Book One: Fate
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CHAPTER ONE: Beginnings
A late summer evening of the year 1409CT, on an unnamed island off the southern shore of the Atra Kingdom…
Do you hear me, child? Listen to me. You have a task you must complete. The first step is to accept the truth of what has happened. You were kept in peaceful sleep to make sure your existence was not discovered. Now, awake!
Was the room shaking? Tylor Sabre could not be sure. Blinking his bright blue eyes weakly and batting a ruffled piece of his chestnut brown hair out of the way, he focused on someone relentlessly shaking his shoulders. He lay in his soft, white sheeted bed, within his room which was situated on the second floor of the two storied home. From somewhere else in the small room, an intense, blinding light was shining in. It was possible the person in his room opened the far walls window, to help get him up on time. Tylor would not put it past one of his friends to do such a thing, and he was sure that his father would find it funny, too.
More shapes began to form as his eyes continued to grow accustomed to the warm light. Whoever had shaken him awake now moved in front of the light to allow Tylor to get used to the brightness. His now focused vision looked onto the face of a young boy sitting in front of him. It was his friend from a few houses down, the little scrawny kid, Joel.
Joel Dawson was quite short for a fifteen year old, and did not even match up to Tylor’s shoulder, sitting at a mere five feet. Of course, that was to be expected as when Tylor turned eighteen a month or so back a growth spurt made him even taller than his father at six feet one.
“Tylor, get up! How could you be sleeping?” Joel said, blinking his soft green eyes in amazement.
Something was wrong. Tylor may have still been half asleep but he could tell by his friend’s tone of voice and traumatized expression Joel also sounded afraid and shocked. With a dazed look on his face, he noticed that Joel’s brown shirt was torn. Underneath, there were cuts, and dried red marks tainted his lightly tanned skin. He looked like he had been in a fight, and lost. Looking into Joel’s face again with clearer senses, he noticed that a fresh cut on his friend’s forehead had blood running down it. It fell from his brow and landed on Tylor’s crumpled sheets, staining them with the deep red color of blood. It oozed outwards and spread into a small circle, dyeing the cloth.
This was not a joke. Joel’s so-called sense of humor was legendary in the village, but even he would not go to these lengths. This was real, and in this moment of realization, Tylor became scared.
Joel backed away and turned to face the other direction, once again letting the shining light strike Tylor in the face, causing him to shield his eyes with a pale white hand. Joel wiped at his forehead, and cursed under his breath.
“Close the window,” Tylor moaned, still straining his eyes.
Joel moved in front of the light once again, a look of shock still apparent on his face. The bloodied mark on his forehead had dried slightly but still seeped red droplets. The drops split as they hit indents in his skin forming lines of blood that trickled across the left side of his face. He rubbed at his forehead again.
“Tylor…” He paused, “What window?”
Tylor’s mouth opened to say something, but the words would not come. It was then that he noticed the surroundings past the limits of his bed. With Joel standing in front of the main source of light, and his vision focusing fully, he could examine his room- what was left of it. The walls of his room, although made of cold, gray stone, seemed to have splintered like wood. Millions of cracks had formed across them, pushing picture frames and cupboard contents onto the ruptured wooden floorboard below. His desk on the far left wall, which had previously been full of papers and study books (mostly dealing with the Atra Kingdom’s history), lay scattered in pieces on the floor. Some of his books had been cut down the middle, their spines snapped. Torn pages were strewn all over the floor.
The only thing that seemed to be intact was his bed and the nearby sections around it. The cracks on the wall simply stopped as they reached that limit, as if halted by something invisible. Tylor felt sick. He did not understand what was going on. He wanted to get up and survey the pile of rubble that had formally been his room, but his legs shook too much under his sheets.
What’s happened to my room? He asked himself frantically. What’s going on, and why is Joel hurt?
He wanted to scream the questions out in the hope for answers, but was still in too much shock. His room had been destroyed in some horrible way and had left him with nothing.
Leaning to his right, with a hand in place above his eyes, he could now see past Joel and discovered the source of the blinding light. The warm yellow beams from the sun were shining in through a large hole in the side of the house, where his small glass window had once been. Fresh dust from the damaged rock still hung in the air around the area, being caught up in a gentle breeze blowing in. The rock looked like it had been stripped away forcefully, like it was pulled off the side of his house, taking with it half the roof from that side of his room along with a chair and cabinet.
Joel went to the right side of the room and rummaged through his other cabinet (that had somehow survived whatever terrible thing that had happened). He found some clothes for Tylor; a long sleeved gray shirt (a gift from his mother, which he hated) and some bottoms. They were rawhide leather and linen woven together. The leather formed shin pads, knee rests and an upper belt buckle. Those were his combat training wears which his father had bought him for his eighteenth birthday.
Father!
“Joel, my dad, where is he?” Tylor asked, even more worried than before.
Joel walked away towards the far right wall, next to the crumbling hole in the wall, and past the cabinet where stairs led down to the lower level of the house. He seemed to be staring at the floor and sniffing hard.
“You should probably put those on and come see what happened, Tylor. We don’t know about your father but while you were sleeping… a lot of people died.”
He had never heard the young kid sound so much like an adult. He always acted the fool. Joel was the first real friend Tylor made and in all the years they had known each other he had never acted so serious. Joel’s head disappeared with the rest of his body as he walked down the old creaking stairs. With each high pitched squeak the sound became quieter and quieter until all was silent once more. Tylor removed himself from the warm sheets then, after calming down and regaining his balance, got dressed. During this time he dared not look out into the village, he was too scared to peer out of the hole in the wall.
Ignorance was bliss.
Walking slowly down the old wooden stairs and avoiding the shattered banister lying in the way, Tylor surveyed the remains of his home. From the stairs the view (prior to whatever happened) would have been dramatically different. First, he would be greeted by his father who would be sitting sipping at coffee in his favorite sturdy wooden chair, fresh from the kitchen (located at the most northern door). To the left, directly at the bottom of the stairs, would be a coat hanger and the main door out into the village. Around the stairs was the hallway to his father’s bedroom, the storeroom and the spare bedroom.
Now all he was greeted by was destruction. Where the kitchen had once been was a pile of rubble, partly blocking the staircase. Where the front door had been was a gaping hole, the hinges of the door had been ripped off and tossed across the floor past the split oak table. He could not see behind the stairs to look at what remained of the corridor leading to his father’s room beyond the storage area and spare room, but he did not want to anyway. He had seen enough. Instead of his father greeting him with a jolly “Good afternoon!” in the usual sarcastic tone of voice he adopted because of his sons habit of sleeping in, Joel sat on a propped up crate at what remained of the oak table. He was still trying to wipe a mixture of blood and tears from his mucky face and coughed gently. Joel put on a brave face when he noticed Tylor looking at him from the base of the stairs.
“Joel…what happened here?” Tylor stuttered.
Joel still seemed shocked at the question. Before, when he had asked the same question, his young friend may have put it down to Tylor being half asleep, but now there was definite confusion and worry in his voice.
“I don’t understand how you could have slept through that storm. I have never been so scared in my entire life. Tylor, it was so bad some houses have collapsed completely, some of them with people in them! Mrs. Ridley from down the street, the twins, the farm master, Mr. Lonoplis the butcher, they’re all dead.”
The feeling of sickness had returned to haunt Tylor’s stomach. He could only look at the floor, too stunned to talk. He felt he had to ask “What storm?”, but could not bring himself to sound so idiotic. While he had slept last night there must have been a mighty storm, none like Samilo had ever encountered, and it savaged the village and most likely all of the crop fields too. Joel stood up slowly and walked out into the glorious light of the sunny day beyond. Tylor followed, feeling a deep yearning to know what his village now looked like.
It was hard to recognize anything now. Most of the village was reduced to mountains of rubble which had poured out onto the muddy street. Men were running around frantically and teams of people were passing stones down from one person to the next trying to search the remains of houses, looking for survivors. The house directly adjacent from Tylor’s own had collapsed in on itself. The thatched roof now hung down at a twisted angle, leaning against the remaining sections of wall that had not yet fallen. Screams and shouting echoed from all directions, some from frantic women and others from horrified children.
A worried woman moved out from behind a pile of shattered wood, which had collected from the wreckage. She was shorter than Tylor and in her early thirties. It was Samantha Kon, a long time friend of his fathers. When she noticed Tylor, she moved at a quick pace up to him and embraced him tightly. She was sobbing quietly as she pulled her face back to look at his.
“Tylor, I am so glad that you are alright. I was so worried for you last night. I took shelter in my cellar but I know your house doesn’t have one!”
She was rambling slightly, a habit he had noticed about her, but she meant well. Samantha really liked his father and often visited them. At times, Tylor wondered whether his father was in love with her, but he had always put such deductions down to his longing to know why his parents originally split up. She could not replace his mother, but her heart was in the right place and he felt no malice towards her.
“I am alright, thank you Samantha. This is terrible, so much destruction…” he said, trailing off.
He was trying not to think about it, but his mind would not let him forget. He focused on the small woman and tried to ignore the destruction, but each cry or shout snapped his attention back. He did not want to look around at the horror. His arms were shaking too much and his stomach felt sore. Tylor would be of little use to anyone trying to make rescue attempts in the state he was in. A sense of helplessness crept into his mind. He wanted to crawl away into a hole somewhere and live in ignorance of the destruction and he did not want to see his friends and family injured. The people of Samilo did not deserve what had happened over night. They did not deserve to die.
Samantha looked at him and nodded slowly in agreement while patting one of his shoulders gently. She briskly swept a warm hand over him, checking his chest and back for injury. Tylor gently eased her away from him and reiterated that he was unharmed.
Where was the justification behind this? He thought to himself, and how could a weather condition do this to a village? We’ve never had savage storms before…
Looking to the south of the village, he could see a crushed body being pulled out of some rubble by a team of farmers he knew. He looked away, sickened at the sight of the crushed remains of someone he had probably known. Samantha looked past Tylor into what remained of his home and then over at Joel, who was leaning against a cracked wall facing the opposite direction.
“I hope your father is okay, has he returned yet?” Samantha asked, with concern.
Giving a questioning look, Samantha explained to Tylor that as the storm began to pick up last night she had met with Zan outside the Sand Pit. The Sand Pit was the name Tylor’s father had given to the area in which he taught self defense and hand-to-hand combat to anyone willing to learn. It was probably covered in rocks now, ruining the carefully cared for sand which was protected overhead by some thin wooden planks connected side-by-side. Zan had often said he had based it on an eastern design from the kingdom known as Sarento, which was apparently a, warm, endless desert. Samantha went on to explain that Zan told her to hide in the basement of her home and that he was traveling to Coppers to make sure he was prepared.
On the island that Samilo was situated on there was one other reasonably large inhabited area, a town over a day and a half travels west on the opposite side of the island which had a port connecting to the main land. That town was known as Wrathe. Halfway along the stretch of land between the village and town it had been agreed on by both Samilo and Wrathe to make an inn for weary travelers, called a check point. This check point provided sleeping areas and food, for a price, of course. Copper, who ran the check point, was a friend of the Sabre family and had visited them often. If Tylor understood what Samantha was saying, his father had left some time last night just as the storm was picking up to make sure Copper was okay. It made sense, the check point was not a sturdy building but did have a basement, plus Copper was quite old so its natural his father would fear for his safety.
“He has not been back yet,” Tylor said, looking to the path leading out of town, “maybe I should go to Coppers and get him. My dads a lot stronger than me and can be of more help, unless I am needed now?”
Joel turned to face the two of them, now extremely intent on listening to their conversation.
“All the women and children who survived have taken shelter in a temporary camp just outside of the village. The Men are searching the collapsed houses, but the chances of finding anyone alive now are slim at best. If you do go, take some supplies and some camping gear but at the first sign of a storm picking up get back here. It may be sunny now, but prior to last night it was just as bright. Your father would hate me if I let anything happen to you,” Samantha said.
Tylor nodded in agreement. He wanted to find his father, he did not have time to sit and cry (though at that point in time it was very tempting). The danger of another storm seemed slim and the chances of an equally destructive one were even slimmer, so there was no real danger in walking to Old Man Copper’s. Some of the wild animals could prove dangerous at times but they would be too shocked from the impact of the storm to come out of their dens. Samantha walked over to Joel and placed her gentle hand on his shoulder, he turned to look away. She asked him if he wanted her to take him to the camp outside of town but he shook his head and turned to address Tylor.
“I want to come with you to see Copper,” he said calmly.
Tylor was hesitant. The kid was pretty shook up and his parents were probably in the camp wondering where he was. Tylor’s blue eyes met with the gaze of Joel’s green eyes. They seemed much brighter than normal against the dried blood and dirt smeared on his face. He was being serious, more serious than Tylor had ever seen him. He had a new respect for Joel, he was all too aware of the situation he was in and what had happened. He was taking it better than Tylor ever could, as well. The little kid who had been friends with Tylor since they were both very young was more of an adult than he had ever realized.
“Staying here is definitely out of the question, there is still the danger of houses collapsing, but shouldn’t you go to the camp? Your parents might be worrying about you,” Tylor insisted.
Their gaze separated as Joel looked away and turned his back on Tylor.
No! Tylor cried inwardly, this cannot mean what I think it means, can it? Not Joel’s.... They are like my second family. Whenever my dad was strict with me they always joked about it, made me laugh, took care of me when he went on trading trips to Wrathe… it isn’t fair!
Joel was crying. He was not facing Tylor, but he could tell. Joel’s shoulders had slumped and were moving up in down in time with his hands rubbing his face. Along the back of his shirt a large cut spread down the center and below the torn fabric was a large black bruise. Samantha turned him to face her and cuddled him in a soft embrace. She looked at Tylor with teary eyes and shook her head, confirming his fears.
Why has this happened Tylor cursed to himself, why to him?
Tylor turned and walked into his house. He had to be strong, he could not think about what had happened. He had to be strong for his friend; he can not be seen crying in front of him. Walking up the stairs back to his room, he snatched a satchel from under his bed and stuffed some clothes and other supplies into it. As he was leaving he paused and noticed something sitting on the floor, he bent down and grabbed a red arm band from the ground. Taking out some of his smaller items of clothing he returned to Joel and handed him the clean clothes and asked him to go put them on. Joel stumbled away into Tylor’s house.
“There was nothing that could be done, it’s a miracle he survived,” Samantha said, wiping her eyes, “he’s got no one left but you, Tylor. Take care of him, alright? He looks at you like a brother. Once you are back with your father I’ll explain to him and we will get something sorted.”
Too upset to talk, Tylor nodded. Joel returned a short time later, wearing a dyed blue shirt, which was slightly too large for him, with some brown trousers and boots. He had cleaned up most of the dried blood from his face with a damp cloth in his hand. Though it had left some marks, he hoped they would hopefully not be permanent. The two of them bid farewell to Samantha and walked slowly past destroyed homes and storage huts, towards the exit of the village, in the direction of the check point.
The fields surrounding the village had been savaged by the storm as well. Crops had been up torn from the ground and strewn all around. Some lay scattered, bent and brittle. A few puddles of mud still drowned fields of fresh, lime green grass, swallowing twigs and corn shoots that landed on it. Farming equipment, which had been left in the fields overnight, was crumpled on the ground. A metal plough which, prior to the nightmarish storm, had been pulled by a horse to prepare land for seed planting, was now on its side, sitting in a pool of brown mud. The wind had been so fierce that the upper part of the plough, which was not in the mud, had been bent to the left from the pressure of the wind pushing against it. Wooden carts which were pulled by animals had been caught under the pressure of the wind and, like a house of cards that someone had softly blown on, simply fallen apart.
On any other day, if someone looked to the right after leaving Samilo’s gates, a view of the sea could be seen if you looked down at the base of three long fields. However, now it lay just a few hundred feet away. Severe rain, coupled with the ploughed land acted like a viaduct for the water, had given it easy access to flood the lower fields. At first it had turned it into a swamp of mud, but now it was part of the sea. Gulls had already begun to circle this new area to investigate and hunt for fish but their attempts would be unfruitful in such muddy water. Once the mud had cleared it might, at least, make fishing easier for the fisherman. Normally, they would need to drag their boats down to the sea edge via troughs dug especially from the village edge to the sea front. It was a small upside to the effects of the horrific storm, but compared to the bad, it was not much comfort.
Further down the path the two boys came across the temporary camp made by the women and children of Samilo. It consisted of a few large grain colored sheets spread around in a circle, connected to tree trunks to form simple coverings. Branches from fallen tree’s had been formed into a circle within the sheets with a small fire in the middle. All-in-all it was simple in design, but would hopefully be adequate until wooden shelters within the village remains could be constructed. They could not afford to stay out in any kind of bad weather, as some people already sat almost curled into balls, sneezing, wheezing and coughing. The current warm weather would help them, hopefully.
To the left, passed the camp, some children played on the sodden grass. In many ways, it was like looking at the opposite end of the spectrum; the innocence of children. They had been scared, even petrified during the storm, but now all was forgotten. They had friends and now it probably all seemed like an adventure. Within the camp there were a few more children, a mixture of those too young to play alone and a few being comforted by adults, suffering some form of loss from the storm. Tylor could not help but shiver.
A few of the adults encircled Joel and Tylor and questioned what they were doing, then if they had supplies, then the usual mothering you came to expect from a close community village. It took around five minutes before Tylor had convinced them that he and Joel were just going to see Copper and to find his father before returning to help the village. The adults walked back to the camp, sitting down on the dead logs. After one last passing glance, the boys continued along the dirt road towards Coppers house, a good few hours travel away.
We will come back, Tylor insisted to himself, we are getting my dad to come help and checking old Man Copper is okay, then straight back here to help rebuild. I sound so confident yet feel so guilty… maybe there is something I could be doing to help? No, I need to make sure my dad is okay or I’ll never get anything done and I can’t leave Joel sitting around, I can’t let him think about what has happened. I must keep him busy!
“Are you okay, Joel?” Tylor asked.
It had sounded good when he thought it, but saying it out loud made it seem quite feeble. Of course the kid was not okay, he was devastated. The stupid kid just could not show it, he wanted to seem brave in front of Tylor. Joel seemed to handle it a lot better than he ever could; the kid had grown up, become strong. A nod from Joel was his reply, but he had hoped for him to talk. He looked back to the opposite side of the camp, the side which led to the sea. Joel seemed to be staring into the distance.
Joel’s gaze scanned the horizon. The sky was very clear now. Further out and far beyond the mud ridden water near the bank, the clouds reflected off the water as did the gulls, which squawked while fighting over fish. It was a nice view, he had never really paid so much attention before, and nature did not interest him. He turned to look back at Tylor who was facing forward; his eyes were following the path they traveled on, towards Copper’s home. Some small blots of sweat dripped across his brow. Standing vigilant and proud, not faltering even after all the suffering Samilo had gone through, he had found a sane course of action in all the chaos. Tylor truly was a hero.
The warriors of Samilo: Tylor and Zan Sabre. Tylor’s father had been some kind of knight in his youth and he taught Tylor how to fight using only his body, it was truly amazing. He had sat in on a few of their early morning sessions at the Sand Pit. They did something called ‘sparring’ which was like fighting but without intent to injure, it was training to get better by pretending to fight. He had always wanted to learn, but got the normal over protected answer from Zan, claiming he was too young to learn.
Everyone, except Tylor, treated him like a kid. Tylor called him a kid all the time, but in a kind joking manner, when really he was the only one who treated him like an equal. Tylor had let Joel train with him at night sometimes and showed him some of the basics Zan taught him earlier in the day. That was the kind of person Tylor was. Even when Tylor turned eighteen, he still went round for dinner at Joel’s house and then stayed the night once a week. He would contently listen to Joel moan about his schooling, girls and life, the kind of thing a brother would do. He even wore the red dyed wrist band he had given him for his birthday. He never missed that dinner and never left to go home the same night. He was kind like that. Of course, he had other friends his own age, but Tylor was the only one who felt like family.
He was a hero. That was the kind of person he was.
Joel seemed to be staring blankly at Tylor and it was beginning to get unnerving. He laughed, snapping Joel’s attention back. Startled, his young friend looked to the ground, then back out towards the sea. Tylor laughed inwardly, he had embarrassed the poor kid. Samantha was right, he did look to him as a brother, and it was a comforting thought. Tylor was an only child, having a friend that was so close you could call him brother was uplifting. He looked away, towards the opposite direction from Joel, so he was able to crack a smile unnoticed and was greeted by the sight of a desolate crop field.
Grass lay on top of soggy dirt, up rooted by the wind, and the mud had dried into a pattern resembling a wave. It might have made a nice painting. In the middle of the field was a huge puddle of mud, it was almost like a crater which had filled up with rain over night. It was a very odd thing to find. Before the storm, the field would have been a crop field, to its left would be the corn shoots (now all gone) and to its right the farming equipment (now in pieces, strewn across a few adjoining areas). There had never been any hole in the ground prior to the storm, but nothing in sight could possibly have made such a large dent. Tylor stopped and walked off from the dirt path to investigate further. Joel joined him. The both peered into the hole.
“What’s this?” Joel said, passing round the outer rim and almost slipping in some mud in the process.
Rubbing the back of his head and grinning, he shrugged it off in embarrassment.
“I’m not sure. It definitely was not here before the storm, this was a crop field…one of Mr. Loson’s, I think. I guess it was something during the storm, a rock maybe.”
Observing the area around them, Tylor could see nothing with enough weight to make such a hole, even if it fell on the grass in its muddy state. It was confusing to say the least, but nothing which should hold them up. They had to make good time before night fall, staying out in the open was not the safest thing to do in small numbers.
“We can have a better look when we get back, let’s keep going.”
Joel took small, careful, steps around the mud pit and joined Tylor back on the path. As they walked on, Tylor took one last glance back at the pit. He had suddenly got a knot in his stomach, like he was ill, but it seemed fine now they had moved on.
How strange, Tylor thought, I did not like that one bit. That feeling, a hole which physically should not be there, me sleeping through a storm of such power..... Something is not right about all this. Maybe I’ll luck out and it’ll turn out to all be a dream.
The brightness of morning had subsided into the bronze glow of early evening by the time the boys reached the final stretch of road before Copper’s check point. The sun was setting, dipping into the sea off into the distance and a few stars twinkled, clearly noticeable in the sky. It was the first signs of nightfall. Over one last ridge, they were greeted with the sight of Copper’s home, the check point between Samilo and the opposite side of the island where the town of Wrathe lay. It was a simple structure, but reasonably large in size. It was, after all, a combination of Copper’s home, a pub and an inn. It was wooden, for the most part, with a stone oven attached to the back of the house next to a small shaft which led to the wine cellar. A dusty grey colored chimney also ran through the innards of the house, providing a large warm fire place in the pub area, protruding through a hole expertly cut in the thatch roof and reinforced with wood.
Something was odd about how it looked. Neither Tylor nor Joel had to use their imagination to remember it looking like how it once did, as it was completely unchanged. The chimney stood tall and firm, the windows and walls were intact and the thatch roof was in one piece. The check point had not been touched by the storm. The boys exchanged confused glances before increasing their pace to a run, reaching the front door hastily. Tylor rapped his knuckle on the oak door before slowly opening it. It let out a loud creak as it swung inwards. He poked his head round the side of the door and surveyed what lay inside.
“Well?” Joel said, getting impatient.
Wooden chairs sat upright round table and the bar counter in the northern end of the room was intact, as were the shelves behind it littered with various wines from around the world. On the opposite wall, past the tables and chairs, was a door leading to the back, which was Coppers area (his kitchen and home). Next to that door was the staircase, which lead up to the six guest rooms of the check point for travelers.
“Hey!” A gruff voice from the kitchen cried, “Letting the heat out! Close the damn door.”
Joel bit his lower lip as he followed Tylor in, to be greeted by Old Man Copper sounding as always, like a grandfather. Copper stood far below their height, clad in green cloth robes with a walking sticking holding up his weight. A flat cap covered most of his grey hair which wore thin at the back of his skull. Copper’s tired eyes looked at the boys in turn.
“Tylor Sabre, I did not know it was you lad, your father never told me you were born in a field,” Copper remarked sarcastically.
Joel laughed and nudged Tylor’s back, but the old man gave him an awkward stare making him look to the floor straight faced. Not waiting for an explanation, the old man returned to the back end of the inn, via the door by the stairs. His whole body, aside from shoulders up, disappeared behind the bar as he pulled up a chair. He was offered an assistant many times from Samilo, but he was too stubborn and insisted on running the place himself. Two glass tumblers filled with fresh water were sat on the wooden counter in front of them. Waving the boys over, he disappeared back into kitchen. Tylor and Joel sat down quietly and sipped their water.
“Any minute now he’ll come back with cookies and a bed time story,” Joel mocked.
Tylor smiled into his glass as he sipped the refreshing liquid. Looking along the wall, he read labels of some of the wines to himself; ‘MouOui’, ‘Oricia’ and ‘Chel’. He had never had an interest in drinking but the names of wines amused him. The names gave them class, an aura, a suggestion of intellect if you knew some fancy wine names. Stretching slightly he saw some barrels filled with beer under the table. You did not get as much respect for drinking that, but at least it did not have a stupid name.
Copper returned and sat on the counter side of the bar in front of the two boys. Presenting them with two plates filled with warm food, he asked why they had decided to pay him a visit. Joel looked away, tucking into his meal like he had not eaten in days.
“We came to check up on you and to get my father to come back the village. We could really use his help,” replied Tylor. “Is he up stairs, or in the back?”
“I don’t understand,” the old Man muttered. “Zan is not here.”
What followed was an awkward silence. Joel stopped eating and looked at the two of them. Tylor was lost for something to say. What did he mean? Samantha said that his father had left the village before the storm to check on Copper, to make sure he was prepared, but had never arrived.
“Miss Kon met him before the storm, he was heading here to make sure you were okay, to help with preparing the check point for the impact,” Tylor explained.
Copper studied his face, as if making sure it was not some kind of joke.
“What are you babbling about, boy? What storm?” he asked.
A cold sweat came over Tylor, the muscles in his legs tensed as his back bent forward. He was at a loss as he tried to comprehend what had been said corresponding to everything that had happened.
What storm? He said to himself. Not this again. With me, it looks like I somehow slept through it but the check point is undamaged, that is proof enough now that I think about it. What is going on? I guess this is how Joel must have felt when I said the same thing, it is unbelievable. How could a storm happen a few miles from here and destroy a town and not even arise here?
Joel watched them both silently, also lost in thought. Thinking back to Samilo, to how he found Tylor and his home, he went over the facts. Zan was not in Samilo, no body was found, but at the same time he had not come to see Copper as Samantha thought. In the worst case scenario, something could have happened to him on the road to the check point, like getting caught in the storm or attacked by wild animals, but it did not seem right. Zan was one of the warriors of Samilo, a stupid storm or animals would not be enough to stop him.
“Tylor, maybe…” he said and stumbled over his words, “…maybe he went somewhere else? If the storm somehow did not reach here then he might have kept going to get help or something…” he stopped, trailing off.
Going over the possibilities in his mind, Tylor realized that Joel did have a point. His father did go to Wrathe a lot. It acted as the link between the island and the main land by means of a large dock. His father’s job, if it could be called that, involved buying and trading in imported goods while selling crops and fish caught and harvested by the villagers on behalf of the community of Samilo. But there was something still nagging at him.
“If he had left to go to Wrathe for trading reasons or something like that, then why not rest here and why not leave me a note? He usually did, if he had to leave on urgent business. Also, why tell Samantha he was heading here?” Tylor sighed.
Copper had stayed quiet, he was unaware of what Tylor was talking about, but knew the facts and Zan had not been there for a visit for around a week. The last time he saw his old friend on business, he had stopped by before heading to Wrathe for a special trade meeting for a few days. It had to have been almost three weeks ago, if not longer. Any time after that had been simply for a chat and a drink. The boys had also mentioned a storm, but he had no idea what they were talking about. Children did tend to talk rubbish sometimes.
Heading back to the kitchen, he announced that the boys could use a room upstairs for the night and go home tomorrow. Silent, Tylor stood up and walked across the warm room to the wooden stairs leading to the first floor of the house. Joel grabbed his plate of food and glass of water before following. Watching them leave, he sighed to himself.
Something bad was going on.
It was late now. Amber skies and a warm day had turned into a dark, cool, night. The fire down in the pub area was put out for the night. The only source of light anywhere in the check point now were the old oil lamps burning within glass containers on the walls in the hallway. Tylor lay on the smooth upper cover of his bed with his hands behind his head, looking up at the wooden roof. Behind him was a tainted, small, glass window letting in light blue moonlight. Joel lay on the floor next to him in a make shift bed of a cotton sheet thrown to the floor with some pillows and another cover laid on top. Joel had asked to come in the same room with him. Tylor had not remembered, but it was their ‘staying over’ night, had nothing have happened. Plus, the room directly opposite Tylor’s was in use and Joel did not want to have to go down the hall to bed after talking.
He made sure to keep conversation away from what happened in Samilo, it might have upset the kid too much, plus he did not really want to try to comprehend the monstrous storm affecting only a small section of the island. As far as anything to do with his father was concerned, it would be sorted in the morning, when he had time to work out what to do, so they did not speak of that either. Joel had made one good point while they spoke, though. His father may have left Tylor a note telling of an important trade meeting or something in Wrathe, but it may have been lost when his house partly collapsed. That did not explain why Zan had lied to Samantha though.
The night had worn on and girls, life, birds, trees and even the origins of the universe had already been discussed between the boys. Tylor had even told one of the stories his father passed onto him when he was younger. The old stories were about a brave knight fighting dragons and other monsters to rescue damsels in distress. They sat silent now. Tylor was still looking to the ceiling and Joel was lying on his stomach, hands supporting his head. Tylor sighed, louder than he had meant to. He could already hear Joel turn his head in reaction to it.
“Still up? Must be a new record, you’re usually sound asleep by this time,” he said, with a smirk.
“You may not believe it after today, but I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately,” Tylor grumbled.
Joel laughed, but Tylor had meant it. Ignoring the night of the storm, Tylor had found it very hard to get a good nights sleep for the past few nights. He had sleepless dreams of a woman talking to him, speaking words he did not understand and sounds he could not distinguish. It did not scare him, but it was confusing and yet comforting at the same time. He thought it was visions of his mother, but could not be sure. Either way, it always made him awake in a cold sweat. He did not know whether to be worried or at peace and it always seemed so real.
He tried to explain it to Joel. The young boy on the floor sat still, looking up to Tylor’s deep eyes. He had listened to every word, went over the detail in his head, thought up possibilities and acceptable solutions. The kid, from what he could see in the moonlight, was thinking about it hard, his brow was a sea of wrinkles as he strained in thought.
“Tylor,” he paused, seemingly collecting his thoughts, “the next time this nice sounding woman talks to you in your dream....” he stopped.
“…Yes?” Tylor said, awaiting his best friend’s sound advice.
“Ask her if she‘s single.”
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