Chương 38: Community Outreach
"Heave!" The booming command prompted the line of men waiting on standby to pull on a rope hoisting a wooden beam off the ground. The men exerted themselves to the fullest, feet yearning for purchase amid loose soil in a bid to execute the demands of the leadman. Slowly but surely, the timber rose higher and higher, eventually reaching the few awaiting its arrival on a skeletal rooftop. Experienced hands guided the piece to its designated position, where it slotted into place alongside its brethren, the distinctive outline already taking shape. With the go-ahead, a boy scuttled along thin beams intending to secure freshly placed beams in their positions.
Despite the precarious footing that promised more than pain should he slip, the boy remained undaunted, navigating the half-built structure with the balance of a feline. He made quick work of the beam in a similar fashion, driving elongated nails longer than his palms through worked wood. The boy hollered once he was done, retreating to his previous position before the scene repeated itself all over again. The group worked through the day eager to complete the construction, under the duress of a flared sun and mercy of weary bodies, finding success as the day drew to a close.
The group stood with pride, admiring their handiwork, a new roof in place of what previously was one of decay and ramshackle fixes that did more to endanger the inhabitants than protect. An elderly woman came up to the man responsible, her smile faltering between tears. "Thank you, Master Fjǫrnir. Mere words cannot express how much this means to my family and me," she sobbed, supported by a woman of similar disposition.
"Please, auntie, your joy is my joy. I require nothing else," Fjǫrnir smiled.
"You were always a caring boy, sometimes a little too caring for your own good. Still, I must repay you for your hard work." She removed an álfsteinn chip from her pocket, stuffing it into the hand of a man trying his best to refuse. "Accept this old woman's stubbornness. If you, a good man, do not deserve the toil of our hands, what more the wicked," she pleaded. Fjǫrnir relented with a half-hearted smile and accepted the gift. One chip was worth three loaves of bread, five, if they bought stale, but denying it now would mean spitting in the face of their kindness.
One of her sons slapped him on the shoulder, saying, "Don't look so glum helmet-head, the harvest has been good to us this year, and it's the least we can do after all you've done for this community."
"Don't forget this one here as well, brother," another said, ruffling the head of the boy.
"The boy, bring him here," the woman asked, her hunched posture reducing her level to his. "This is for you, young man, for working hard today." She waggled his chin, also giving him a chip. The boy thanked the old lady, making it clear that he did not do it to get paid but for the sake of the people. "I now see why you brought him along, Fjǫrnir. He reminds me of you when you were younger, just a lot less clumsy," she joked, bringing the group to laughter. They exchanged pleasantries for a little longer before the pair excused themselves with the intent to make it home ahead of the advent of darkness.
"Take care!" Fjǫrnir and the boy waved farewell as the family shrunk in their view. The wagon was tugged along by an aged donkey mule that always seemed to have a grumpy expression. A mishmashed tune agitated the stale air, the dirt road rife with stray dips and concealed bumps, the cargo an orchestra. Nails clinked, tools clanked and timber clonked as a stocky man and brown boy were carried yonder. "Here," Fjǫrnir said over the racket and the obligatory slapping of reins, handing the boy a milky coin.
"This is your payment, uncle Fjǫrn. I already got mine," Sǫl said, confusion evident on his face.
"We wouldn't have been able to complete the roof today if it weren't for you. Consider it a small bonus," the man explained. "It's a shame you can't accompany me more often. We could get so much more done that way."
"Can't you hire a few workers then?" Sǫl wondered, pocketing his reward.
"I wish," Fjǫrnir snarked as the wagon turned off the ruddy side street with a hefty bump onto a paved road. Disfigured houses lined the street, a cacophony of sordid abodes that began their life as identical structures. They were huddled so closely that only rodents and the occasional pygmy puma could use the spaces between. The pungent waft of bodily waste blinded the nostrils to all else while the occasional dodi lay wasted on the periphery. This sordid landscape stretched upwards till it met with a towering wall that cast a creeping veil over the whole settlement. "In simple terms, I can't afford it. My work here is purely out of my pocket and stretches me thin as is."
"What? You weren't hired by someone to do all this?"
Fjǫrnir's face drooped as he was just reminded of the solemn truth before hardening. "No, this is of my own choosing. A burden that I am willing to bear if it means it'd make someone's life slightly brighter. These people have nothing, absolutely nothing. They toil all day for a pittance that can barely afford the discarded leftovers of the city. What more repairs? This is the least I can do as someone that was blessed to escape this unending cycle of despair."
"I didn't know, sorry, uncle Fjǫrn," Sǫl apologised. Who would have guessed his uncle came from such a complicated background. "Would it be okay for me to accompany you again when I have some free time?"
"There's nothing to apologise for, and you can come along whenever. I'll be happy to have your help," Fjǫrnir beamed as they were swallowed by the shadow of the wall denoting the city limits. The rickety wagon passed through the widened maw of a portcullis, teeth dangling ominously overhead, under the scrutiny of a few guards, emerging to the usual crowds on their return journey home.
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"Here's my stop, uncle Fjǫrn. Thanks for the ride," I said, hopping off the wagon. His workshop was in the opposite direction of the Illugi mansion, so this was the best place to get off.
"You have a good heart Sǫl, but beware those seeking to take advantage of it," uncle Fjǫrnir warned in a rather ominous manner. "Well, it's getting late. You best leave now if you intend to make it back before nightfall. Cya kid!" I eyed his figure to the clip-clop of hooves till he was out of sight, chewing on his parting words.
"You're wrong, uncle Fjǫrn. It is they who should be wary of me." The rebuttal went unheard, drowned out by the chilly winds of a shifting season. 'A few more weeks and I will start survival training.' I groaned at the thought of what trainer Galti had in store. He's been especially excited about it, even more than me but for a wholly different reason. I dared not put to mind what was in store for me out there if everything I had endured so far amounted to 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬, as he so lovingly put it.
Heeding the advice of my dear uncle, I set off, the sky afire, shadows emergent. The route home had ballooned with folk of similar inclination, promising more trouble than it was worth. After some thought, I determined to take the path less trodden, one of many I had grown accustomed to over the years as a direct outcome of my status. My decision was not without merit either, as recently, I felt I was near a breakthrough relating to the essence ball that floated in my first chi node. Thanks to the steady supply of potions Esja was supplying me, the previously marble-sized ball now had more in common with a seed or just about.
From my estimations, it had reduced to about a fifth of its initial size. However, the closer I got to completion, the harder it became, to the point that our dance now resembled a raging sea attempting to submerge a stubborn outcrop beneath the waves. My resolve did not waver in the face of the rising challenge; on the contrary, it deepened my desire to see it to the end. I could only imagine what I stood to gain if the fruits of my labour up to this point gave me the talent of a middling earthbender. After all, the core had the densest concentration of what I have dubbed 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘩𝘪.
My fantasies of lifting mountains and overturning plains were cut short by the abrupt appearance of a cloaked figure barring the way forward. I slowed down, turning backwards just in time to see another cut-off all retreat. I was currently in an alleyway, flanked on both sides by two establishments, leaving me with no option of escape. "What do you want," I said in hopes of talking my way out of this. The figure ahead said nothing, as did the one behind, opting to close the distance between us instead. My thoughts ran wild, the strong thumping of my chest giving them credence. 'Has someone finally had enough and decided to take me out?'
I found comfort in the sticky grip of my dagger, fingers tightening around squeaking leather. Despite the seemingly dire situation, all was not lost; both assailants were non-benders, a factor that tipped the scales in my favour but only when it involved a single opponent. With both of them closing in on opposing sides, I stood no chance if there were allowed to attack together, so with a steely gaze, I dashed ahead, intending to capitalise on the small window while they were separated.
The figure was visibly startled by my approach, spreading their arms in an effort to grab hold of me. The small area made it impossible to evade, but this was also the same for them, and with a swipe of my hand, the nearby wall erupted in a plume of dust and shrapnel, blinding my target. They coughed and sputtered, waving away the cloud of dirt with frantic gestures as the gap between us shrunk. When they finally rid themselves of the hastily made distraction, I was already under their nose and could make out their features; a shabby man. I jabbed upwards before he could act, forcing the ground beneath his legs to shoot upwards, aiming for the primordial weak spot inherent to all males.
He crumpled with a high-pitched cry, holding his nethers as I leapt over him, freedom on the horizon. My sight went sideways, followed by the winding impact of my body hitting the cold stone pavement. In my daze, I spotted a hand latched onto my ankle, sending jolts of lightning up my leg. Time was of the essence, and the other figure was almost upon us, so I did the only thing my desperate mind could come up with. The dagger glinted a cold demise when it was brandished, painting the area red as it dug into the arm of my captor. His eyes that previously stared daggers into my own were replaced by those holding pure agony as I chopped into his arm, screaming.
A violent kick to his face served as the final blow that allowed me to wrench myself free from his iron grasp, and not a moment sooner, his partner arrived. I bolted for the exit, confident I could make it with my small head start. Their breaths grew more prominent, beating against the back of my neck, giving me the feeling of being hunted by a pack of wild beasts. I glanced backwards and was shocked to see that they had nearly caught up. My sight went to their feet, and I twisted around, clawing from right to left with both hands. The ground shifted, urged by an invisible power to do its bidding, causing my chaser to slip and tumble in a heap of legs and arms.
My heart jumped with joy as I ran, eager to leave the shadows and rejoin the light. A smile graced my face, victory all but accomplished, my feet sinking into the ground a few paces before the end. I had no time to register what had occurred before a cloth was pressed over my face, a pungent odour crawling up my nose. I attempted to swing my dagger, but an indisputable force negated the idea, as was any motion to bite the hand smothering me. My vision grew blurrier and blurrier while my muscles lost all strength. The last thing I heard was the sharp clang of the dagger slipping out of my grasp, along with a gravelly voice.
"𝘛𝘴𝘬—useless sunbathers."
SUY NGHĨ CỦA NGƯỜI SÁNG TẠO 
HaracasAye
HaracasAye I wonder how everyone is finding the novel so far. Do the characters seem bland or inorganically appear in the story to push a particular plot point? How are you finding the style of writing?
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