Battlemage

I: DARIEN

I step out into the clearing, where small, wooden cottages cluster together as if to avoid the rocky fallow not fifty feet away. Their wood siding and thatched roofs are dilapidated, soaked through by rain, and their cobblestone foundation is crumbling. The wood rots, and a thick musky smell of mulch wafts through the air. A crude dirt path runs through town, hounded by the brush that grows near. Rocks and stumps peek from the ground, left to trip any horses or carriages deciding to roll through. However, our village of Wiltrock rarely receives any passersby's. A dense, yellowed forest of aspen trees lines a nearby silver riverbank, overlooking the settlement. The red and yellow leaves flutter daintily in the biting autumn. They stipple the rocky ground with flecks of gold.
Our little settlement is already bustling when dawn breaks. Men and women don their work clothes, nothing more than cloth fashioned from hemp, weakly stitched with the bare thread a handful of good trades had to offer. Their dress clings together with patches sown by the townswomen, who cannot afford to buy more material. My friends and I wait for our parents to return from selling the crops from our early autumn harvest. Only when someone visits the larger cities like Hajfenn or Vastokemar, does he return with luxuries like wool fabric, fine thread, and spices. While they're tending to their stalls elsewhere, I need to be certain that our cabbage patches and wheat fields are ready for the final harvest before the winter is upon us. We all try to contribute to the growth of or settlement. The women by pickling vegetables and drying what meets we can game, and the men by tanning leather and plowing the fields. I head to the dell, which gives way to the farmland ripe with potatoes, cabbage, and grains. I rest Da's sickle on my back, ready to streak my face with the damp soil beneath my boots.
When I arrive at the fields, I wash my face with the basin of cold river water that sits nearby. It stings my skin, but refreshes me nonetheless. Turning back, I scan the fields to find Lara. She may have never agreed to do the work assigned, but I expect it from her nonetheless. I worry for Ma and Da. Even when I'm here to help, the work is still too burdensome for three people. With Frieda gone, we've been in danger of falling behind on harvest for the past two years. I tried to pick up her end of the work, but it was too much for me to handle, so now Da and I split her chores. Though, it's arduous for Da too, and he's been getting feeble. He's not as young and strong as he used to be, so how will he maintain our family's section of the field without me? The task would end up as Lara's responsibility, but she's one to shirk her chores no matter who tells her to do them.
"And here stands the Alchemist to be," a deep, lighthearted voice chimes behind me. I spin to face it, preparing for its host to chatter away. Galm drops his hand onto my shoulder, clutching it, and practically driving me into the ground. He grasps my palm with his free hand and shakes it vigorously. I return the squeeze, matching his strength. Though I stand taller, broader, not a single man in our village can compete with Galm's explosive verve.
He wears his tan and dirt speckled skins proudly, a mark of hard work well done. His ears are sharp, sticking out and already listening to any secrets one may have to offer. His nose is sharp and prominent, pointing downwards and leading one's eyes to his thin, affable smile. I catch a glint of impishness is his sunken, hazel eyes. He must be up to no good, as always.
"What did you do now, Galm?" I groaned, making sure he can see the absolute weariness on my face. Though I know, no matter how much I oppose him, he'll find a way to drag me into one of his escapades.
He cackles, doubling over and clutching his knees. His laughter is rowdy, and the farmers nearby cease their work to glance over in our direction. He heaves for air, finally coughing out the last bit of his laughing fit. "Oh," he says rising, "it's nothing."
"Galm," I demand. I know he'll tell me anyway, but he always seems to enjoy being interrogated.
"Okay, okay," he says waving his hands as he snickers a few times. His grin is devilish, and though I hold a stern glare, I'll probably still take delight in what I'm about to hear. I raise my eyebrows and he does the same. "Fine, since you want to know so badly," the intonation of his voice rises in a slightly mocking manner. Then his smile returns to a neutral, sober expression, and he fixes his eyes squarely on mine. "Remember that stone I've been carving. Nonsensical symbols and all that?"
"Yes?" I nod and tilt my head. My arms are crossed, and my austere attitude has yet to be relieved.
"Well," His grin returns, small at first, but readily growing. "I hid it under a stump about a month ago, and Soren and his father went to remove it." He shifts his weight from one leg to the other. "Are you following?"
I give an agitated sigh in confirmation.
"Well, they pulled out the stump and the stone along with it, and Soren told me that his old man stared at that thing for hours. He must have thought it was some ancient writing or something, because he went all the way down to Hajfenn to track down a mystic. So he finally gets there, meets the old geezer, and shows him my wonderful piece of art."
"Art?" I question Galm sarcastically.
"Hey!" He shouts, stepping back and pretending to be offended. "Those carvings took a lot of time to make, especially if I wanted them to be convincing. And they were, weren't they?" He brings his face closer to mine, challenging me, but then retreats and clears his throat. "C'mon, let me finish. Anyway, okay so the scholar man goes insane and says that this is a discovery that'll lead him to new heights in his research. He gave Soren's father quite a few gold tullians to take it off his hands, and carted off back to wherever he came from. Now the old fools probably studying it in his laboratory somewhere." Galm pauses and his face goes solemn. "Poor drudge, I hope he figured out that it's not worth his time by now." Though his moment of pity doesn't last long. He sniggers and returns to his eager self. "But what if it goes down in history, ends up in a museum, and generations after generations end up studying it, trying to unlock its supernatural properties? And only well know the truth!"
"That just means you're not only wasting my time with this childish behavior, but everybody else's too," I say, and he punches my arm in response.
"Hey, it's me, Galm!" He yells as he waves his arms in front of my face. "I'm the guy that you can actually unwind with once in a while." He puts his hands on his hips and puckers his lips disapprovingly, as if he's just bitten into a handful of unripe bilberries. "I'm not Lara, you know. I'm your best friend." He steps closer to me and caresses my cheek. "Your best friend who loves and misses you." My nose crinkles and my brows draw together, twisting my face into one of discomfort and revulsion.  The corners of his mouth quirk up. "Who especially misses tossing back mead till the sun rises, and then waking up past noon behind the mill, half naked with your ma yelling at us and swatting us with a broom."
I rake my fingers through my hair and look past to the field spread out behind Galm. I avoid his anticipatory gaze and instead focus on a few men and women moving from patch to patch. The same thing I would be doing right now if Galm wasn't distracting me.
"You know I can't do that anymore," I reply. "I have to help Da run the farm, and there's no time for anything."
He shakes his head. "Frieda should have never left. Look what it's done to you."
"Don't say that," I reply. "It makes me sound like a hypocrite."
Galm takes the sickle from me and drops it near the water basin, along with his pail. He puts an arm around me, and for a split second I feel better. The morning sun hits my eyes, and I cover them with my hand, returning my attention to my best friend.
"How about one last hurrah? You won't get another with a blessing like me for quite a while." He slyly whispers to me, "I know where Soren's old man hides his wine." Pulling away from me, he adds, "The good stuff too." He nudges his fist into my bicep.
"No," I say firmly, putting my foot down. "I told you, You know Ma and Da won't be back for a while. Frieda's gone, and Lara doesn't give enough of a damn to help me around here. I have to finish as much as I can before I go, and so far you've done nothing but waste my time."
He lets his arm drop, releasing me from his hold. He wicks back his tousled, jet black hair. "Alright, I'm sorry," he responds. He softens, "let me at least help you."
I grab my sickle and we walk over to the wheat fields. I swing at the stalks, and the golden grain topples to the ground in clumps. Galm collects the wheat and stuffs it into a large wooden basket. He follows me, carrying it with both hands, stopping every so often to hand off our gatherings to another farmer. The chore is done silently, with only a few orders given to between us, here and there. Although the autumn air is cool and dry, sweat trickles down my back and stains my garments. After carrying the crops bushel by bushel, fatigue sets into Galm, but he continues working. Two of us hold a tradition of working through meals, so he knows better than to leave before the jobs is done. I take he's intent on preserving the routine of the last days we have left together. I don't bother to even give him a nod, but our years of friendship leads way to him easily understanding my gratitude.
"So," he says stacking grain into his basket, "where do you think Lara's hiding today?"
"I don't know," I reply with impassivity.
"Well," Galm drops his basket and stalks off a few feet to have a better view of our village through the grain. "We have the river, the forest, the meadow, the barn, or we can play it safe and say she's hiding in the farmhouse." He doesn't bother to look at me while calling, "C'mon! I'll wager you!"
Lara always hides somewhere to avoid her obligations, to the point that Galm and I made a game of it some years back. He and I would pick a possible hiding spot, and then he'd have me convince Frieda to go check. The loser would have to hand over his lunch, or barter for a bottle of mead to serve to the winner.  If both of us were wrong, Frieda would grow impatient and demand both of our lunches, running off laughing after we hand them over. Though, I can live without my lunch, and I have a bottle to hand over. But this is a good opportunity to squeeze a few coppers out of him, and the gods know I'll need them for my trip.
"Alright," I nod. "But this time its twenty coppers. No more no less."
"Why don't you just ask me for forty gold tullians instead?" He puts his arms behind his head and insouciantly starts strolling about, leaving me to watch his amble. "Ten. Now pick your poison."
"She's in the meadow picking flowers, no doubt about it."
He takes my answer with regard. "You're about to pay for my ale, because she's in the farmhouse for sure."
He bolts off, his path made clear by the bend of the straw. I pity him. He'll be losing a week's wages for doubting that I know my own sister. Lara, who's probably promenading about a meadow collecting violets and mountain flowers, will probably sprint in the opposite direction as soon as she sees Galm coming. Though, Lara would never fight Galm or me directly. She's as sneaky and roguish as a fox. Every day that she'd be carried to the field, I would have to hide what clothes I have so she wouldn't cover them in honey water. Last time I made a mistake of leaving them out, I was hounded by mosquitoes for days. She didn't get off easy, as in return I poured cold water down the back of her shirt. Our exchange was only ended when Ma saw me throw her into the river. She grabbed me by my collar, and her usual soft face was replaced by one of equal ire and terror. She yelled at me, how Lara can't swim and how she's afraid of water. I had to dive in and swim after her as fast as I could. I pulled her from the bank and onto shore, and she coughed some before slapping me hard. After Ma told Da, I swear he screamed at the both of us so loud that even Galm could hear it across the hamlet. And while Lara was sent off to bed without dinner for a night, Frieda made sure to plunge my head into the wash basin every day for the next month.
Frieda was always on Lara's side, and I don't blame her. As much as I fight with Lara, I do feel bad for her. She doesn't get along with any of the other children in the village. She looks down on them too much, so Frieda was her only friend. Now I'm her only bit of company, no matter how reluctant. What will happen to her after I'm gone? Ma and Da will probably be at their wits end with her within a week, and she'll be no happier. Oh Lara...
A tap on my back brings me to stand at attention. Galm circles around, high-spirited as usual. Lara's not with him so that can only mean,
"It's a good thing Frieda's not here to steal our lunch, isn't it?"  He chuckles and beckons for me to sit down next to him, grass brushing against my thighs. I prop myself up, my arms holding me like crutches. We watch the clouds float by, like when we were young boys and we had just finished tending to our gardens, but things aren't as peaceful. Galm ignores the tension and uncertainty, but it burdens me, so I turn to him earnestly and whisper,
"Galm."
"Yes," he replies wistfully, lost in the scene beyond us.
"I need you to promise me that you'll take care of Lara in my stead." My voice quivers, but I pretend nothing happened.
He looks at me, straight and sincere, like a brother rather than a friend. He doesn't smile, but replies lowly and slowly, making sure I hear every word.
"I swear on my life."