The Chellion Days

understand, adjutant?”

  Kenton understood, but he didn’t know why any of it mattered. “I don’t—what does this. . .”

  “Have to do with anything?” Victor finished. He rubbed his hands together thoughtfully. “I see that same struggle with you. I see someone who wants to do what is needed of a Chell, but isn’t fully committed.”

  “I am committed.” Kenton said angrily, standing up.

  Victor frowned severely. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

  Kenton wavered. “I really need to get going.”

  He knew that he would never be able to escape from a place crawling with invaders, and so he nodded and left the house with Victor.

  Victor smiled again. He acted as a tour guide as they wandered through the town. He showed off various businesses that had sprouted up and where everyone went in their off time. The Welgos gave Kenton dirty looks as he passed, but none of them confronted him. Victor was the only reason they hadn’t killed him already. Kenton knew this, but didn’t know what Victor was playing at. Surely he had something in mind.

  They came to the wall of the town and Victor pushed on it and revealed a small doorway.

  They continued their walk out into the nothingness.

  “The Vastlands used to provide the majority of the food for Chell.” Victor explained.

  “I know.” Kenton said.

  Victor gave him a sideways glance. “Then explain to me why your king let the wheat rot and the growers die.”

  “I don’t know.” Kenton sulked.

  Victor nodded slowly. “No one does.”

  A few minutes later they came upon a gathering of Welgos. A large mound of dirt stood at the ready. Victor led the way to the front of the group. A wide hole had been dug out of the ground. In the hole lay a bearded man in the usual Welgo jacket. Displayed around him were a sword, shield, and various pots. The man’s arms were at his sides, his eyes closed.

  The Welgos in attendance glared menacingly at Kenton, who tried not to notice.

  Victor got on one knee and spoke in the Welgland tongue. He straightened up and looked sorrowfully at Kenton.

  “This is the part I warned you about, my friend. Tradition states that we bury someone of the opposite tribe, and . . .” He glanced around. “You’re the only one I see.”

  Kenton stood tall. “As you said I am not a true Chell.”

  Victor raised his hand. Several Welgos came and grabbed Kenton. They pushed him to the edge of the hole and awaited the next signal.

  Victor came in close. “You’re not.” He whispered. “But you know what? They don’t care.”

  The Welgos threw Kenton into the hole. He landed awkwardly and immediately tried to climb out. The whole gathering started shoveling the dirt into the hole.

  “Wait!” Kenton shouted. “Wait! Let me out. I’ll—” A large rock smacked against his face and he fell onto the dead Welgo. He struggled to his feet amid the dirt and rocks landing on him. “What do you want me to do?!” He shrieked.

  Victor held up his hand and the Welgos stopped. “I want you to become the great Chell you need to be to survive in this kingdom.”

  Kenton shook uncontrollably. “The Great Spirit will help me. If you kill me, it will find me and take my soul to the peak.”

  Victor stared emotionlessly. “Climb out of the hole.”

  Kenton readily clambered out of the hole to the jeers and hollers of the Welgos.

  He limped in front of Victor. “Enough. What do you want from me?”

  Victor patted Kenton’s shoulder. “I want you to evolve, my friend.”