Chapter 6
The days grew longer, winter ended and eventually spring arrived.
Onnil helped with the planting and the repairs that were required around the farm after the inevitable winter storms. It was on one of these occasions in the tenth week of the year, as she was holding a fence post which Janol was hammering in, Onnil said “I have to leave. There are things I have to do and I wanted to tell you first.”
“Leave? To do what?” Janol asked lifting the mallet.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Tell me! Are you going back to Emchoo?” Janol asked swinging the mallet down.
Onnil shook her head. “It’s better that you don’t know. Seriously!”
Janol put the mallet down and stared into space. “When are you going to go?”
“In a week or so. I’ll have to thank your parents for looking after me and I’d like to help a bit more with the spring planting.” She paused and smiled at Janol. “Never forget that I will always be in your debt.”
“Well then, tell me what you’re going to do then.”
Onnil shook her head, and so the conversation continued for the rest of the afternoon. Janol asking questions and Onnil, refusing to answer with her mood swinging between mild amusement and annoyance.
As they were heading back to the house Onnil looked at Janol. “If I tell you, you must never say a thing and you must ask no more questions.”
“I promise.” Janol replied. He then started making as many oaths as he could think of.
“Okay then, I’m going to try and stop the war in Zedix.”
“What! How? Can you do that?”
“You promised no more questions.”
“Oh!” Janol was quiet for a minute. “well can I come too?”
“No!” Onnil was almost shouting. “Absolutely not, you’ve got a family to look after. There are places I will have to go … Look there’s no point trying to explain. Please, this is for the best. I am so grateful for all that you’ve done for me but I have to leave. And not a word to anyone about what I’m going to do. And when I’ve finished, I’ll visit again. Promise?”
“I promise,” Janol pledged.
However, during the following week, before Onnil could leave, there was a further influx of refugees from Zedix. Towns and farms all over Eastern Wyive were taking in families and Janol’s farm was no exception. Billeted with them was a family with three boys aged between eight and sixteen.
Disturbingly it appeared that now Zedix was nearly completely under the control of the warlord Gultipif and it was rumoured that he would turn his attention to Wyive once he had mopped up the remnants of resistance. Not only that, the until-now mere rumours of Gultipif having an army of mages armed with healing wands that were being used for torture, maiming and killing were being confirmed. No longer were the stories being told by someone who knew someone who had heard it from a friend. People who had witnessed the atrocities and suffered them were now confirming the stories.
Janol’s father, as usual, had something to say about the matter, mostly about neither having the food nor the money to feed these people with their foreign beliefs. They had better shut up about it while in his house. Anyway, shouldn’t the government be doing something about it, rather than just argue amongst themselves and with the other governments in Wyive. He would mutter about it quietly when he thought nobody was listening.
The combination of the stories and his father’s rants made up Janol’s mind for him. He was going to go with Onnil, no matter what.
The following Aytday, Janol persuaded his father to let him have a day off work after all they had more than enough help now. He went to the bank in Gritol where he emptied out his savings. When he returned, he packed his backpack with some clothes, his small tent, his portable stove and his sleeping mat.
Onnil helped with the planting and the repairs that were required around the farm after the inevitable winter storms. It was on one of these occasions in the tenth week of the year, as she was holding a fence post which Janol was hammering in, Onnil said “I have to leave. There are things I have to do and I wanted to tell you first.”
“Leave? To do what?” Janol asked lifting the mallet.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Tell me! Are you going back to Emchoo?” Janol asked swinging the mallet down.
Onnil shook her head. “It’s better that you don’t know. Seriously!”
Janol put the mallet down and stared into space. “When are you going to go?”
“In a week or so. I’ll have to thank your parents for looking after me and I’d like to help a bit more with the spring planting.” She paused and smiled at Janol. “Never forget that I will always be in your debt.”
“Well then, tell me what you’re going to do then.”
Onnil shook her head, and so the conversation continued for the rest of the afternoon. Janol asking questions and Onnil, refusing to answer with her mood swinging between mild amusement and annoyance.
As they were heading back to the house Onnil looked at Janol. “If I tell you, you must never say a thing and you must ask no more questions.”
“I promise.” Janol replied. He then started making as many oaths as he could think of.
“Okay then, I’m going to try and stop the war in Zedix.”
“What! How? Can you do that?”
“You promised no more questions.”
“Oh!” Janol was quiet for a minute. “well can I come too?”
“No!” Onnil was almost shouting. “Absolutely not, you’ve got a family to look after. There are places I will have to go … Look there’s no point trying to explain. Please, this is for the best. I am so grateful for all that you’ve done for me but I have to leave. And not a word to anyone about what I’m going to do. And when I’ve finished, I’ll visit again. Promise?”
“I promise,” Janol pledged.
However, during the following week, before Onnil could leave, there was a further influx of refugees from Zedix. Towns and farms all over Eastern Wyive were taking in families and Janol’s farm was no exception. Billeted with them was a family with three boys aged between eight and sixteen.
Disturbingly it appeared that now Zedix was nearly completely under the control of the warlord Gultipif and it was rumoured that he would turn his attention to Wyive once he had mopped up the remnants of resistance. Not only that, the until-now mere rumours of Gultipif having an army of mages armed with healing wands that were being used for torture, maiming and killing were being confirmed. No longer were the stories being told by someone who knew someone who had heard it from a friend. People who had witnessed the atrocities and suffered them were now confirming the stories.
Janol’s father, as usual, had something to say about the matter, mostly about neither having the food nor the money to feed these people with their foreign beliefs. They had better shut up about it while in his house. Anyway, shouldn’t the government be doing something about it, rather than just argue amongst themselves and with the other governments in Wyive. He would mutter about it quietly when he thought nobody was listening.
The combination of the stories and his father’s rants made up Janol’s mind for him. He was going to go with Onnil, no matter what.
The following Aytday, Janol persuaded his father to let him have a day off work after all they had more than enough help now. He went to the bank in Gritol where he emptied out his savings. When he returned, he packed his backpack with some clothes, his small tent, his portable stove and his sleeping mat.
“I have something to tell you all.” Onnil said the following evening as they all sat down for dinner.
“What’s that dear?” Janol’s mother asked.
“I’m going to be leaving you,” Onnil replied.
Janol was aware of a look of relief in his father’s face, presumably, as it would mean one less mouth to feed. His mother had exactly the opposite reaction. “We must have a farewell meal. We’ll have it tomorrow. Greta and Prayoir can help prepare it.”
“Mum!” Prayoir started.
“I don’t want to be any bother,” Onnil started to object.
“Nonsense, you’ve been a great help to us here.”
The meal was not the success that had been planned. Janol’s father spent the whole meal complaining about how little money they were making from the farm. Janol sat quietly throughout the meal thinking about what he was planning for the following day. Prayoir took the silence to mean that he was upset that his ‘girlfriend’ was leaving and proceeded to taunt him throughout dinner. Janol did his best to ignore her. However, his mother took his silence to mean the same thing. So she took him aside and tried to explain that there would be other girls, that Onnil was far too old for him anyway and besides she was a foreigner. Janol just ignored his mother as well, yes, she was a foreigner but she had more personality than most of the girls he met. He ended up feeling sorry for the family of refugees; they had had to abandon their home in Zedix and had ended up in this madhouse.
“What’s that dear?” Janol’s mother asked.
“I’m going to be leaving you,” Onnil replied.
Janol was aware of a look of relief in his father’s face, presumably, as it would mean one less mouth to feed. His mother had exactly the opposite reaction. “We must have a farewell meal. We’ll have it tomorrow. Greta and Prayoir can help prepare it.”
“Mum!” Prayoir started.
“I don’t want to be any bother,” Onnil started to object.
“Nonsense, you’ve been a great help to us here.”
The meal was not the success that had been planned. Janol’s father spent the whole meal complaining about how little money they were making from the farm. Janol sat quietly throughout the meal thinking about what he was planning for the following day. Prayoir took the silence to mean that he was upset that his ‘girlfriend’ was leaving and proceeded to taunt him throughout dinner. Janol did his best to ignore her. However, his mother took his silence to mean the same thing. So she took him aside and tried to explain that there would be other girls, that Onnil was far too old for him anyway and besides she was a foreigner. Janol just ignored his mother as well, yes, she was a foreigner but she had more personality than most of the girls he met. He ended up feeling sorry for the family of refugees; they had had to abandon their home in Zedix and had ended up in this madhouse.
The following morning before Onnil was due to leave; Janol got up early and left a note on his bed. It was addressed to his parents and it contained a long and rambling explanation as to why he was leaving. He had surreptitiously asked Onnil, which way she was going to travel. Surprisingly she said that she was heading west, away from Zedix.
Janol stood in the courtyard of the farm and stared back at it, wondering if he would ever see it again. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked along the dirt track to the main highway and then walked west. After a few kilometres, Janol decided that he had walked far enough and so he sat behind one of the dry stone walls that lined the side of the road and waited for Onnil.
He did not have to wait long as soon, Janol heard the sound of a vehicle coming along the road. He looked up from behind the waist-high wall and saw the farm’s tractor being driven by his father whose face was purple and looked like it was about to explode. His mother sat beside him. She looked like she had been crying. Onnil was riding in the back. Janol ducked back behind the wall trying to hide.
The tractor stopped and Janol saw Onnil vault over the wall and lift him up. She seemed to know exactly where he was.
“Right you’ve got some explaining to do,” she said as she hauled him up.
There then followed the biggest row with his father Janol had ever had. Janol’s mother stood watching silently except when she occasionally burst into tears. Onnil also just stood there watching silently, looking more and more uncomfortable.
Eventually Janol had had enough and he just walked off towards the west, away from his home.
“Don’t you turn your back on me!” his father shouted.
“Why not? You never listen to what I have to say or think about what I want,” Janol shouted in reply. “All you can see is me taking over the farm. I don’t want to, I never have. Anyway, why can’t I leave? I’m old enough. I turned seventeen several weeks ago.”
Janol’s stubbornness resulted in his father being equally stubborn, “If you leave, I will have no son,” he replied grabbing his crying wife’s arm. He dragged her back onto the tractor and tried to leave. However, the tractor did not have a wide enough turning circle for the road and he had to do a lot of manoeuvring to get it turned round, which made him all the more angry. As they drove off, Janol’s father shouted over his shoulder, “If you are not back by dusk you will never be welcome in our house again.”
Janol and Onnil stood at the side of the road, silently, for what to Janol seemed like hours but in reality must have only been a few minutes, each waiting for the other to break the silence. Eventually Onnil spoke. “So what are you going to do?”
“Leave!”
“Sure?”
“Yes, I’m more sure than ever. I have to leave. I can’t stay there any longer.”
Onnil nodded understandingly. “So do you want to leave or do you want to come with me?” she asked.
“Is there a difference?”
“The whole world of a difference.”
Janol thought for a moment. “Both,” he replied.
“Well, you can travel with me for a day until the next town,” Onnil explained, “but I still think you’re making the wrong decision. If you want to go home then you’d better do it now. Your parents may still forgive you. Your mother will. I’m not sure about …”
Janol shook his head. “I’m not a farmer.”
“So what are you then?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Onnil shook her head with exasperation. “Listen it’s a dangerous world out there. A psychopath is going to invade your country in the next year or two, if the stories are to be believed. Maybe even sooner. Then about a third of the people in Eastern Wyive are probably going to die and they may be the lucky ones. Have you any idea what may happen to your sisters? And you want to go wandering off on a gap year looking for who knows what.”
“Well, let me help you.”
“How?”
“What?”
“How will you help me?”
“I don’t know yet,” Janol replied.
“What sort of answer is that?”
“It’s a truthful one.”
“You don’t have a …” at that Onnil gave up in desperation and started muttering in the language she’d originally spoken when Janol had first met her. She then went silent and stared into the distance, thinking. After a few more minutes, Onnil spoke again. “Well come on then.”
“Where are we going?”
“Well, I’m going to Estoo.”
“Why Estoo?”
“Because that’s where the Spoke is,” she said turning to walk away.
With that cryptic answer, Janol started to follow Onnil and they both started walking west along the road. Janol looked towards the north, beyond Teenin, where there was supposedly a land called Estoo. He was apprehensive but happy. “What’s a gap year?” he asked.
It was five minutes before Onnil spoke again. She suddenly stopped. “You’re a farmer’s son right?”
“Well yes. You know that …”
“Oh shit, oh shit. Bugger!”
“What?”
“You’re coming off on a sodding quest with me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve a good mind to take you home now for all … Listen if we see a magic sword, we don’t touch it.”
Janol just stared at Onnil. What was she talking about? Magic swords!
“Oh no,” she was almost crying. “I’m the mentor. I’ve become a cliché.”
The first problem, apart from Onnil’s strange outbursts, was food. By mid-afternoon Janol was getting hungry whereas Onnil seemed to be ignoring the need for food. The second problem was the weather as towards evening there was a thunderstorm. Janol silently cursed all weather mages whereas Onnil, infuriatingly, did not seem to be in the least bit bothered by the rain.
Onnil spoke little during the first day’s travel. When she did speak, it was usually to ask Janol a question for which he usually had no real answer, such as. “So how are you going to pay for food and lodging?”
The answers like ‘I have some money’, ‘I can do odd jobs’, ‘I know how a farm works’ and ‘I can fix a tractor,’ just made Onnil shake her head in despair.
“What else can you do? What weapons can you use?” she asked.
“Well, I‘ve occasionally shot at birds to scare them off the crops.”
“Ever shot a person?”
Janol shook his head, slightly horrified at the thought.
“You may need to. We may be going into some dangerous country.”
Janol tried not to look worried.
“So you’re no good with a gun, and you can’t do magic. Okay hit me.”
“Eh!”
“Hit me!”
“No.”
“Yes, I need to know how much I can rely on you in a fight.”
Janol stepped back and looked at Onnil; she seemed ready so he half-heartedly took a swing at Onnil’s stomach. He didn’t like the idea of hitting a woman. Onnil stepped out of the way, grabbed his arm and threw him onto the ground.
“Well that answers that then!” she said with mild amusement.
“How’d’ya do that?” Janol asked lying on the ground nursing his sprained wrist.
“Basic unarmed combat.”
“Could you teach me?”
“Yes. If we had a few years to waste and somewhere to practise.”
“It’s not really all that basic then, is it?”
“Well no. I suppose not,” Onnil replied shrugging her shoulders. Janol thought he saw a smile flicker across her face.
They camped out that night sharing Janol’s tent. It was cramped but Janol quite enjoyed lying so close to Onnil. He would wake up sometimes in the middle of the night and hear her quietly breathing.
Janol stood in the courtyard of the farm and stared back at it, wondering if he would ever see it again. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked along the dirt track to the main highway and then walked west. After a few kilometres, Janol decided that he had walked far enough and so he sat behind one of the dry stone walls that lined the side of the road and waited for Onnil.
He did not have to wait long as soon, Janol heard the sound of a vehicle coming along the road. He looked up from behind the waist-high wall and saw the farm’s tractor being driven by his father whose face was purple and looked like it was about to explode. His mother sat beside him. She looked like she had been crying. Onnil was riding in the back. Janol ducked back behind the wall trying to hide.
The tractor stopped and Janol saw Onnil vault over the wall and lift him up. She seemed to know exactly where he was.
“Right you’ve got some explaining to do,” she said as she hauled him up.
There then followed the biggest row with his father Janol had ever had. Janol’s mother stood watching silently except when she occasionally burst into tears. Onnil also just stood there watching silently, looking more and more uncomfortable.
Eventually Janol had had enough and he just walked off towards the west, away from his home.
“Don’t you turn your back on me!” his father shouted.
“Why not? You never listen to what I have to say or think about what I want,” Janol shouted in reply. “All you can see is me taking over the farm. I don’t want to, I never have. Anyway, why can’t I leave? I’m old enough. I turned seventeen several weeks ago.”
Janol’s stubbornness resulted in his father being equally stubborn, “If you leave, I will have no son,” he replied grabbing his crying wife’s arm. He dragged her back onto the tractor and tried to leave. However, the tractor did not have a wide enough turning circle for the road and he had to do a lot of manoeuvring to get it turned round, which made him all the more angry. As they drove off, Janol’s father shouted over his shoulder, “If you are not back by dusk you will never be welcome in our house again.”
Janol and Onnil stood at the side of the road, silently, for what to Janol seemed like hours but in reality must have only been a few minutes, each waiting for the other to break the silence. Eventually Onnil spoke. “So what are you going to do?”
“Leave!”
“Sure?”
“Yes, I’m more sure than ever. I have to leave. I can’t stay there any longer.”
Onnil nodded understandingly. “So do you want to leave or do you want to come with me?” she asked.
“Is there a difference?”
“The whole world of a difference.”
Janol thought for a moment. “Both,” he replied.
“Well, you can travel with me for a day until the next town,” Onnil explained, “but I still think you’re making the wrong decision. If you want to go home then you’d better do it now. Your parents may still forgive you. Your mother will. I’m not sure about …”
Janol shook his head. “I’m not a farmer.”
“So what are you then?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Onnil shook her head with exasperation. “Listen it’s a dangerous world out there. A psychopath is going to invade your country in the next year or two, if the stories are to be believed. Maybe even sooner. Then about a third of the people in Eastern Wyive are probably going to die and they may be the lucky ones. Have you any idea what may happen to your sisters? And you want to go wandering off on a gap year looking for who knows what.”
“Well, let me help you.”
“How?”
“What?”
“How will you help me?”
“I don’t know yet,” Janol replied.
“What sort of answer is that?”
“It’s a truthful one.”
“You don’t have a …” at that Onnil gave up in desperation and started muttering in the language she’d originally spoken when Janol had first met her. She then went silent and stared into the distance, thinking. After a few more minutes, Onnil spoke again. “Well come on then.”
“Where are we going?”
“Well, I’m going to Estoo.”
“Why Estoo?”
“Because that’s where the Spoke is,” she said turning to walk away.
With that cryptic answer, Janol started to follow Onnil and they both started walking west along the road. Janol looked towards the north, beyond Teenin, where there was supposedly a land called Estoo. He was apprehensive but happy. “What’s a gap year?” he asked.
It was five minutes before Onnil spoke again. She suddenly stopped. “You’re a farmer’s son right?”
“Well yes. You know that …”
“Oh shit, oh shit. Bugger!”
“What?”
“You’re coming off on a sodding quest with me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve a good mind to take you home now for all … Listen if we see a magic sword, we don’t touch it.”
Janol just stared at Onnil. What was she talking about? Magic swords!
“Oh no,” she was almost crying. “I’m the mentor. I’ve become a cliché.”
The first problem, apart from Onnil’s strange outbursts, was food. By mid-afternoon Janol was getting hungry whereas Onnil seemed to be ignoring the need for food. The second problem was the weather as towards evening there was a thunderstorm. Janol silently cursed all weather mages whereas Onnil, infuriatingly, did not seem to be in the least bit bothered by the rain.
Onnil spoke little during the first day’s travel. When she did speak, it was usually to ask Janol a question for which he usually had no real answer, such as. “So how are you going to pay for food and lodging?”
The answers like ‘I have some money’, ‘I can do odd jobs’, ‘I know how a farm works’ and ‘I can fix a tractor,’ just made Onnil shake her head in despair.
“What else can you do? What weapons can you use?” she asked.
“Well, I‘ve occasionally shot at birds to scare them off the crops.”
“Ever shot a person?”
Janol shook his head, slightly horrified at the thought.
“You may need to. We may be going into some dangerous country.”
Janol tried not to look worried.
“So you’re no good with a gun, and you can’t do magic. Okay hit me.”
“Eh!”
“Hit me!”
“No.”
“Yes, I need to know how much I can rely on you in a fight.”
Janol stepped back and looked at Onnil; she seemed ready so he half-heartedly took a swing at Onnil’s stomach. He didn’t like the idea of hitting a woman. Onnil stepped out of the way, grabbed his arm and threw him onto the ground.
“Well that answers that then!” she said with mild amusement.
“How’d’ya do that?” Janol asked lying on the ground nursing his sprained wrist.
“Basic unarmed combat.”
“Could you teach me?”
“Yes. If we had a few years to waste and somewhere to practise.”
“It’s not really all that basic then, is it?”
“Well no. I suppose not,” Onnil replied shrugging her shoulders. Janol thought he saw a smile flicker across her face.
They camped out that night sharing Janol’s tent. It was cramped but Janol quite enjoyed lying so close to Onnil. He would wake up sometimes in the middle of the night and hear her quietly breathing.
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