Through Ages of Weary Fulfillment: Ch. 11

A Thirsty Land

Notes:

I'm so sorry...I don't think I posted yesterday. My sister wouldn't let me write the night before so I couldn't post yesterday...anyway, I'm sorry about that 😅

*****

Work at dismantling the spare Fang ships began the next day, and the noise in the harbor was immense as hammers and crowbars and other building equipment appeared from what seemed like out of nowhere. 

“Ban Rona sent a ship with some much needed supplies,” Arundelle had explained after greetings, gratitude, and condolences were exchanged. As they had all known, Anniera and her people had been safe in her very capable hands, and they had even made a good deal of progress. Temporary tent-homes and lean-tos had gone up during their absence, and in addition to the fields being planted, they had marked the outlines for Rysentown in the ground based on memory.

They had established nothing permanent, though, waiting for their King’s return for instruction and affirmation on such subjects. Arundelle’s voice had grown quiet as she relayed that bit of information, and Janner incapable of keeping himself from sighing wearily. Kalmar was the rightful King, not him. Kalmar should be the one making such weighted decisions, not him. Kalmar…Kal might've had the confidence to do it. And even if he didn't, he would acquire it quickly, or at least a façade of it quickly. Janner wasn’t sure if he could manage the same, but he knew he would have to.

After a restless night on the cold, hard floor of the cellar in Castle Rysen, they rose stiffly (or, Janer rose stiffly) and, in front of the Castle ruins, gave instructions to the people. They were straightforward ones that mostly pertained to taking care of the fields and building homes and watching over others, for which Janner was thankful. A few asked questions regarding information on extra details, but he didn’t mind too terribly. The same questions would have come from his mouth if he was in their position. Of course, since he was in his position and not theirs, it meant he enjoyed the inward panic of scrambling for a coherent answer before coming up with a solution that satisfied them.

Once it was all over, he sighed with relief and, seeing no one in the immediate area, sat down on a nearby smoothed piece of rubble and ran his fingers through his hair. How was he supposed to do this? Artham was there and so was Nia, but they had remained silent while he had given instruction, even going so far as to listen to the commands he gave other individuals. It was a dreadfully uncomfortable feeling, knowing that they would “obey” him without thinking twice. What if he said something idiotic and they listened?

“Well, they probably wouldn’t do that,” he said aloud. “They would think twice, I’m sure.”

“Who would think twice about what?” Sara’s soft voice appeared from out of nowhere, and Janner couldn’t help but jerk to his feet in surprise. 

He stared at her awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do. Well, you could start by answering her question, idiot. “Um…I was just thinking about how quickly Uncle Artham and Ma– my mother listened,” he began haltingly, trying not to make eye contact. 

“To what you said? Well, you're the King. I suppose it's a bit normal.” It sounded as though a half-laugh wanted to jump into her voice, and Janner risked a glance at her laughing, dazzlingly blue eyes. 

“I guess, but I don't really like it,” he admitted, feeling blush creep into his cheeks.

“If it helps at all,” she whispered, looking around as if someone might overhear. “I don't think Artham actually followed your orders. He went to find Arundelle.”

Janner snorted and nearly burst out laughing. “Why does that remind me of something he would do?” He asked quietly, speaking to no person in particular. 

Somehow taking the hint that he wanted a moment to think, she gave him several before finally looking at him and saying, “Have you told anyone else? About how the instruction thing bothers you?”

“There hasn't been a lot of time for me to dislike it but, no,” he murmured, feeling oddly lost and perhaps a bit trapped by her gaze he had locked into the moment she spoke again. “You're the first one.”

The staring continued, and Janner felt as though he was privy to every memory and thought and word and dream swimming in Sara’s diamond blue eyes. 

Then in the back of his periphery, someone appeared, someone who looked so much like Kal that Janner nearly called out the name. The figure moved, though, clearly becoming Thorn O’Sally and not Kalmar.

His heart sinking, Janner turned towards Sara again. “I'm sorry,” he said awkwardly. “I…I thought I saw—”

Her hand was on his shoulder before he could say the name that might bring tears to his eyes. “I know,” she said softly, her voice empathetic and her eyes gentle. “That's the sort of thing that happens when you lose someone or everyone. You see them where they’re not.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Janner said faintly as he pulled away from her touch, discomfort and guilt settling in his heart. Kalmar was gone. He couldn't…he and Sara couldn't be together. It was wrong, so wrong, and so soon after his brother's death. “Um, I need to take care of something—”

“Me too,” Sara murmured as she brushed her fingers across her forehead, as if looking for stray hairs. “I’ll join your mother, wherever she is. Just remember to talk to someone about that thing, and since Artham’s coming it might be a good idea.” She had backed up while speaking, and by the time the last faint words were out of her mouth, she was racing away. 

Artham appeared moments later, and Janner couldn’t help but grin as he thought of what Sara had said moments earlier, even if the grin and the thought of her was accompanied by regret and guilt. 

“What’s so funny?” Artham asked, sounding very suspicious. 

Shaking his head, Janner resisted the urge to laugh. “It’s nothing.”

“Uh huh,” Artham said slowly, clearly not convinced. “Anyway, onto business. I’m guessing you wouldn't consider simply lying low and taking it easy, would you?” 

Janner felt the mirth fade from his face and mind immediately. “I can’t,” he said softly, feeling reality take over again with responsibility and pressure and panic. “The Maker told me to water His land. You and I both know He did.”

Nodding, Artham sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re right. He did. And I suppose the Maker’s instruction should be carried out as soon as possible.”

“Yes, but,” Janner hesitated briefly and decided to employ a bit of Sara’s wisdom. “Would you mind helping me? I…I think I'm going to need help with it, along with a lot of other things. Might as well practice now, right?” He tried smiling but doubted it looked like much of a smile.

Artham rested a hand on his shoulder. “It would be my pleasure and an honor,” he whispered. “Do you mind terribly if I get one of the canteens? The less walking you have to do, the better.”

Janner did manage to smile that time. “No, I don't mind at all.”

*****

“Are you certain you can manage this much longer?” Artham asked, worry evident in his voice. They had been watering for what felt like hours, just a drop here and a drop there, enough to return foliage to the land. Now shrubs and trees and flowers and grasses grew all around them: a meadow of glory.

Janner groaned inwardly, nodding slowly. It was almost lunchtime. He could make it until then. They were nearly done anyway, weren’t they? The not-very-empty canteen proved him wrong.

?

“I can manage,” he stated shortly, aware of how tired his voice sounded. He shouldn't have spoken. It was a dead giveaway.

Artham lengthened his stride briefly to the point at which he was in front of him, walking backwards. “You don't look like it,” he countered, affection and concern in his tone. “Janner, please. Let’s stop by this stream and get a drink, and then we'll head back to Rysen.”

Glancing to his left, Janner realized there was indeed a stream bubbling there in the middle of the meadow. He sighed, wondering how he hadn't noticed before. “Alright. But there’s still Water left. We’ll have to use it along the way.”

They picked through the grasses, and on reaching the edge of the stream, Janner sank to the ground, relief flooding over him. Even with all the breaks they had taken that morning, trekking all over the closer third of the Isle was exhausting.

“Are you alright?” Artham asked gently, squeezing his shoulder a bit.

Janner massaged a throbbing spot in his head and nodded. “Yeah. But stopping now is probably a good idea.”

Artham said nothing. “You know, it's always a bad thing when you admit things like that. It means it's true, very true, far more true than what you're letting on.”

Janner rolled his eyes and stood up, biting his lip in frustration when first sparkles, then darkness clouded his vision. His head was heavy, a dead weight, and he felt like he was about to fall.

He didn't, though, because Artham came for him and held him until the dizzy spell had passed. “We're going back now,” he stated firmly. “No objections.”

“None,” Janner whispered as he opened his eyes, then felt a surge of panic as he did so. “Uncle Artham, the Water!”

Artham looked where he pointed, and his mouth fell open at the sight of the canteen wedged between rocks, its mouth pointed downward at the stream. 

“Oh, no,” Janner whispered, closing his eyes. It must have happened when Artham had steadied him. That Water left in the canteen—wasted. Washed downstream where it would meet the ocean that cared not for what it was, nor Whom it came from.

Bending down to grab it, Artham reached for the canteen and shook it as if to check and see if even a drop remained. None did.

“I'm so sorry, Janner,” he said softly. “I didn't—”

An odd sort of roaring sound cut him off and Janner froze, terrified that a wild animal or one of the remaining Fangs had found them and was ready to eat them alive.

What he saw instead as he looked around frantically was something too amazing for words.

Individual twigs crawled their way out of the ground, spindly and wirey, unknowledgeable about the ways of Aerwiar. Then they straightened, thickened, lengthened, leaves and flowers popping out from their newly-formed branches. Growth continued, up and up and up and thicker and thicker and greener and green and even more beautiful until shade covered the meadow and a forest had appeared. 

“Uncle Artham,” Janner whispered reverently as he gazed up at the trees. “That was a wonderful mistake. In fact, I wouldn't even call it a mistake. Just wonderful.”

*****

Notes:

Just a pretty normal chapter that wasn't too sad^^

Perhaps the forests' ability to spring forth is a bit unrealistic, but who are we kidding? We're using life-giving Water on the ground. I think realism was left behind in the dust a very long time ago...