Ruin
Notes:
I don't really like this chapter. I'm not sure why I just...don't like it. So please accept my apologies 😅
The chapter really isn't as foreboding as the title sounds...I just feel like there's a lot of presence of ruin in this chapter. Whether those ruins are being rebuilt or trampled on even further, it just seems like they're there a lot. But i don't exactly like the title, so if you have a better idea, please let me know in the comments 😉
*****
They walked down the ruined streets of Ban Rona in complete silence. Janner said nothing to NIa, nor she to him, except for the few times she told him to watch the bit of rubble in front of him he was about to trip over. Even so, he did stumble several times and once actually did manage to make contact with the ground. Nia caught his shoulder, though, so it lightened the impact.
Perhaps the oddest part of making their way to the loudest part of Ban Rona (which was presumably where Olumphia or Clout was, considering one of them would be in charge of any reconstruction), Janner couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable regarding the odd stares and glances and shaken heads directed at him. It dawned on him after a few minutes: there was a good chance that whatever had brought Oskar along on their journey had alerted others in Ban Rona as well. If any knew, they still thought he was dead.
They had no idea Kalmar had taken his place.
Janner nearly opened his mouth to ask Nia about how much the Hollish knew about what had happened but thought better of it. Something seemed wrong about disturbing her silent reverie. He saw the way she looked out at the demolished town, that glint in her eyes, one of determination and love and grief and anger. She had grown up in Ban Rona. It had been sacked ten years earlier, and now she saw that same destruction again. Janner couldn’t imagine seeing Glipwood again after the Fangs nearly tore it to the ground.
No, he realized. I can imagine it. And I think I understand it all too well.
It wasn’t until they had nearly reached the clutter of noise and dust and building sounds that someone actually spoke to him.
“Janner Wingfeather?” a semi-familiar voice called to him from somewhere off to his left. Janner stopped and swung his head in that direction, not seeing anything. After about a minute, though, a boy around his age emerged from the ruins of a home.
“Is that really you?” he asked, coming closer.
Janner grinned, the boy’s name suddenly appearing in his mind. “Yeah, Owen. It’s me.”
Now just a few feet away, Owen stared at him, his eyes flickering this way and that, as if assessing Janner. His hands were in his pockets, but his fingers still tapped against his legs in nervousness or excitement or confusion, Janner didn’t know.
“Wow,” he finally said, shaking his head “Those of us who heard all knew you were…well, that you died and that all of you were going to the Well, but we didn’t actually think you would find it, and then if you did find it, none of us thought it would work. But I guess it did, because you’re here and I saw your sister walking without her crutch just an hour or so ago.”
Janner did his best not to let his face fall as Owen spoke, and he tried ignoring the grief and sense of failure that throbbed in his heart. He considered raising his voice and yelling, “NO, the Water didn’t work! It didn’t do what we wanted it to. I’m only alive because my King melded with a bunch of Cloven and brought me back to life!”
He concentrated so much on those words, on that desperate admittance, that he nearly missed Owen’s, “Well, it’s great to see you! You’re probably busy and I need to work on the house…talk later, maybe?”
Janner felt his mouth smile and heard his voice say, “Sure, sounds great!”
Then they walked away in silence, a deeper, more grieved silence than before. It was almost enough to drive Janner mad.
*****
He saw the way Clout’s brow furrowed when he and Nia finally found him speaking to Oskar, Leeli and Sara nowhere in sight. Janner instinctively drew his Durgan cloak around himself more, glad that hid at least part of his gauntness. He didn't mind it physically and he didn't mind being fussed over (yet). What he did mind was scrutiny, and Clout had always been the master of scrutiny.
“The Well Water truly worked, didn't it?” His (former?) guildmaster asked finally after staring at both he and Nia for quite a long time.
Janner bit his lip, unsure of what exactly to say. He had hoped Sara, Leeli, and Oskar would explain, since he had yet to find a decent way to explain the truth.
“Not really,” he finally said haltingly. “I mean, it healed Leeli's leg, but it was…um, it was Kalmar melding with the Cloven formerly trapped in the Deeps of Throg that saved them and…and me, I guess.”
Clout nodded, and Janner found himself unsurprised by the sadness and perhaps even genuine grief and compassion in his eyes. When he had first met Clout, seeing such a thing would have stunned him. But now? Now he knew how much his guildmaster loved his students fiercely, and the thought of one of them dying, even if it was a noble death, hurt. “The brown-haired girl did tell me Kalmar was gone,” Clout said quietly. “I truly am sorry, Janner. More than sorry, but I'm not sure what other words to say. Nia, it just seems wrong for it to happen after—”
“Thank you, Rusand,” she interrupted him, unexpectedly using his first name (which Janner had never heard spoken aloud). “But it was the Maker's Will, and we shan't question it. Janner, why don't you give all the necessary details regarding the coming party while I go find Leeli and Sara.”
“Mama, but—” he began, but she was already gone, making her way through rubble and construction. Unable to keep himself from sighing, Janner looked at the ground, dejected, until he mustered the courage to explain about the Cloven whom he knew very little about, probably less than anyone in their group! Nia shouldn’t have had to deal with Clout’s scrutiny either, though, and it was clear she had been hurt by more than her own mind multiple times that day. He was willing to spare her from any more of that.
Janner felt Clout's strong hand clasping his shoulder and winced when the grasp proved tight enough to squeeze the bone uncomfortably. He hoped his former guildmaster would not notice.
Based on the flicker of concern in Clout’s eyes, it seemed as though he had. “What happened to you?”
Sighing, Janner tried figuring out the least detailed method of explanation before speaking. “Nothing. I mean, when someone or something melds it takes all the life out of them or it. When I came back…it just didn't really change anything physically, just spiritually.”
Surveying him from gaunt limb to gaunt limb, Clout finally nodded. “I still don't understand all this mess with melding and the Stones, but it grieves me this has befallen you.”
The words, after you worked so hard, hung in the air, and Janner gave him a light smile. It made sense that Clout of all people would point something of that specific degree out. He had worked hard in Durgan Guild. It had been grueling, and after the first bit of time, he had loved nearly every second of it. All that was gone, now, all of his evidence of effort, at least, but he had a new trial, a new chapter to work through now: acceptance. “It's alright,” he said, still smiling. “I can manage it.
“But onto the reason we're really here,” he stated, switching the subject abruptly. “Kal redeemed many Cloven who were trapped in Throg, and they're people now. Artham us with them right now, and they're still making the trek here. Like all people now in Anniera, we're offering them the chance to return to Skree or Anniera or, if it's alright with you—”
“Live in the Hollows,” Clout finished for him, stroking his beard as if deep in thought. “Now that is an idea. Our numbers have finally stopped dropping (we hope) but they're low. We’ll be having a ridgerunner problem soon enough, I'll wager.”
“I know they're not trained Hollish warriors,” Janner added, just to be sure those details were not missed. “So I don't know how well they'll assimilate.”
Clout nodded in acknowledgement. “In normal circumstances I would be concerned and opposed, as would most of the Hollowsfolk. For that matter, many of them likely will still be opposed. But our numbers are at a dire state, even worse, somehow, than when the Fangs came through almost ten years ago. Come on.”
He began walking away quickly, and Janner picked up his pace, nearly jogging to keep up. He had a feeling he would have regrets later, but he couldn't do much about it in the moment.
“A meeting in the Great Hall is what this calls for, but the purpose of it is really to gather together. We can just have it in the middle of the town, since almost everyone is working on rebuilding things there anyway,” Clout explained, walking even quicker as he spoke.
Janner was breathless by that point and his legs burned, but Clout was the last person he would admit something like that around.
Thankfully the center of noise and rebuilding was close, and when they reached it, the clouds of dust billowing up from it sent him into a coughing fit that hid what would have otherwise been painfully obvious gasping.
“People of the Hollows!” Clout roared over the cacophony, easily getting everyone's attention and immediately ceasing all sounds of building. “Janner Wingfeather, King of Anniera, and I have a proposition for you.”
Janner's heart sank. Though he supposed the declaration may have been necessary to some extent, it wasn’t as though he had been crowned. Not even the Annierans knew yet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nia, Sara, Leeli, and Oskar all standing together and couldn’t help but feel a little bit betrayed. He had hoped they wouldn't tell anyone.
*****
Notes:
If Clout has a canonical first name, please let me know. I can't remember ever reading one, but I could be wrong.
Owen is here because Andrea reminded me he existed :)
If there's anything that seems noncanonical in terms of Ban Rona's layout or character details or otherwise, please let me know. A lot of the information about Ban Rona lies in MitH, and that's the only book in the series I haven't re-read...