6.1. A truth, a lie and a serpent in-between

Haugstad, Kingdom of Divinium, Eastern region of Rohana Federation, 13th day 2044 S.C.

“You have some nerve coming back. You could have at least some decency in writing back if you couldn’t have come.”

Agnus hissed at Haran as they sat at the same table at the tavern where they spoke last.

“I’m sincerely sorry, Agnus. I was not in town, so I couldn’t receive any mail. Once I saw all the letters, I jumped onto the snowcycle and drove here as fast as I could.”

“Well, it's not me you have explaining to do. Heron heard all about you. It was a rough time explaining it all to the boy. And then you disappeared and made everything worse.”

“What was his reaction?”

“At first, he didn’t believe it, obviously. He doesn’t remember you since you left him as a baby. He does remember you coming over and helping out the village. But, even with that, he is angry that you neglected him all these cycles. And I don’t blame him. I honored Adel’s request and didn’t hide the truth from the boy, but I’m not going to be the one to defend you. If the boy says after hearing you out that he doesn’t want to do anything with you, I want you to respect that. Understood?”

“Yes, thank you. I expect nothing from either you or Martina. You’ve done enough. This is all my fault. I’m trying to latch on to a life I can’t have. It was a mistake telling Heron anything.”

Agnus scratched his head, still annoyed at Haran. He then took a sip of hot mead.

“So, care to share where you went off to?”

“I think for your safety, it is best that you don’t know,” Haran replied coldly.

“Well, if that is how you are going to go about it, I wouldn’t even talk to the boy if I were you. He’ll get over it in time.” Agnus said snarkily.

“Agnus, I am going to be upfront with you. I want to speak to Heron to say goodbye. Things I’m involved in are getting dangerous, and I fear that my presence may put everyone in danger.”

“So I am just supposed to accept this and let you talk to him?”

“Agnus, please,” Haran pleaded. “I don’t wish to argue with you. You have the right to hate me afterwards. Please consider this my final request. To straighten things out with my son.”

Agnus slowly set down his mug. For a long moment, he said nothing, his teeth grinding. Finally, he exhaled.

"Fine. But Haran, understand this - if you hurt that boy worse than you already have, Adel's memory won't protect you. Not from me."

"I understand."

They left the tavern in silence. The village paths were quiet in the late afternoon as most families were already indoors preparing evening meals.

Agnus and Martina's cabin sat near the village center. Smoke curled from the chimney, and through the small window, he could see lamplight warming the interior. Agnus paused at the door.

"Remember, he is disappointed, and that he is also eight, Haran. Don't take it to heart if he doesn’t understand what you are trying to explain."

Before Haran could respond, Agnus opened the door.

The interior was warm as fire crackled in the hearth. Wooden toys sat in a corner beside a small training sword. And at the table sat Martina, her dark skin catching the firelight, her expression unreadable as she looked up at Haran. Beside her, gripping the edge of his chair, was Heron.

"Heron," Martina said softly, "your father is here."

The boy said nothing.

Haran remained by the door, suddenly aware of how large he was in this space, how out of place. "May I sit?"

Martina gestured to the chair across from Heron. Haran sat slowly, and Agnus moved to stand beside Martina.

"Hello, Heron," Haran began, sounding rougher than he intended. "I... Thank you for agreeing to see me."

Finally, Heron looked up. His black eyes met Haran's with an intensity that lit up tension in the room.

"Mama said you're my real father. That you left me when I was a baby."

The directness of it stole Haran's breath. "Yes. Both of those things are true."

"Why?"

Such a simple question. Haran started to grapple with the guilt.

"Because I had to. Situation was dangerous, and I couldn't…" Haran stopped seeing Heron’s looks unmoved. "Heron, I left because I love you. I know that doesn't make sense…"

"It doesn't." Heron's voice was small but steady. "If you loved me, you'd stay. My father Agnus loves me, and he stays. Mama Martina loves me, and she stays. Grampa Adel loved me, and he stayed until... until he couldn't anymore."

Haran's throat tightened.

“If I could have stayed, I would have. Heron, I was ill and the only hope for me was to be cured by the doctors in the city. If I stayed here, then my illness would hurt everyone you love. And for the cure, I had to pay a price. I was willing to pay it, as that was the only way I was going to get to see you again.”

Heron's brow furrowed, trying to make sense of it. "But you're better now. The doctors fixed you. So why can't you stay?"

The question was so innocent, so logical from a child's perspective, that Haran felt something crack inside him.

"The price I paid," Haran said slowly, choosing each word with care, "was that I have to work for the church. For a long time. Maybe forever. And that work takes me far from here. To dangerous places."

"Then don't go to dangerous places," Heron said, as if it were that simple.

"I wish I could choose," Haran said quietly. "But I can't."

Heron looked down at the table. "Mama said you wanted to say goodbye. That you're leaving and not coming back."

"Yes," Haran said, the word like swallowing broken glass.

“Then, you should just go. Thank you for helping out the village. I saw you a few times bringing supplies and talking to grandpa and Malcolm.”

Heron wasn't angry; he was done. To him, Haran was a benefactor to the village, not a father.

Haran opened his mouth, then closed it. What could he say? Was there any point in saying anything else? There was nothing he thought at the moment that would turn Heron’s feelings around.

"Heron," Martina said softly, her voice thick with emotion she was barely containing. "Your father came a long way…"

"It's all right," Haran interrupted, rising from his chair. His legs felt unsteady. "He's right. I should go."

He looked at Martina and Agnus. "Thank you. For everything you've done for him. For giving him what I couldn't."

Martina nodded, not trusting her voice. Agnus's jaw was tight with an unreadable expression.

Haran turned back to Heron one last time. The boy was still staring at the table, small hands gripping its edge. He wanted to reach out, to touch his son's shoulder, to say something that would matter. But he'd already said everything he could.

"Goodbye, Heron," Haran said quietly.

Agnus followed Haran to the door, closing it softly behind them. They stood outside in the cooling evening air, the crosses above beginning their faint twilight pulse.

"That went as well as could be expected," Agnus said, though there was no satisfaction in his voice.

"Did it?" Haran asked hollowly.

"You told him the truth. What he does with it is up to him now." Agnus paused. "You really not coming back?"

Haran looked toward the darkening sky. "I want to believe staying away is right. That it'll keep him safe."

"And if you're wrong?"

"Then I'll have failed him twice." Haran started walking toward the village gates. "I may send supplies by the couriers from time to time. As for myself, I think it is for the best that I am away for a while… a long while.”

"Safe travels, Haran." It was all Agnus could muster.

Haran sat on his snowmobile and rode off to Jamtara, once again leaving his son behind.

One and a half star-cycle had passed since Haran's visit, and life in Haugstad had settled back into its rhythms. The Season of Nadia once again brought heat that pressed down on the fields, making every swing of the hoe feel twice as heavy. Agnus straightened from his work, rolling his shoulders to ease the ache, and looked across the golden wheat stretching toward the forest's edge.

Around him, other villagers worked in companionable silence. Mikhail was two rows over, old Henrik closer to the fence, and young Petra near the irrigation ditch. The only sounds were the whisper of stalks and the occasional grunt of effort.

"Anyone else thirsty?" Mikhail called out, wiping his brow. "I'm thinking of heading back for water."

"Bring extra," Agnus replied with a slight smile. "This heat's—"

He stopped as he heard something in the wheat move. It wasn’t much, just a ripple. It was maybe fifteen paces ahead of Agnus's position. The stalks bent and swayed, then stilled.

Agnus frowned. "Someone let the dogs out again?"

Henrik laughed from his row. "It was me. They are probably chasing rabbits. Sorry about that."

But the wheat moved again. This time, more stalks were being bent.

“Henrik, how about you call up your dogs?” Agnus asked with his voice now being more nervous.

“Sure thing,” Henrik said and proceeded to whistle a brief melody.

But to the surprise of many, wheat started to move from the other direction, and in a few moments, two dogs appeared in front of the three men.

"That's not dogs," Petra said quietly.

More movement. The wheat was alive with it now, stalks parting in a continuous line as though something slid between them.

"Could be deer," Mikhail suggested, but his voice lacked conviction. "Or boar, maybe."

Agnus gripped his hoe tighter. Something felt wrong. The air had gone too still.

"Petra," Henrik turned to the younger man. "Go check what's making that noise."

"I'll look," Petra interrupted. He pushed into the wheat, stalks closing behind him. Movement between the wheat had stopped.

"Maybe it was some rodent, and it went to its hole. I don’t see anything. I’m coming back."

But just as he turned, a hiss cut through the air like tearing cloth.

Petra's scream came half a second later. It was high, but cut short.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then the wheat exploded with movement; something was fast approaching.

"RUN!" someone, Henrik yelled. As the man ran towards the rest of the villagers, panic started to kick in, and the villagers broke. Tools clattered to the ground as they scattered, some toward the village, others toward the tree line, panic overriding reason.

"NO!" Agnus's voice echoed. "Together! Stay together and head for the village! We need weapons!"

Mikhail, closest to him, stopped his panicked flight and turned back. "Agnus is right! To the village! Stay in a group!"

Others heard, correcting their paths, clustering together as they ran. The group moved as one, crashing through the wheat toward the village fence visible ahead.

Behind them, the stalks thrashed and bent. Whatever hunted them was fast.

“Everyone, switch route towards the cemetery, let’s drag it away from the village and use graves as obstacles!” Henrik yelled.

The group now regrouped and ran along through the wheat toward the cemetery, which was at the edge of the fields.

Agnus glanced back as they ran, watching for movement in the wheat. The thrashing had shifted direction, no longer pursuing them but angling away. He was confused as he slowed down and turned around to assess the situation.

Suddenly, he could see the movement of the creature in the wheat going towards the village. Why is it not following us? Then his blood went cold.

The children.

The children were playing near the fields as they waited for their fathers to finish the work.

In that moment, as if he gained superhuman strength, Agnus rushed towards the road. There was no breathing; he was hyper-focused. It was a race against seconds. He even managed to grab a hoe that was dropped by someone when the commotion happened.

"CHILDREN!" Agnus's shout came out raw. "RUN!"

The children stopped their game and turned towards the wheat field. They were uncertain about the sound they heard. But then another “RUN” followed, and from the fields a large snake head emerged.

The children screamed and scattered, but not before Agnus saw it fully. Two meters of black scales and muscle, as thick around as a man's thigh. Its movement was manic, its eyes switching between children and Agnus. Black ichor dripped from fangs that were too long, hissing where it touched the ground.

Agnus threw himself between the serpent and the children, the hoe raised like a hammer. "Get to the village! NOW!"

Behind him, small feet pounded away. He saw Heron among the children. The serpent's head swiveled toward Agnus, and its body coiled with unnatural fluidity.

Agnus swung the hoe with all his strength. The wooden handle connected with the serpent's head with a solid crack, but the creature barely flinched. It was like striking a stone. The impact jarred Agnus's arms, nearly tearing the tool from his grip.

The serpent recoiled, then came again, faster this time. Agnus jabbed at it, trying to keep distance between them, but the creature moved with impossible speed, as it dodged his attacks.

Then it found its opening.

The fangs sank into Agnus's side, just below his ribs. The pain was immediate. But also, it felt wrong somehow. It was not the tearing of flesh that caused it, but something else, something that burned from the inside like molten metal poured into his veins. Agnus screamed, the hoe falling from his hands.

The serpent's jaw clamped down harder. Agnus' vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges.

But the children were running. He could hear their footsteps, their frightened cries. They needed time.

With what little strength he had, he grabbed the hoe by its metal head and swung it towards the serpent's eye. The serpent released him with a contemptuous hiss. Agnus staggered, nearly falling, but stayed on his feet.

Another swing. Another. He was slowing, weakening, but he couldn't stop. If he stopped, it would go after the children.

But the serpent countered, this time preparing the deadly blow. But just as it propelled its fangs for Agnus’ throat, a loud clang echoed through the air. The head of the serpent rolled a few feet away from Agnus.

Through the blurry vision, he saw a silhouette of a warrior with a large metal axe.

Agnus's legs gave out. He hit the ground hard, the hoe clattering beside him.

"Agnus!" Malcolm was running toward him, others following. "Don't move; we've got you."

"The children," Agnus gasped.

"They are safe," Yuri said, kneeling beside him. "They made it to the village. You saved them."

Agnus looked down at himself for the first time. Two puncture wounds wept almost black blood. And from those wounds, dark veins spread under his skin, radiating outward with each heartbeat. The flesh around the bite had already begun to turn gray.

"Get the healer," Malcolm said, his voice tight. "Now."