Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 1 ❯ CHAPTER 5: ELENA AND GREIL ( Chapter 5 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

It was eerie to enter the town he’d watched from afar these past two weeks, even with Ike excitedly expounding on the town’s good qualities as they walked. The people gave Soren confused, even worried glances, but a friendly nod from Elena averted any confrontation.

Eventually they arrived at Ike’s house, which sat near the crest of the town’s hill, right beside the steep slope leading into the fields. “It’s perfect for sledding in the winter!” Ike assured when he noticed Soren’s gaze. He then set about introducing Soren to every aspect of the house’s exterior.

There was a small barn in the back with room enough for a packhorse and its cart, two goats, three chickens, and a rooster (although Ike explained the rooster actually belonged to the neighbors and they often had to chase it away from the hens). There were flowers and herbs in the window boxes and vegetables growing in a small plot on either side of the front door. “These are Momma’s plants,” Ike explained, pointing to them, “We have to be careful not to step on them, or we’ll get in trouble.”

Elena shook her head. “Really, Ike, is it so hard to avoid them?”

“Sometimes.” He shrugged petulantly.

“Come now, you can continue your tour inside.” She unlocked the door, and Ike was thrilled to do exactly as she asked.

The house had two floors, and on the first was a kitchen with a tall table, a sitting room with a large fireplace, a well-stocked storeroom, and a washroom with a basin big enough for a man the size of Greil to sit comfortably. Pleasant-smelling flowers hung from the ceiling, and the scents of various soaps oozed out of clay jars. Ike also let Soren peek into an additional room in the back of the house, which contained a cot and many cabinets. He explained that this was where Elena made her tinctures and met with patients.

Soren understood now that Elena was one of the town’s healers, but he still did not know what Greil did. There was a massive sword and axe crisscrossed over the mantle, and Soren knew well enough that weapons were not allowed in Gallia. He wondered how Greil got away with owning them. The man himself was not currently home, and Elena said he would return in the evening.

Ike led Soren upstairs where there were two bedrooms, one for Ike and his sister and one for his parents. Elena left the children alone in the house, saying she was going out to borrow a cot for Soren to sleep on. Now that the tour was over, Ike tried to enthuse Soren by introducing him to his toys: a wooden sword and tin shield, small soldier dolls, carved and painted horses, and so on. Soren had never had much interest in toys, but he listened while his mind struggled to catch up with all the changes.

When Elena returned, she set up the cot between Ike’s and Mist’s beds and laid out blankets and a pillow. “You are welcome to sleep here until we sort out what to do,” she promised. “Our home is yours as long as you need.”

Soren could not comprehend why she was doing this. She had not even consulted her husband to see if it was okay to let him stay the night, and here she was implying that he could stay longer. She didn’t know the first thing about him, and yet she was allowing him to sleep in the same room as her son and daughter. He could not say anything in the face of such inexplicable trust and generosity, and he found he had become completely mute again.

 

After drawing Soren a bath and giving him some of Ike’s old clothes, Elena left him to wash. Soren was happy to oblige, and determined to scrub away every last bit of the dirt and grime from the Gallian forest. When he finally emerged, his skin was red and blotchy, but he was cleaner than he had been in a very long time—possibly ever.

In the kitchen he found Ike and Mist washing and peeling vegetables for dinner. Elena asked Soren to join them. He played along with the family’s daily ritual, but not because he feared repercussions if he refused. 

When the sun had set and the easternmost fields were just losing their grasp on the warm daylight, Ike’s father shouldered into the cozy house. He appeared even bigger in the confines of the building than he had in the woods. And rather than staring down at him from above, Soren now found himself looking up at the man.

He had broad shoulders, a hooked nose, and a scar across his temple. His eyebrows were thick and angry-looking, and yet his eyes were tender when he gazed at his family. “I hear we have a visitor,” was the first thing he said. He wasn’t dressed as a farmer, and Soren wondered what he’d been doing all day.

Elena met him at the door, where they pecked each other on the cheek. “Yes, we do,” she answered. “It was quite a surprise to find out Ike’s imaginary friend isn’t quite so imaginary after all.”

Greil’s eyes had already settled on Soren, and he was examining him with a guarded expression. Soren stood from where he’d been sitting with Ike on the rug in front of the fireplace. He stepped forward as if presenting himself for Greil’s assessment.

“Greil, darling, this is Soren,” Elena introduced them. “Soren, this is Ike’s father, Greil.”

The man stepped forward and extended his hand. Although Soren had rejected Elena’s handshake in the meadow, he did not think Greil was the kind of person with whom you could refuse such things. So he acquiesced to grasp it and let Greil jerk it in a firm shake.

When he let his hand drop, Soren could hardly believe he had not shown any disgust at having touched him. He was either immune to the usual revulsion people felt around Soren or good at hiding his feelings.

   The five of them ate dinner together, and then, when the children were washing and drying the dishes, Ike’s parents retreated to their own room to talk privately. Soren had no doubt he was the topic of discussion, and as he wiped dry the plates Ike passed him, he imagined what they could be saying.

They returned before long, and Greil sent Ike and Mist to their room even though the dishes were not yet done. Ike was reluctant to leave, and he gave Soren a worried look. Soren did not understand why it fell to him to settle Ike’s feelings, but he found himself giving the boy a reassuring nod. Ike seemed satisfied and did as his father had ordered.

   Then Greil and Elena sat back down at the kitchen table and gestured for Soren to sit as well. “Let’s talk for a bit,” Elena invited him. The table and chairs were tall, and his feet didn’t touch the floor.

“Elena told me what you told her,” Greil began, leaning on his arm so that he could look at Soren face-on. “Anything you want to add, now’s the time.”

Soren did not know what he wanted him to say, so he just shook his head.

“That’s fine,” Greil grunted. “Now, there’s something there on your forehead. Would you mind showing it to me?” Greil was clearly not as naturally gentle as his wife, but he appeared to making a concerted effort to speak nicely. Once again, it was not something Soren understood.

He nervously held the remnants of his bangs aside. They had nearly grown out, and he was not surprised they were no longer keeping the mark concealed. When Greil nodded, Soren lowered his hand. 

“You’re right,” he said to his wife.

“It doesn’t change anything,” she replied briskly.

“Of course not.” He shook his head and returned his gaze to Soren. “Where are you from, lad?”

“A vil-lage,” Soren managed to say, glancing at Elena. He had already told her this.

“Here in Gallia?” Greil asked.

Soren nodded.

“And have you always lived in that village?”

Soren shook his head, and when Greil seemed to be waiting for elaboration, he stuttered, “D-Dee-Day- Daein.” 

The couple exchanged a quick, urgent glance that Soren could not make heads or tails of. “You’re from Daein?” Elena repeated.

Soren nodded.

After another glance, Greil spoke again. “That’s a long way from here,” he said, but Soren had a feeling that was not what had been communicated between their eyes. “Is there anyone waiting for you back in Daein?”

Soren shook his head adamantly.

“And the village where your master died… Did you leave because they wouldn’t let you stay?” His voice was sympathetic, and Soren realized this couple was not ignorant about the way they were supposed to be treating him. They knew they were not supposed to trust him, to show him kindness or hospitality, and yet they were doing it anyway.

When the shock of this fact faded away, Soren finally nodded. It was easier than trying to explain that he’d safely assumed he would have been chased away.

Greil gave a small nod as if to say he expected as much. “What were you planning to do in Crimea?” he asked next.

Soren had an answer prepared now, although he knew it was weak. “Work,” he managed to say.

“How old are you?” He raised one massive eyebrow.

“Sa-se-seven,” Soren answered. Although he didn’t know his exact birthday, he expected to be eight this winter.

“Ike is six,” Elena said with a small, sad smile. “I wouldn’t guess by looking at the two of you that you were the older.”

Soren just looked at the dirty table. He had his fists in his lap, and he didn’t know what to say or do to earn these people’s help. Right now, Elena seemed to pity him, and he hoped that would work in his favor no matter how uncomfortable it was to bear.

“Seven-year-old children shouldn’t have to work,” Greil declared as if having just deciding this fact.

“Agreed,” Elena said, clasping her hands on the tabletop.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Soren.” Greil leaned down the table before continuing. “Elena and I are planning to move our little family to Crimea in the spring. If you stay with us until then, we can take you with us and get you settled. I’m not talking about work—I mean a home. Somewhere you can be educated and raised right. How does that sound?”

Soren could hardly believe what he was hearing, but he knew that if this offer was real, he would be a fool to pass it up, no matter the risk. He nodded, adding firmly, “Yes.”

Greil bobbed his head as if business had just been concluded, but Elena was beaming. “Well, Ike will be glad to have you around!” she laughed. “Why don’t you go tell him the good news?” She gestured to the stairs.

Soren understood he was being dismissed, although he’d never been sent away so subtly before. Usually a harsh word or a flying object would have done the trick. He did not think Elena or Greil would use such tactics, but he scampered away just in case.

However, he did not have to climb the stairs to find Ike, because the boy was sitting on the steps with his finger to his lips. Soren realized the boy had been listening the entire time and decided it was a smart decision. He stepped in place on the stairs several times so it sounded like he made it to the top. Then he crouched down next to Ike and listened.

“Are you sure about this?” Elena said after a while. The laughter had left her voice. “It could be a trap.”

“I’m sure,” Greil replied resolutely.

“He said he’s from Daein. Do you think that could just be a coincidence?”

“Why not?” the man grunted. “Stranger things have happened.”

Elena sighed, and after a long pause, she said in a soft voice: “He’s not the one you trained, you know. He’s not a replacement. He’s not a redo. He’s just a little boy.”

“I know.”

“Good...” There was another long pause, and this time Elena asked. “Do you really think we can find a place that will take him?”

Greil did not answer immediately. “Not many places would. But there has to be someone, somewhere. I’ll use my connections.”

“Your connections, Greil?” Elena repeated incredulously. “We can’t be drawing attention to ourselves.”

“I know, darling, but neither of us are particularly good at that when it comes to doing the right thing.” This was followed by the sound of a kiss, and Ike pulled a disgusted face.

“Well, I couldn’t very well leave that boy out in the woods,” Elena conceded. “And besides, Ike is very fond of him.”

“This could be good for Ike,” Greil agreed. The sound of chair legs scratching against the floor and dishes clinking showed that the conversation was over. On unspoken agreement, Soren and Ike used the sound to creep up the stairs as silently as they could.

 

Ike was ecstatic that Soren would be staying, and he bounced around the room telling Mist everything he’d heard while the girl whined for him to stop. “We’re moving again!” he squealed, “We’re moving, we’re moving!” Soren was confused by his use of ‘again.’ He wondered where the family had lived previously and why they’d come to a Gallian village of all places.

When he heard footsteps on the stairs, Soren signaled Ike, and the boy fell still and silent. Greil and Elena pushed open the door a moment later. With arms around each other’s waists, they filled the doorframe.

“Ike, Mist,” Elena said, “Why don’t you pick a story for me to read tonight.”

Mist held up a book from her bedside table with big, beseeching eyes, but Ike pulled a face, saying, “Not that one!” He dashed over to a little bookshelf, placing his hand on his chin in a posture of serious contemplation.

Meanwhile, Greil addressed Soren: “I’d like to have another word with you alone.”

Soren had not touched any of the furniture since he and Ike had entered this room. In fact, he was still standing in the corner near the door. So he nodded and followed Greil back down the stairs without Ike noticing.

Rather than returning to the kitchen table, Greil sat himself down in the big armchair by the fireplace. Either he or Elena must have lit it while the children were upstairs, because the logs were just beginning to smolder. “Take a seat,” he said.

Soren sat in one of the smaller chairs and assessed the room again. It really was a well-furnished and well-stocked house. Soren wondered if Ike’s family was rich, and if so, how anyone could be so well-off in a remote village like this.

Greil rubbed the bristly shadow on his jaw while he appraised. “Tell me, Soren,” he began, “Why come to Gallia to become a wind mage?”

Soren hated this endless interrogation, but even worse was the fact that, although he could think coherently and considered himself quite intelligent for his age, he could hardly communicate a single sentence to these people. Taking a deep breath, he tried again: “He foun me. He t-took me he-e her-here.”

Greil nodded. “How did he die?”

“Sick,” Soren answered.  

“You’re a bit young to be anyone’s apprentice,” he observed. “Why did he wish to teach you?”

Soren hesitated. He knew the answer but was afraid to say it aloud. However, if Greil was truly going to help him, it was probably best he knew everything. “Su-Spiri-Spirit Sh-Charmer,” he managed. It was one of the words he’d practiced, and yet he stumbled now that he needed it.

Greil tilted his chin down. “And are you one?”

Soren shook his head, averting his eyes to the rug. His heart started beating faster as he recalled Sileas’s drunken tirade. Soren still did not understand what it meant, but he knew that being a Spirit Charmer would have been preferable to not being one.

“I understand.” Greil was silent for long time as he seemed to assemble his thoughts. “Lad,” he finally began, his tone gruff but not unkind. “Soren. First, I’ll just say this: they’re all wrong. The small-minded people out there who fear anything they don’t understand, anything that’s different. They’re wrong. Don’t forget that.”

He stopped to let Soren respond, so he gave a tiny nod. He didn’t know why Greil was telling him this, or if Greil was speaking truthfully, but he clung to the man’s every word.

“But that doesn’t mean they’re about to change,” Greil sighed. “You’re going to have to buck up and deal with it.”

Soren resented the implication that he’d been weak up until this moment. He didn’t know why he should have to ‘buck up’, but he didn’t argue.

“You can’t try to hide,” Greil continued. “Hiding makes you look guilty, right?”

Soren supposed that was true, although he did not know what he would be guilty of, other than scratching that boy’s face.

“Most people don’t know much about mages or magic, so that’ll work in your favor,” Greil explained. “If somebody asks about your Brand, you just say it’s the Spirit’s Protection, got it? You’ll have to pretend to be a Spirit Charmer. But only if someone asks, got it?”

Greil’s voice had become quite serious, and Soren felt a shiver run down his spine. He gave another small nod to show he understood.

“Don’t force your hair to cover your face—that looks like you’re trying to hide it. Bring your wind tome with you everywhere you go, but you mustn’t use it unless there’s absolutely no other choice, understand? People must see you’re a mage in training, but you mustn’t give them a reason to think you’ll hurt them. No matter what bullies like that kid Hedwin might say or do, you’ve got to keep a cool head. Do not give them anything to use against you. Elena and I can’t protect you if our neighbors think you’re dangerous. Do you understand?”

Soren nodded.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” Soren said aloud. “I und-understan.”

Greil jerked his head and continued: “You must follow the laws of the town. You mustn’t take what is not yours or go where you do not have permission. You are free to come and go from our house as you please, but you must listen and obey Elena and me. Can you do that? Can you trust us?”

“Yes,” Soren said again.

“Good.” Greil adjusted his position and seemed more relaxed. “Now, go off to bed. You must be tired.”

“Yes,” was all Soren could say. He supposed he should say thank you, but he wasn’t ready for those words. They stuck thick in his throat, and his mind rebelled against gratitude, telling him this could still be a trick.

He came upstairs to find Elena putting a book of fairytales away and kissing Mist and Ike on the tops of their heads. If this was a trap, it was an elaborate one. Soren crawled into his own cot and could hardly believe the warmth and softness of the blankets. Despite his nervousness, his doubts, his confusion, and his swirling thoughts, he fell into a dead sleep after only a few moments.

 

The next week was a peculiar adjustment period. He was fed regularly and had a place to sleep. His speech was improving the more he was forced to use it, and he was making himself useful by joining Ike and Mist in their chores. But he could not linger around Ike’s house all day, and leaving inevitably meant interacting with the other villagers.

For the most part, when a neighbor first saw Soren walking alongside Ike, they addressed him kindly. They knelt or put their hands on their knees and cooed: “And who is this young man?” or “Who is your friend, Ikey?” But they did not extend their hands in greeting like Greil and Elena had. Soren always let Ike introduce him, saying: “This is Soren! He’s come to live with us!” Then the villagers would smile and say in surprise. “Looks like little Ike is finally coming out of his shell!” If Elena was nearby, she would laugh and say jokingly, “Soren is a good influence on him.”

Others, however, were more wary. They either ignored Soren or gave him suspicious glances. Sometimes they were hesitant or a little afraid. These villagers would look to Greil or Elena for explanation and assurance, and either one could provide that assurance with a steady gaze, a slight nod, or a coercive smile. Soren could hardly believe the difference a single person vouching for him could make, let alone two.

He marveled at the influence Greil and Elena had over their neighbors. In his experience, it was people’s first instinct to hate him and their default behavior to be cruel. But Greil and Elena could disrupt these tendencies merely with their presence, their eyes, the barest movements of their face and bodies. They were like puppet masters. A slight twist of the wrist, the barest cutting motion with straight fingers, and the neighbor’s mouth snapped shut. Whatever they were about to ask or say died on their tongue. Soren noticed this covert communication, but he didn’t care. He was grateful for it.

 

After a few days, he discovered that the couple’s influence was derived from the value they provided the town. Although they had only moved here four years ago, they’d quickly become part of the fabric of the community. Elena was the village’s best healer, using a combination of herbal medicine, surgical techniques, and a Heal staff for more serious injuries. 

Greil, on the other hand, helped manage the finances of most of the village’s residents—especially the farmers who sold their crops to merchants in faraway cities and purchased their supplies from trading caravans. In short, Greil ensured no one was being swindled. He spent many evenings in front of the fireplace with papers spread over his lap and the table beside him. Sometimes a neighbor sat with him, drinking black coffee or brandy while they discussed business. Ike hated these meetings because it meant he had to play quietly in his room, but Soren often crept down the stairs to listen. The behavior of numbers, risks and trade-offs, and costs and gains all made sense to him, and it was clear Greil was a master of these subjects.

 

Despite their influence, Greil and Elena held little sway over the town’s children—including Hedwin’s gang. Due to the small number of children at all, the adults forced them to play together. At first Soren feared every meeting with Hedwin, but soon it became clear he’d managed to scare the preteen enough to dissuade him from pummeling either Ike or Soren again.

Soren made no friends here, besides Ike. But neither did he feel any desire to make more friends. Other than some light teasing and pushing, the other children left Soren alone, and that was how he preferred it.

Ike, on the other hand, seemed to forgive Hedwin immediately and wish to befriend him. Ike insisted on playing with anyone and everyone—even when the other kids had no interest in playing with him, which was often the case. The others called Ike stupid and annoying, but Soren didn’t see it that way. Ike could be oblivious or naïve, but it was because he was innocent. He could be a bit tiring, but that was merely due to his boundless energy. The others said he lived in a dream world, but that was because he had such a strong imagination. They said he didn’t know how to mind his own business, but that was because Ike cared about everyone. Soren found it strangely admirable.

Watching his friend play with the other kids, Soren came to think of Ike as the opposite of himself in every way. And if Soren was indeed bad, that must mean Ike was pure good. The brave, bright-eyed boy became the measuring stick with which Soren judged the rest of the world. The most important thing Soren learned from him was that people could be better. He realized that people like Galina and Sileas were pathetic. Most people were exactly that—pathetic, inane, self-serving, simple-minded, and wrapped in their own meaningless dramas. Ike, on the other hand, had an open mind, an expansive heart, a willingness to seek out passion, and the ability to see and understand it in others. Where everyone else saw an excitable seven-year old boy, Soren saw a hero.

 

Eventually life with Ike’s family became routine, and even the townspeople grew accustomed to Soren’s presence. His time was split between chores, playing with Ike (which included plenty of sledding once the snows came), and language lessons. All four family members helped him with the pronunciation of words he struggled with—even Mist who adamantly forced him repeat the names of her dolls until he could say them all perfectly. It didn’t seem to matter to her that she could hardly say them herself.

Learning to speak the common tongue took months. It was a long, mundane task, and often frustratingly difficult. When she realized he wanted to learn, Elena had taken on the role of teacher, and despite her gentleness, she could be incredibly strict. She had him recite increasingly complicated words, phrases, and tongue-twisters until he could pronounce them smoothly. But Soren was no stranger to hard work, and he applied himself to these tasks as if he had Sileas’s knotted rope at his back.

When the snows began to melt, Elena eventually called an end to his lessons, saying, “Well, you sound like a book now. I suppose my task is done.” This Soren could accept; he’d always been fond of the written word.

 

Spring came, and Elena and Greil prepared to leave, although they tried their best to keep this a secret from their neighbors. A week before they were scheduled to depart, they admitted the truth, and the backlash was fierce. The townspeople were loath to lose their best healer and accountant, and they feared this would inspire others to leave. They feared their village would become like the other ghost towns.

But they could not stop Greil and Elena from going. To Soren’s surprise, the family sold or gave away most of their possessions including most of their books. They filled their cart, two large packs on Greil and Elena’s backs, and even a small rucksack for Ike and a fabric bag for Mist. Soren insisted on having his own pack and carried his clothes and bedding.

Greil’s axe and sword came off of the wall, and to Soren’s surprise, he wore the sword on his belt and tucked the axe away in the cart. Elena fretted over which plates to bring and packed them among the clothes so they wouldn’t crack. She brought her Heal staff, using it as a walking stick, but left her herbs and medicines behind. They stocked up on travelling food, which was mostly the same preserved foodstuffs they’d been eating all winter. They sold their goats and kept only one chicken. All the furniture, including Greil’s armchair, was left behind.

Eventually it was time to leave. Since the town was still sore about their departure, only a few neighbors came to wave them off. It was a halfhearted affair. By the time they entered the woods beyond the fields, Mist was already whining about her legs being tired and her bag being too heavy, so Elena lifted her up to sit on the front of the cart. Ike, on the other hand, was skipping ahead, and Soren was sure he would have run all the way to Crimea if he could.

Soren couldn’t deny he was excited too. Although Greil and Elena had provided a place of refuge these past few months, Gallia would always be the home of subhumans. It would always be the place where Soren had been invisible to those dreaded beasts. The memory still caused him to break into a cold sweat, and he imagined putting as much distance between himself and this place would eventually make that feeling go away.

He was eager for the prospects of security and education as well—those lovely promises Greil had made. Soren still didn’t know if Greil could deliver on those promises, but he would hold out hope for now. They were on the road to Crimea, and that had to mean something.

 

At night they camped in the woods, and Greil slept with his sword at his side. Soren knew after by now that subhumans were not as dangerous as they were rumored to be, and yet he was grateful for the protection.

On the second night, however, Soren woke to find both Greil and his sword gone. Elena was sleeping with both Ike and Mist curled up between her and the fire, but Greil’s sleeping mat was empty. Soren waited, straining his eyes and ears, to see if perhaps Greil had just wandered off to pee.

It was then he heard the voices. Soren turned over to hear them better, but he didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping so he pretended to be sleeping.

“So you really are leaving Gallia?” someone asked, and it was not Greil’s voice.

“As you can see,” was Greil’s answer.

“Without telling the king?”

“I may owe Caineghis a lot, but I’m not on his payroll anymore. I don’t have to tell him when I leave the country.”

“Perhaps not, but as a friend… He could help you if you’re in trouble.”

“There’s no trouble here,” Greil answered, his voice low. “Unless you start some by trying to stop me leaving.”

“Of course not, Greil… I wouldn’t do that. I’m just trying to understand.”

“There are better prospects in Crimea, and my kids need friends their age to grow up with.”

“Is that truly the reason?”

“It is.”

“Well, if I can’t loosen your tongue…” Whoever the man was, he sighed heavily. “We wish you the very best.”

“You too, my friend.”

A few moments later, Greil materialized in the glow of the dwindling fire. In the trees behind him, Soren saw a lithe creature with a long tail slink away. To Soren’s astonishment, he realized his conversation partner had been a subhuman, and he didn’t know which feeling was stronger—his surprise that they’d spoken so amicably or his envy that the subhuman had spoken to Greil at all.

Greil settled by the fire and was soon snoring. Soren tried to fall back asleep, but his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Greil and Elena. His unlikely saviors were both a mystery to him.

 

When they crossed into Crimea, Greil consulted with the Royal Knights at the border, much as Sileas had done years ago. But unlike Sileas, Greil held no animosity toward the knights. He treated them with familiarity and respect, and the family spent the night in the outpost’s guest beds.

After that, it was a week’s travel to the rural town where Greil had a lead on an open house. As they neared it, Soren wondered why Greil had not yet discussed where he would be dropping him off. In fact, there had been very little discussion of Soren’s place in the family’s relocation, and he couldn’t help but feel like a piece of refuse being swept along by accident.

“Where will I go when you reach your new home?” he worked up the courage to ask Greil one day. Elena was walking ahead, holding hands with Ike and Mist, who were skipping on either side.

Greil looked momentarily surprised and perhaps a little uncomfortable by the question. “Oh, I thought Elena had talked to you about that.”

Soren shook his head, starting to feel anxious.

“There’s no need to worry, lad,” the man consoled, touching Soren’s shoulder in a familiar way that still felt strange to him. “Things will just take longer than we expected. But you’re welcome to keep staying with us as long as you need.”

“How long will that be?” Soren asked. He refused to keep blindly following this family now that he’d finally worked up the courage to ask about Greil’s plan.

“I’m not sure.” He heaved his massive shoulders. “I know people here in Crimea who should be able to search around and find a good place for you. But due to certain circumstances, I can’t reach out to them right now. You’ll just have to be patient.”

Soren released a long, controlled breath. He was perfectly capable of being patient, but he didn’t want to burden Ike’s family any longer. “There must be orphanages somewhere, or perhaps a temple will take me in as a novice.” When Greil did not jump at either of these ideas, Soren added, “Crimea has workhouses. Just point me toward the nearest city.”

He frowned. “You’re too young to work, lad.”

“I’m sure I could find an employer who doesn’t mind, as long as I work cheaply.”

Greil glanced at him. “Don’t be a smart aleck,” he scolded, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“You have done too much for me already,” was Soren’s reply.

“If you’re dead-set on earning your keep, Elena and I will find you something to do when we get to town.”

“Why do that for me?” he asked, shaking his head.

“The truth is, orphanages might reject you out of fear that you’ll corrupt the other kids. Not to mention, you’re not very adoptable, and you won’t have many prospects getting any sort of useful apprenticeship or position in a noble’s house.”

It hurt to hear the assessment aloud, but Soren knew it was all true. This was the kind of thing Greil wouldn’t say if Elena was in earshot, but when left to his own devices, Greil had a very frank nature.

After giving Soren a couple moments for that to sink in, he continued: “A temple might work, but I didn’t take you for religious.” He glanced down at Soren with an eyebrow raised.

Soren just shook his head.

“Well, a word of caution—men of faith come in two types: the ones who’ll enshrine you and the ones who want to burn you at the stake. You’ve got to know how to read them. You’ve got to anticipate what they’re looking for.”

“Noted,” Soren replied, even though he didn’t quite understand what Greil was trying to say. After a moment he added, “But that doesn’t really answer my question.”

“You’re a good kid who’s had a hard time, and you’re Ike’s friend,” Greil said, setting his eyes on where his son was pulling on his wife’s arm. “I know you don’t think much of charity, but you just have to trust that’s more than enough of a reason.”

It was exactly the answer he expected from Greil. Soren didn’t reply.

They continued walking in silence, and Soren wondered what life would be like in the new town. He dared wonder if he would be able to stay with Ike forever. Even though he didn’t want to be a burden, he had to admit it was an enticing idea.

  

They arrived in the days of spring when the sun shone hot, melting away any last vestige of ice and snow. The landscape seemed to grow greener by the hour, and perhaps because of this, Soren came to think of the town as a sunny place. There was a glow to the people as well as the land. It lingered in the sunburst grasses, glistened in puddles in the freshly planted fields, and reflected off the glass wind chimes hanging outside each door. It shone in the red faces of the hardworking villagers and the red breasts of the birds roosting in the rafters of every house, shop, and barn.

Greil unhitched the horse and rode it downtown to put a first payment on his family’s new home. Every house in town and every acre of the surrounding fields belonged to a noble family named Edgars, and it was to these nobles that Greil would now have to pay his dues. In this way, living in Crimea promised to be different than Gallia. In Gallia, the beast-men had technically owned the land under the people’s feet, but subhumans didn’t have tax collectors.

While Greil conducted this important task, Elena wasted no time opening up the house and unloading the cart. This building was more modest than their former home. The furnishings were sparse and aged, but when Greil returned, he promised to craft his own to replace them. The fireplace was less grand, but Elena and Greil hefted his battleax over the mantle just the same. The stairs were narrower and steeper, but they led to three rooms instead of two. Ike and Mist were each given their own, and it was decided Soren would stay with Ike. The rooms themselves were quite small, but no one remarked on that fact.

The kitchen table was lower to the ground, and none of the chairs matched one another. The kitchen itself was smaller, but the cellar was larger, with plenty of space to store food. Elena threw open the windows, swept away the cobwebs, and exalted every new feature she discovered. Ike and Mist did not seem to mind that this house lacked the bookshelves and barn they’d grown used to. They mirrored their mother’s excitement and did everything she asked to help unload the cart and purchase the items they needed. Ike proudly carried a dead goose over his head all the way from the butcher shop for their celebratory dinner.

Soren did as he was instructed and helped where he was needed, but it was times like these that he felt the most like an outsider. Surrounded by the family’s antics, their peals of laughter, their revelry of movement, Soren felt deep in his heart that he would never be like them. He did not enjoy the things they enjoyed; he did not feel things the way they felt them. He was forever disconnected, looking in from the outside.

Greil and Elena seemed to respect this. They didn’t try to force him to feel or behave the way they did. When Elena grasped her children’s hands and skipped sideways around their new kitchen, she did not try to take Soren’s hand too. She must have known he wasn’t a child who skipped or sang.

 

Although this was still a small town, it was larger than the Gallian village where Soren had spent the last six months and far larger than Sileas’s village. There was a bounty of fresh-faced children for Ike and Mist to play with, and Soren was forced to associate with them as well, if for no other reason than the fact they attended school together.

Classes were held in a schoolhouse in the town’s eastern district, and they were taught conjointly by the town’s junior priest and an old soldier stationed nearby. All age groups learned together, and no one was forced to attend except those with strict parents. Although Soren could not claim to have those, he still went every day.

He already knew a good deal of the material, in areas ranging from simple arithmetic to Crimean history. He needed no tutelage in penmanship, and he could read more quickly than the other children. But there was always a chance he could learn something new if it he attended, so Soren took that chance.

Ike attended more often than not, because Elena was one of those strict parents who demanded her children be educated. However, if Ike never returned to the classroom after lunch, the teacher was not about report it to Elena. As for Soren, he swore to keep Ike’s secrets.

He did not think Ike was missing much anyway. In his opinion, Elena’s private lessons were far more useful than anything the stuffy priest or grizzled soldier had to say. From Elena Soren learned how to grow plants, how to cook basic meals, how to sew rips and tears in different fabrics, and how to clean up various types of messes (he had never realized there were so many). She taught him the exchange rates between goods and how to bargain for a better price. She showed him how candles, paper, butter, ink, and dye were made, bringing Soren and her children to observe experts when she did not possess the skill herself. Trying to retain all this information tested the limits of Soren’s mind. Sileas had drilled him in mathematics, history, battle strategy, and other such topics. But this was entirely different.

Ike and Mist, on the other hand, treated the lessons more like a game than education. When baking in the kitchen, they had fun stirring the batter as fast as they could without spilling, whereas Soren was more interested in learning what ingredients went into the bowl, how they worked together, and how they would fail if added in the wrong order or quantity or manipulated the wrong way.

When not in the classroom or under Elena’s watchful eye, Soren learned lessons no one thought to teach him, and it was always with Ike that these discoveries were made. The two boys escaped together, sometimes travelling as far as they could in a day and still arrive home before dinner. They watched baby birds jump out of nests, witnessed water evaporating from a stationary cup, catalogued the slow, grotesque transformation of caterpillars into butterflies, poked a snake as it digested a fat frog, and observed livestock fornicating in the fields with rapt curiosity.

Two of Ike’s favorite things to do were spy on soldiers at the nearby outpost and watch the local militia training with weapons, which they did once a month. Greil had rejected an offer to join the Crimean Army in Lord Edgars’ name, but he’d joined the local militia just as most able-bodied men did. He participated in basic exercises and listened to lectures on weaponry each month, although Soren suspected he did not need the training.

Ike, however, lived for these days. He always stood with his feet hooked over the bottom rung of the fence and cupped his mouth to cheer his father on. He memorized everything the training officer said and begged Greil to teach him how to wield a sword. Greil’s answer was always ‘not yet’ or ‘someday’, but that didn’t stop Ike from pretending to play with sticks as swords, acting out dramas of imagined battles, and hounding every soldier who passed through town with questions about what he called ‘the life of a true warrior’.

   Soren had no interest in these matters. He wanted to be a mage, not a common soldier or sell-sword. But he played along for Ike’s sake. His friend always gave him strong roles in their imaginary productions, offering him various powerful stick-weapons each time they played. Sometimes they were magical swords, axes, bows, and spears with the power to turn their victims into frogs, cause their victims to disintegrate on impact, or change their victims to ‘good’. Soren wished he could show Ike a wind spell, to demonstrate what real magic looked like, but he obeyed Greil’s mandate and resisted these urges.

   Soren did not mind Ike’s games, but he was embarrassed when forced to play with other children. He knew the others only tolerated him for Ike’s sake. Everyone in town treated Soren well enough, thanks to Greil and Elena, but there were whispers. And the children picked up on those whispers.

When one of the town bullies had first called Soren a freak and grabbed his hair, Ike had punched him in the face hard enough to knock the bigger kid onto his butt. On the ground, Ike had continued to hit him until Soren and the other kids managed to pull him off. It was similar to the episode with Hedwin, except this time Ike had fought with even more ferocity.

After that, the bullies left Soren alone. Or rather, they never bothered him if Ike was around, and if someone gave Soren trouble when he was elsewhere, he never told Ike about it. Ike had a strange power to befriend everyone, even the bullies, and Soren didn’t want to get in the way of that.

Ike’s popularity was apparently astounding to Greil and Elena, who often remarked that the move to Crimea must have been a good decision. “He had such a hard time making friends before,” Elena lamented. “I’m so glad he’s doing better now.” Greil once suggested that Soren had been a good influence on Ike, citing the fact that his presence gave them both a reason to interact with the other children. But Soren did not see how that could be true—Ike had been outgoing since they’d first met in the Gallian woods.

 

When not attending lessons in the schoolhouse, absorbing Elena’s diverse tutelage, or going on adventures (imaginary or otherwise) with Ike, Soren’s time was devoted to his new job. On their way here, Greil had promised he would help Soren find work, but it took another few weeks to convince Elena, who insisted Soren’s only ‘job’ was to learn and play.

Soren argued persistently that he wished to earn money he could use to buy his own clothes and pay Greil and Elena some form of room and board.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Elena would say, “We are glad to share what we have with you.” But eventually Greil sided with Soren saying, “The lad knows how the world works. Don’t pretend that you don’t.” The argument was over, and Elena spoke with her new friends in town to find Soren a position.

The job was at the tannery at the southern edge of town. The family who’d owned and run the tanning shack for generations had withered away to almost nothing, but there were still a wealth of hunters and trappers who brought their hides here for curing before artisans made them into goods. The dwindling family needed all the help they could get, so they gave Soren a few coins every week to withstand the stench and do such tasks as collecting dung from the fields, stirring putrid mixtures, or flipping the hides with a long stick. Soren got used to the smell, and the work was not all that hard.

He learned by keeping his ears open that the reason he’d been stuck with this job was that most other work in town involved food or animals. The townspeople were reluctant to have Soren interfere with either of those things, for fear he would somehow corrupt or sicken whatever he had prolonged contact with. In contrast, the tannery was already a place of corruption and sickness.

The coins he did not give Greil, Soren saved up to buy proper clothes. Until now, Elena had been giving Soren Ike’s hand-me-downs. However, Ike of last year had apparently been crammed into brightly dyed shirts and overalls with extra pockets sewn in, and Soren detested these outfits. When he finally had enough money (an entire year of his savings) he purchased a black tunic, light grey trousers, and a dark grey cloak for winter. He made sure the clothes were roomy so he could grow into them.

Finally purchasing these clothes felt like a victory. But they were also a reminder that a whole year had passed with little progress, and that felt like a defeat. He could never truly be a part of Ike’s family, but Greil had made no headway in finding Soren a permanent home. For now, Soren felt he was just biding his time, and that was frustrating no matter how he filled his days with tasks, games, and discoveries.