Looking from atop the hill, the four traveling gazed dumfounded toward their village. Small puffs of smoke billowed into the air. Rose wondered the source of the smoke, perhaps Jole Blacksmith was forging a basin or maybe Penelope Baker was heating her ovens. She longed to be home, and she longed for the village she left – a village that no longer existed. Rose gazed whimsically, and the others joined her in a quiet reminiscence for a past now departed. All gazed, save one – Talon Sunsculptor. A shimmering light turned his attention in the other direction. Looking in the opposite bearing of the village, Talon’s eye followed along the road until he recognized the gleam’s source. The glistening lights crept down the hill, and other new shining sources continued to emerge on the horizon. A glowing snake-like crocodile spilled over the skyline and into the valley. The sun-sculptor immediately recognized the shimmer’s source – a glowing good. While he could not see the glowing item that reflected brightly in the beaming afternoon sun, he felt confident the many glistening lights each represented a glowing blade.
Talon interrupted the thoughtful reflection of his companions, “The Protectorate is marching toward our village.” The other snapped to attention and turn from the billowing smoke to the marching soldiers.
Talon continued, “They appear to be a few hours away.” He waited and allowed the brevity of his statement to seep into their thoughts.
“Are you sure?” blurted Rose. “Maybe it’s just … huh … huh … just … maybe ….”
“No other explanations, is there?” said Daks. “The Protectorate is heading toward our village, and from the looks of things, I think they will arrive tomorrow morning.”
“So what’s the plan?” asked Willow.
The others stared blankly at each other, still not sure what to do.
Rose looked to her brother expecting an answer. Her blank stare conveyed Talon say something. Talon looked back, as if to say, I am not sure what to do. Rose, sensing her brother’s uncertainty, opted to apply some pressure.
“So,” asked Rose in an exaggerated tone, “what’s our next step, Talon?”
Daks and Willow fixed their gaze upon the elder Sunsculptor. They, like Rose, yearned for his leadership. While they understood the need for their journey, its importance never fully formed in their minds until this moment. They understood the significance of retrieving the three prescribed items, but how exactly those elements translated into the destruction of the glowing arsenal remained an elusive idea. With the fully armed Protectorate now be bearing upon their position, they JRB desperately needed leadership. They looked to the group’s natural, but often reluctant, leader – Talon, sun-sculptor by both trade and name. They longed to hear how their months-long journey would actually help them achieve their goal.
Talon said nothing. Rose looked intently at her brother and said, “Talon, it’s time to fly.”
The cryptic words emboldened her brother.
“First, we need to return to our village. We need to know what they know. Given the distance of the Protectorate from our current position, I think they will arrive in our village tomorrow. And when they march into the village, we will be ready.”
“By ready, you mean …?” queried Daks.
“By ready, my friend, I mean we will mix the three retrieved items. We will then ingest the resulting concoction, turning our bodies into light dissolvers. Anything made of light that we touch turns back into harmless light rays.”
“Oh,” said Daks, “I am sorry I asked. I not sure I like the sound of that.”
“Nor I,” said Talon, “but that is our only option.”
“Let’s get moving,” whispered Rose, now suddenly on guard. “The Protectorate keeps marching so we need to get moving.”
“Are we sure that is really the Protectorate. I mean, couldn’t it be something else?” asked a quasi-defeated Daks.
“I’ve seen this before,” offered Willow. “And I hope I never see it again. That is the Protectorate, and they are coming for your village.”
“Enough talking,” demanded Talon. “Follow me.” He quickstepped along the newly created road toward his village. The others struggled to keep up, but they managed.
The group move hastily along the road; they skipped their typical breaks in order to expedite their arrival. Talon led the way, and they all peered anxiously toward the ever-approaching billowing smoke and bustling sounds of the village. Talon ascended a small hill; he looked over the crest and saw their village spread out before them. The people hustled anxiously back and forth, which stood in contrast to the village’s typically casual pace. Each villager moved intently and with prescribed purpose. Their focused efforts resembled a household readying for a dignitary’s arrival, not the relaxed atmosphere that previously permeated every aspect of village life. Talon quickly surmised: the people have changed since their departure. Something caused them to change. The group crossed the village’s threshold and walked a path toward the family’s sun-sculpting shop, which was much closer than Daks’ residence, which lay on the other side of the village. The group passed a few villagers, most of whom they knew by name; no one looked up from their focused efforts to notice other people. With eyes down and minds obviously elsewhere, the people of Village #94 dashed through their hamlet not noticing their village’s most notorious residents walked in their midst.
Willow tugged Daks and motioned to a leaflet hanging on a lamppost:
Wanted for reunion with loyal father,
TALON Sunsculptor and ROSE Sunsculptor.
Reward offered. Gain the Protectorate’s favor.
Alert officials immediately if you see either person.
Shielding their eyes from the late afternoon sun, the three others read the sign. Their mouths gaped open as they looked and saw “wanted” signs posted throughout the village. Many signs mentioned the Sunsculptors, but not all of them. Apparently, the Protectorate “wanted” quite a few people. Daks pointed to a sign further down the path. The others followed him as he moved closer to investigate. They gathered around a leaflet attached to side a building:
Wanted for reunion with loyal father,
DAKS Bullskin.
Reward offered. Gain the Protectorate’s favor.
Alert officials immediately if you see this person.
Daks leaned over to Talon and whispered, “I wonder which one of us is worth the greater reward.”
“You, of course,” said Talon. “You’re much more talented as tanner than I am as sun-sculptor.”
Daks grinned widely at the compliment. The light-hearted moment immediately gave way to the gravity of their situation. The Protectorate “wanted” them enough to enlist the help of their fellow villagers. Further, the pall over the village became more noticeable with every step. A quick-pace enveloped everyone. Instead of the customary stroll, the villagers strode to their respective destinations. The friendly waves and pleasant greetings seemed a relic of a long-forgotten generation. With eyes downward, the people buzzed through the village in an overt effort not to interfere with others.
The JRB proceeded further into the village. Talon led the way; he stepped off the main path and quietly walked through the unkempt yard of Flavio Shumaker. The others followed as he moved behind the house, away from the trampling of their fellow villagers. Away from the commotion of the typically quiet village and the peering “wanted” signs dotting the pathways, Talon finally felt comfortable to speak louder than a whisper. While no one seemed interested in finding them, he, nevertheless, he preferred shelter from wandering eyes. His companions quietly trailed behind him. Talon stopped at the first isolated place he found, an overgrown shrub about ten paces from the residence’s back entrance. Their location hid them from the village paths and provided a private place for reflection on their current predicament.
Just as Willow, who trailed a few steps behind the others, slipped behind the house to join them, the back door to the residence stealthily s
wung open.
“In here, Talon,” loudly whispered a young, but deep voice.
Talon turned and saw Crag Shumaker, a stocky young man with uncombed wavy blond hair. Crag held the door with one hand while he pointed inside with other. Talon reflected upon their worsening predicament and proceeded into the residence. The others followed, uncertain of Crag’s intentions: did he intend to avail himself to their “reward” or not?
Once everyone entered the residence, Crag looked in all directions before closing the door. “No one saw us,” he quietly announced to the group.
The group entered the Shumaker’s small kitchen when a girl blurted from the next room, “Rose Sunsculptor, is that you?”
A girl just about Rose’s age and height burst into the room. Her short-curly hair bobbed around her head as she ran to Rose and threw her arms around the grinning sun-sculptor.
“Bianca,” bellowed Rose. “I’ve missed you.” Rose and her friend embraced.
Suddenly, however, Rose released the hug and threw her hand upon her hip. Rose glared at her friend in a disapproving manner. Rose knew Bianca well, and wondered her reason for being at Crag’s house, a man nearly ten years her elder. The girl’s presence in the Shumaker residence seemed odd, especially in relation to peculiar vibe within the city.
“What are you doing here?” queried the seasoned traveler with an accusatory tone. “Why are you in the Shumaker house, Bianca Waters?”
“Rose, how dare you…” started the effervescent Bianca in a naturally innocent voice.
Just as the words flew from her mouth, Violet Taylor and Triton Mason entered the room. Violet smirked widely at the sight of Rose, her friend since childhood. Violet’s fair skin glowed when juxtaposed to her long dark hair. Rose gazed deeply in Violet’s amethyst eyes, seeing anew the depth of the girl’s eye color. Triton, a younger man in his mid -twenties, looked out-of-place in a room with mostly younger people. He displayed, however, a poise that accompanies age. Triton looked anxiously at the room’s new arrivals, seemingly as wary of their presence as they were of his.
Crag, sensing Triton’s concern, vocalized the concerns of his quiet, soft-spoken friend. “What bring you here, Talon Sunsculptor?” the young house owner asked pointedly. He utilized a tone that neither welcomed nor accosted the traveler. Talon’s thoughts danced hither and yon as he tried to decode their situation. Were these people agents or did they oppose the Protectorate or, perhaps, did the truth lie somewhere between these two poles? Talon said nothing, hoping to better assess their situation before revealing anything.
Talon said nothing, opting to avoid making a mistake (which, sometimes, is a mistake).
Crag reiterated his question, this time with an imperative tone rather than in an interrogative form, “What brings you here, Talon Sunsculptor.”
Talon said nothing.
Triton step towards Talon in an intimidating manner. The sun-sculptor immediately noted the young man’s chiseled chin and lean muscles. With an unwavering, intense face, Crag’s friend silently demanded, answer the question, Sunsculptor. Triton took another step toward Talon, leaving only an arm’s length between the two individuals. The cold stared unnerved the teenage boy. Still, Talon said nothing. Feeling the mounting tension in the room, the JRD subconsciously squeezed closer together. Triton, with malice in his eyes, stepped even closer, making sure the cut off the JRB’s exit route. Crag, following his companion’s lead, stepped directly in front of the small entrance door. The JRB lacked any chance to escape the Shumaker residence, at least without trying a mad dash through the heart of the residence.
Stomp, clunk, stomp, clunk, stomp, clunk. A large person ran down the stairs in the cramped house. Another person, thought Talon, this is only getting worse. Why did I ever think to enter this residence? What was I thinking? Stay calm, perhaps not all is lost. Talon’s heart raced; drops of sweat formed on his brow.
A balding middle-aged man burst into the room. In a pleasant voice he bellowed, “Talon, is that you? Where is Rose?” Talon immediately recognized the sun-deprived, hair-deprived man known as Gryph Cartog, the mapmaker who provided their map of Centage before leaving their departure from the village. Seeing the camaraderie between Gryph and the strangers, Crag and Triton stepped back, no longer intent on intimidating the youths.
“Gryph!” exclaimed Talon joyously. While Talon barely knew Gryph, their encounter in his shop forged a bond between the traveler and the mapmaker. Talon’s exclamation also exuded relief to encounter a person he could trust. Gryph could have turned Talon and Rose over to the Protectorate and received a substantial sum of money for his efforts, but the man did not. He refused to collaborate with the Protectorate, citing their deception and the Sunsculptor’s honesty.
Gryph and Talon shook hands, as re-united friends. The much larger Gryph added a few back slaps and paternal-like hugs. Gryph then turned to Rose and greeted her kindly.
“Well, well, well,” said Gryph. “I never believed I would lay eyes on you two again. As I remember, the last time I spoke, you sneaked out the village and hoped to survive anywhere other than here, and yet, here you are. Whatever convinced you to return to this village anyway?”
“Well,” said Talon hesitantly. Unsure what to say, Talon remember the kindness shown to them by Gryph when they left village. Further, he remembered Gryph eschewing a substantial financial sum in order to protect them. At the time, Gryph refused to help the Crimson Guards, citing their dishonesty juxtaposed to the Sunsculptor’s truthfulness. Further, Talon’s father encouraged him to trust others. Now, Talon thought, is the time to trust Gryph. “We found a way to thwart the plans of the Protectorate.”
“Shh!” Crag announced anxiously. He held his index finger to his mouth, indicating to speak quietly. The JRB thought his response odd, given their location inside a residence. Noticing the flummoxed countenances of the room’s four newest occupants, Crag explained his actions, “Many things have changed since you left.”
Obviously, thought Rose.
“To speak publically against the Protectorate is not wise,” said Crag. “A few out-spoken villagers recently disappeared; the Crimson Guard ‘relocated’ them because of their opposition, and by ‘relocation,’ I mean imprisonment or execution. We are not sure which one. Your words are enough for you to suffer the same fate, and while you currently reside among friends, you do well to speak with caution. Someone traveling along the village path could overhear your remarks, and if they reported you the Captain of the Guard … You get the idea.”
“Don’t worry this time,” whispered Violet – the girl of long black hair and amethyst eyes. She returned from a sly inspection out each of the room’s windows. “I checked the paths after Talon blurted out his insolence toward the Protectorate, and thank the Creator, no one was there.”
The four traveling companions looked blankly at the others, still trying to comprehend the brevity of their current situation.
“Much has changed since you left,” whispered Gryph in a barely audible voice, “but if your intentions are to thwart the Protectorate, you are among friends. We, like you, set ourselves against the ‘grand advancement,’ as they so arrogantly claim.”
“What do you mean, ‘much as changed’?” queried Rose.
“That question,” answer Gryph, “requires intricate answers, and unfortunately, at this juncture, there is no time for a longwinded discussion. The short-answer, however, is this: a company of Protectorate Guards arrives tomorrow to begin the village’s ‘voluntary’ relocation to Centage City. The Protectorate’s presence grew immediately after your departure. They hosted numerous village gatherings where they touted the mutual benefit of joining their efforts. They offered us the benefits of the Protectorate, and in return, we needed only to swear and show fealty to their efforts. ‘Everyone benefits,’ they constantly iterated. Nevertheless, anyone who spoke against the plan in the village gatherings suddenly disappeared. After a while, everyone learned that cooperation with the Prot
ectorate was our only choice. To defy them meant to risk life. Some people in the village, nevertheless, are true believers. They look upon the Protectorate as our great saviors. They think life will be better because of their arrival. Such loyal supporters also receive important benefits, like expanded business relationships. If there is a thriving business, just assume the owners are Protectorate collaborators. In this way, the loyal shop owners thrive while the business of other shopkeepers slowly degrades. Others who follow the Protectorate do so only for survival. They fear the wrath of the Guards. This is now how our village operates. People divided into two groups, the loyal true believers and the passive accepters. In the last few months, we all learned to shield thoughts, follow instructions, and ask no questions. Our wonderful, friendly village no longer exists. Now, we are collection of individuals who want only to receive the tacit admiration of the faceless entity known as the Protectorate.”
“And which are you,” asked Talon. “Are you a true believer or a passive accepter?”
“I do not live in an either-or world,” answered Gryph. “Despite my description, I think some people have found a way to subversively thwart the Protectorate without garnering unwanted attention.” Gryph smiled mischievously.
“You say too much, old man,” chided Crag. His steely glares revealed great displeasure at Gryph’s willingness to intimate the existence of a resistance movement. “What make you think we can trust them? If they were to mention the people gathered in this room, they could unravel months of work and put every one of us at grave risk. You place too much trust in the wayward youths. Where have they been? What have they been doing? Does it seem convenient that they arrive just hours before the company of Crimson Guards? I think it does.
“And I do not even know her?” Crag pointed accusingly at Willow. “She looks innocent, but those are just kind of people the Protectorate uses to deceive us. Your ramblings, old man, may just be the end of us.”
“And I don’t know you,” snapped Rose hyperbolically. “We can spend our time questioning one another or preparing for the Protectorate’s arrival.”
The stocky twentyish man grumbled at the chiding remarks, but he agreed with her conclusion: the most pressing task was the Crimson Guard’s imminent arrival. Vetting one another, while perhaps important, needs to wait for another time. Crag nodded in agreement. Nevertheless, he wanted information on the young girl with long blond hair.
“Who is she?” he demanded.
“I am Willow,” the girl answered, “and I am from Village #97.”
“Good for you,” said Crag. “I don’t trust people that I don’t know.”
“Well, I trust her,” demanded Talon confrontationally.
“Then, maybe I shouldn’t trust you either,” snapped Crag. The hulky Triton stepped forward and now stood next to Crag. Triton glared at the younger and smaller Sunsculptors, obviously and successfully seeking to intimidate Talon and Rose.
“Back off,” said Gryph. “I trust Talon and Rose, and that should be enough for you. One important thing to tell you: just before leaving our village, my daughter Amber made a declaration over them. Do you remember that, Talon?”
Talon nodded. He remembered Amber making a few odd statements; the content, however, eluded him. Rose, likewise, nodded gingerly in agreement, and she, likewise, only remembered the girl making a few peculiar statements – nothing of the particular.
“As I told you then,” said Gryph, “when Amber speak like that, we all do best to listen and remember.” Gryph then re-directed his conversation toward all of the room’s occupants, “My daughter told these two people: ‘When you return to our village, it will not be same. When you return, you will lead in unexpected ways.’ As I told the Talon and Rose on that evening, when Amber makes declarations, those things come true.”
The room’s occupants nodded in agreement, as if aware of the child’s propensity toward bold declarations. Even Crag nodded in agreement, as if the statements of the golden-eyed girl provided sufficient verification.
“Very well,” said Crag. “If Amber trusts them, then that is good enough for me.” With that, Crag gaped blankly at Willow, openly wondering at her allegiance. While the girl vouchsafed for the Sunsculptors, she said nothing of Willow – or Daks, for that matter.
Talon, remembering the brief encounter with Amber, tried unsuccessfully to recollect her exact words. In reflection, he remembered her saying something familiar, but he could not recollect her exact words. Later, he thought, I will remember. When he did finally remember, the words, while profound, offered no help to his future. The words only verified his past.
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