Chapter 3: Towards Rivweld

Our hero heads towards the village of Rivweld to reunite with his father. What's in store for him as he makes his way there though?

Chapter 3: Towards Rivweld

            They kept moving, far after the barracks had disappeared from view, far after they had left the woods outside of Philitica, and did not stop until they had reached the same bridge Xavier had crossed only a few days before. Wilt finally halted at the arch of the bridge, leaning against the stone and panting a few hard breaths before collapsing against the wall. Xavier followed next to him, his knees shaky as his weight toppled him over onto the smooth, cold ground. His lungs strained as they fought to recover, and his sides ached, particularly his left, where his wound remained. It was now wrapped in thick bandage; done once again by Wilt after about an hour’s half had passed.

            They had stopped briefly near the end of the Udalmes, which was the river that ran from the hills behind their barracks down to the village of Birnd, which had established a dam and collected the water for personal use. Birnd was a small village, no more than half a dozen houses, two farms that bred cattle for meat, and a small blacksmith. The blacksmith was Birnd’s claim to fame throughout Aldonya however; he was as gifted as those that served in Lutone, the capitol city of Aldonya.

            His name was Rax, an enormous man, bigger than Doreius in both height and girth, and rather blunt with everyone. He had zero tolerance for bargaining; if you could not, would not, or did not want to pay his price, he forgot about you quick. The typical response from Rax to someone upset with him over the work he had done was a mere shrug and suggestion to seek another blacksmith. Regardless of his attitude, Rax was respectful and caring at heart, at least his fellow villagers claimed, and he hardly had any complaints about his work, thus he never could show off his lack of care. 

            Rax had been the one to greet Wilt and Xavier when they approached, and he, along with the other villagers, accepted them graciously, giving them food and water, as well as supplying Wilt with bandage to wrap Xavier’s side, which he had done in his typical fashion; not saying much.

            “We must continue until the night falls again,” Wilt had said whilst addressing Xavier’s gash. “I’ve never seen those…creatures before, but we cannot rest until there is great distance between us and them.”

            “Wilt…father told me to meet him in Rivweld. Three days from now.” Xavier responded, panting between speaking.

            Wilt had nodded shortly, anymore conversation abandoned as the new task had become apparent; nothing more needed to be said. After he was bandaged, Xavier and Wilt thanked the villagers and prepared to set off once more. As they went though, a few villagers came to them and offered a sack containing bread and meat. A few more presented Wilt with freshly crafted arrows for his quiver, which had become near empty in the fight earlier. Xavier had been given a simple shield and sword, and with that they had left the villagers, thanking them for their generosity. As they walked down the hill at the edge of the village, something puzzled Xavier, made him angry at himself and at Wilt. It was not until they had nearly reached the valley floor that he realized what it was: the entire time, they had failed to warn the villagers of the threat that lay just west of them; the beasts were undoubtedly still in Philitica, possibly heading towards Birnd now. He had stopped in his tracks when these thoughts entered his mind, the image of dead villagers sprawled across the stone pavement filling his vision, all caught off guard by these hellish beasts as they died painfully and with great suffering. Xavier could almost hear their screams; he knew how they would sound; it would rise in their throats in the form of terror, reduced to a gurgling sound as their necks were ripped and their lives drained. Shutting his eyes, Xavier shook his head, tears already forming.

            “Wilt! Wilt we must warn them!” Xavier had shouted, turning to retreat back up the hill they had descended away from the village.

            “Xavier. They will be fine; we have to continue.” Wilt had spoken in reply, the words barely reaching Xavier, not just due to distance, but to the fiery rage that was filling Xavier’s mind at the thought of leaving those kind villagers to die mercilessly; it was a wall, and he hardly heard more as it grew in him.  

            “They helped us, gave us aid! We cannot leave them to perish!” He had yelled back at Wilt, who had remained where he stood at the base of the valley between the two hills.

            “They will be fi�'” Wilt began.

            “You saw what those beasts did!” Xavier screamed, the cruelty of deaths he had witnessed mixing with his immense grief at the memory of dozens of dead soldiers, necks torn and bodies mutilated, echoing in his voice. “You know what they can do; saw how they killed our comrades, your friends! I will not leave them to die! I cannot!”

Xavier took deep, sobbing breaths as his legs became weak under him and he fell to his knees, crying for the loss of life that had occurred and the profound desire to stop anymore loss from happening. Moments passed, and silence conquered the air until Wilt’s footsteps, unusually heavy, sounded on the stone behind Xavier, and he turned. Wilt stood there, his face clouded with emotion, his eyes tired and dull, no longer carrying the edge they always had. It was a long time before he spoke.

            “What can we do?” He had asked, his voice whispering the question they both knew the answer to. “Truly, we cannot help them. They would be lost even if we warned them, and warning them would only cause panic. It is not an easy decision Xavier, but they have few soldiers, and the beasts may not come to them. We cannot stay.”

            Wilt had moved back down the hill after speaking, not looking back once, but hearing the footsteps of Xavier following behind him, the boy’s breathing raspy and shallow as Wilt knew his emotions were flooding out from within him. Hearing this, Wilt thought back to when he had first treated Xavier only a few hours before. The thought had passed briefly through his mind then, when Xavier’s vulnerability had been exposed. Now, when once more Wilt saw how fragile Doreius’ son was, how much the sight of death impacted him, that same thought flashed once again: Too young.

            Words had seldom been a major part in Wilt’s life. He preferred the quiet air, the sole sound coming from a soft breeze whistling through his ears, rustling the leaves on nearby trees. It was a peace he often tried to lose himself in. He wished for this peace to return now, as he stepped lightly along the stone path that ran through the hills, splitting each endless green wave of grass into two; a thin grey line his sharp eyes could see continuing its division far into the distance. Death had taken quick control of Wilt’s life; so many had died in such a short time he could not be certain all the soldiers were dead, as he had not seen some of them when the battle began nor anytime throughout its duration. Yet with a sinking feeling in his heart, he knew everyone that had been in the barracks, had been killed.

            Wilt’s eyes flashed to the moment the first bandit had approached the barracks gate. No, not approached, appeared. He remembered thinking it was impossible; he had walked past the gate only a moment earlier, peered from the entrance as far as he could into the darkness and seen nothing. Yet moments later the gates had crashed open and the bandits had filed in, marching orderly, as peculiar as a group of bandits could behave. Their actions held complete precision, as if they have not only planned, but trained for this attack until it was embedded in their very limbs; each movement became a memory, and they swung and ducked and ran with intense determination and skill. Wilt had engaged the moment they came into sight, firing each arrow with perfect accuracy, the metal tips slicing cleanly into the flesh of each brigand, bringing them briefly to their knees before they summoned their strength and fought on.

            That had attracted Wilt’s attention at the time, and he was momentarily stunned; most enemies were unable to continue after a single arrow; whether they died upon impact or from bleeding out, they almost never could continue. The thought had barely registered before he was firing again at the bandit that now sported a thin wooden stick with feathers at the end out his back, two more arrows joining the first before the man finally fell for the last time. However, as Wilt could remember only too clearly, the man had not stayed where he had fallen for long, and the image of the beast ripped through Wilt’s conscious, causing the slightest shudder to scamper down his body.

            Dark flesh with fur of equal shade, bright yellow eyes that had shone through the heavy smoke lingering in the air, a deep, long red line of spiky hair down the vertebrae, these monsters had struck true fear into Wilt, and he recalled how his bow hand had shaken when he watched one rise from the darkness that had once been a fallen bandit. They were immense in size, nearly twice the length of an average man, with muscles like hardened steel, tearing flesh effortlessly, delivering death in every blow, promising it with every step they took. Wilt grimaced as his mind replayed the images of bodies, soldiers turning cold and the grass becoming sticky with dried blood, as each suffered a death as painful and horrific as the last. He remembered how one soldier had been flipped from behind, a paw rested on his chest, pinning him while he shrieked in fear, before having his throat nearly bitten through by the powerful jaws of the beast that killed him. Another had died slower, the beast that slaughtered him having raked its claws across his chest. He should’ve been equipped with body armor yet, in the surprise and rush, had failed to put it on, and so had suffered deeply. They all had, Wilt thought, regardless of the damn armor.

            Wilt forced the thoughts out of his mind, rationalizing his feelings of guilt and despair with the situation; he had fought bravely and without rest, killing bandit, and then beast, one after another, until that moment he had seen Xavier across the way, running parallel to his position alongside the opposite wall. For some reason, Wilt had felt a flicker of joy bud from within. He had not known Xavier long, yet had looked at and treated him as one would a brother, caring for him without notice from the other soldiers, teaching him, raising him as a soldier. Xavier was still young, and Wilt felt he may always regret helping Xavier further his path in becoming a warrior, seeing as it went against his own beliefs in what the boy should do, but he could not stop now. Especially following these events, for Xavier was more in need of a companion than ever, and given his relationship with his father, he had nobody else but Wilt.  

            Gazing ahead, Wilt had watched Xavier trudge along the path; his shoulders slumped slightly in exhaustion, though Wilt knew the boy would never admit it aloud. Perhaps they could rest soon, Wilt thought, as he cast his gaze over to the sun, whose bottom lip had just become hidden behind the range of mountains expanding across the horizon. An orange and pinkish light was beginning to replace the harsh yellow that had brought a torturous heat down onto them earlier in the day, and as he glanced around him, Wilt tasted a small bit of that peace he was craving. However, much as he may have wished for it, Wilt knew his peace would not return for some time. The world may look lit to all, Wilt thought, but we, glancing at Xavier and seeing the beast-bandits flicker in his memory, know that darkness has been given birth, and has begun its conquest.

            They had arrived at the bridge a few hours after leaving Birnd, the large, connecting structure looming off to the right of their path, signaling, thankfully Xavier had thought to himself, a pause in their journey, a cross from seemingly endless travel to grateful rest. Wilt had sat for a few minutes, staring westward, in the direction they would soon continue traveling, focusing more on contemplating their journey than actually staring at anything in the distance. Xavier watched with him but, despite his injury and the long trek so far, became restless after ten minutes or so and stood. With a nod to Wilt beckoning at the bridge, Xavier wandered across halfway, before leaning out one of the many slits that opened the bridge to the great river roaring underneath it, to the rough, uneven, sloping earth on either side, and the vast, empty sky that hung overhead. He stood there now, the events of the past day running endlessly through his mind, causing him to shudder slightly and grind his teeth in sorrow and pain. He remembered each dead soldier, the torn throats, the dismembered bodies, all with expressions etched in fear. It was these looks of panic and dread that stuck in Xavier’s mind so permanently now, and he felt himself pushing away from the bridge, turning north towards the forest he had ran from the evening before, as he forced himself to think of something else. Memories of a woman begin to appear, her body engraved with terrible wounds, and Xavier saw the look on the man that carried her stiff, lifeless corpse back into the barracks. Stop! Xavier told himself, the images of the man and woman fading, replaced by the soldiers and beasts. Fearing the reoccurrence of that old, painful memory, Xavier forced himself to focus on the present ones. You cannot let their deaths haunt you as you let their lives, he told himself. They died fighting, serving their commander valiantly. You could not have done anything for them, why let them hinder you from beyond?

            “Xavier.” Wilt spoke his name softly, his lips barely moving as the words sounded from somewhere deep in his throat. Xavier jumped, unaware that Wilt had walked towards him, and turned, seeing the fearless archer now standing only a few feet from him, turning back towards the entrance they had arrived at. He saw Wilt beckon with his shoulder for Xavier to follow, and so he did, catching up to walk at Wilt’s side.

            “You are blaming yourself for what happened at the barracks, and perhaps what may still happen at Birnd,” Wilt spoke the words evenly and without indication of emotion. “Tell me why.” Xavier felt his anger begin to rise from within him, but stopped himself before the harsh words left him. Pausing, he pondered what Wilt had said, and mulled his thoughts over himself. It was not until they reached the end of the bridge that he finally spoke.

            “I arrived in the middle of the night. Surely I made noise the entire time I walked, or limped rather, home. My sword was dragging along the path. Could that have attracted the bandits? Could I have led them to us? That’s what I am wondering to myself. Perhaps I am responsible Wilt.” Xavier said, each word spoken clearly and strong, and Xavier saw Wilt’s eyebrow rise ever so slightly at his tone of voice.

            Wilt did not reply immediately. In fact, to Xavier’s surprise and slight annoyance, he remained silent while gathering their supplies and moving on down the path that led away from the bridge to the west. Xavier followed a few steps behind Wilt, no longer wishing to engage in conversation with him. I told him what was bothering me, just like he said, and now he will not talk to me, Xavier thought to himself, his annoyance turning to anger. He heard a sound ahead of him and raised his head, the back end of Wilt’s boots coming into his field of vision. Either Xavier was catching up or Wilt was slowing down, because now he could see the bottom of Wilt’s quiver which was slung across his shoulders. Feeling a brush as Wilt passed besides him before taking a step forward and matching his pace, Xavier received his answer.

            “You are not wrong to feel as if it is your fault,” Wilt said, glancing at Xavier momentarily before his eyes darted back to the horizon. “Following times of sorrow, when we have lost those we care about, there always tends to emerge a feeling of personal responsibility. It is only natural. But it is wrong, and you must come to reason with your guilt.”

            Xavier gave a small nod to Wilt’s words, unable to conjure a response, turning words over in his head, trying to find what to say. Before he could, Wilt spoke up again.

            “As cruel as it may seem, and as much as I’d rather do the opposite, I must ask you to stow your emotional distress Xavier.” Shock in his eyes, Xavier turned to Wilt, who met his glance with a sharp glare, warning him not to judge his words so quickly.

            “I am not saying I do not care how you feel,” Wilt continued, speaking slower so that his words would stand alone and be heard by Xavier. “But you saw what those bandits did, what the beasts did. They wer�', are not men as we are Xavier, but far more dangerous and deadly. I cannot confront them again without you, and we shall see more you must believe me.”

            “I do not believe I can provide you with much assistance Wilt.” Xavier responded flatly.

            “Quiet. You’re swordsmanship is skillful and swift, and you need only experience now to become a better fighter. That’s all you’ve needed for some time actually.” Wilt replied, a slight tone of bitterness evident in his voice.

            “Experience, hah. I’ve never swung my sword at a real enemy.” Xavier offered as his rebuttal, only to stop himself, realizing what he had just said, the way he had addressed a superior, and not only that, but the closest person to him. Turning quickly, Xavier began to apologize, but stopped when he met Wilt’s eyes, which looked at him with a chilling coldness

            “Do not think of it as a privilege Xavier, as something you are missing out on. You will not fight in these coming times for fun, or solely to become a glorified soldier.”

            Xavier pondered for a moment, before asking. “What will I be fighting for then, Wilt?”

“Your life.” Wilt responded.