a bipedal type, like a monkey, but huge!”

“Are you absolutely sure!” Old Man Jine asked again.

“Of course I’m absolutely sure! Would I be this stressed if I’m not sure?” Old Hunter Gen grabbed the cup from Aina’s hand again before putting it to his lips. Realizing there was nothing inside, he returned the cup to Aina’s hands and asked her for a drink.

Scowling, Aina took the cup away and stormed off towards the kitchen, muttering curses under her breath.

While Aina was gone, Old Man Jine and Old Hunter Gen discussed what to do about the matter.

“What else can we do? We have to inform the garrison at Branvar Hold and ask them to send troops to handle them!” Old Man Jine said.

“I saw a horse cart heading here when I climbed down the mountain just now, maybe I can hitch a ride with them,” Old Hunter Gen suggested.

“Good idea! Go right away! Who knows when the beast would come down the mountain,” Old Man Jine urged.

By the time Aina came out with a cup of iced water, Old Hunter Gen was no longer there. Aina’s body visibly shook, trembling in anger. She fought the urge to just smash the cup to the ground.

Taking a seat, Old Man Jine took the cup of iced water from Aina to calm his nerves, not realizing that Aina’s temper was about to erupt.