CHAPTER 2: Measure of a Friend - Part 2

  “The fuckers are here!” Shouts from outside roused them. They moved away from the entrance until their backs hit the wall.

  “My beloved, what happened to you? You li’l bastards! I'll gouge out your eyes too!”

  The commotion mingled with all kinds of curses told them that the brigands were trying everything to get in. However, after a while, it became clear that they could not. Eiran squeezed Varne's shoulder and exhaling.

  “We should've gone back to the village and told the others instead of facing them alone,” Varne said.

  “They were collecting wet leaves and green branches at the forest edge. That wasn't for warmth. They wanted to create smoke to make the villagers flee, thinking there's a forest fire and then loot it. We would've been too late if we went back first.”

  “So, that's why you threw rocks at them?”

  “I asked if you had a different idea, but you just shook your head and said, ‘Well, I have no better idea.’ Don't forget, you threw rocks too! The biggest one!”

  They both laughed, but their laughter was soon interrupted by the smell of smoke. Through the gaps between the rocks covering the cave's mouth, thick grey smoke crept in.

  “Those bastards!”

  “Varne, lie down. Hopefully, my guess is correct.”

  They both flattened their bodies against damp cave floor. The smoke crept toward them but then swung upward and out through the crack in the ceiling, just as Eiran had hoped. The brigands stopped smoking them out after about an hour. Varne was slightly out of breath, but nothing more, while Eiran continued to cough.

  “Eir, your illness is getting worse.”

  “I'm fine.” Eiran sat cross-legged, waving his hands.

  The back of the cave was dark. Even from this distance, they could hardly see each other's faces. For a while they did not speak, just listening to the brigands blaming each other.

  “Varn, don't count on my uncle. But your father will come, won't he?” Eiran said after his coughing subsided.

  “Yes. We just need to hold out until then.”

  “Can your father handle six men?”

  “He’s a Prana Decima. He can.”

  “Right... I almost forgot because your father never showed his Prana.”

  “I wonder about that too.” Varne could only make out a silhouette beside him when he turned. “Father trains me in secret. He also told me not to show it, even though being able to use Prana is not that special.”

  “Can you use Prana, Varn?”

  “Well... not yet. What's the point of training so hard if there's no chance to show it, right? Father also doesn't allow me to do anything.”

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  “No wonder you're beaten up.” Even in the dim light, Eiran's annoying grin remained just as annoying.

  “Why didn't you train? My father offered to train you, didn't he?”

  “Because of my physical condition. My Prana didn't even reach the minimum threshold. Before your father, someone told me that but I didn't believe her. You know they often lie so you'll train with them. But I believe your father.”

  Everyone has Prana and Mana, but not everyone possesses enough to use in combat. In other words, not combat effective. Varne knew this.

  “You should train, Varn. Having Prana talent is a rare opportunity.”

  “Rare? Many people can use Prana. Half, maybe?”

  “No. Only one in ten people have the talent for Prana or Mana. That's why they're called Decima. In the ancient language, it means one in ten.”

  “Not rare. You could lose fewer teeth than that.”

  “Well, not everyone can develop their talent. Many lack the opportunity, the desire, or are just unlucky. In reality, the ratio of Decima to regular soldiers in the military is only one in thirty. It's even less in everyday life.”

  “That's better. Slightly.”

  “The strength among Decima vary greatly. A strong Decima can defeat many weaker Decima. Prana might not be my path, Varn, but there's still Mana.”

  “There are no Mana Decima in our village.”

  “Not a problem. As long as I keep searching, I'll find one. By becoming a Mana Decima, I'll be one step closer to getting my own ship, and after that, I'll sail the Inner Sea to find my parents.”

  “Sometimes I envy you. You always know what you want to do.”

  The gleam in Eiran's eyes continued to shine as he spoke. “To win, strength and skill alone is not enough. You also need the right temperament.”

  The light from the crack in the ceiling grew stronger and more upright as the sun rose. Varne was fifteen, and he was also starting to think about his future. However, with his father not allowing him to join the Guild or the military, he did not know what he would do.

  “Eir, if you ever have a ship, let me join you.”

  Eiran did not answer for a long time.

  “Eir?” Varne turned. He could see more now. Eiran's head was bowed, his curly black hair hanging like moss from a tree branch, the back matted with blood. His torn clothes revealed bite marks as dark as charcoal. Dried blood ran down his pale left arm.

  “Eir!” Varne shook his shoulder.

  His hand rested on Varne's. Cold, weak. “I'm fine...”

  “Fool! You're almost dead!”

  “No... This is nothing. I'll endure. I told you, the right temperament...”

  “You're a fool. That's your temperament!”

  Eiran smiled before his head drooped.

  Varne caught his body and leaned him against the wall. He did not know what to do. Seeing his cracked lips, the first thing that came to Varne's mind was water. However, there was no source of water here. The brigands had been quiet for a while. Should he risk peeking outside?

  Smoke began to seep out from between the rocks again. This time, instead of the sharp and pungent smell, the smoke carried a fragrant and savory aroma.

  “Hey, little ones! Grub’s ready. Come on out!”

  Varne cursed. Not only were the brigands still there, but they also insulted his intelligence with tricks like this.

  But then he heard something else.

  “You bastard! Where the hell did you come from!” One-Ear said.

  “Turn your head and leave, or I'll turn it until you can see your own ass crack!” another said.

  “One step closer, and I'll fuckin’ kill you!” a third shouted.

  Then there was the sound of a brawl. Punches, kicks, profanities, groans, more profanities. And silence. Varne approached the cave entrance to listen better.

  “Varne! Are you in there?” Someone called from outside.

  “Father!”

  ***

  Lorn carried the unconscious Eiran to their house on the forest edge. His father was neither an apothecary nor a physician, but his experience on the battlefield had taught him basic skills. He applied a herbal concoction in the form of a paste and wrapped Eiran's wounds, leaving him smelling like lavender mixed with marigold.

  “Varn,” Lorn said as he closed the door to Eiran's room, “even though I disagree with how you did it, you did the right thing. I'm sure they would have truly burned our village after looting to facilitate their escape.”

  Their house was large with two bedrooms. It once belonged to the village head but was abandoned due to its proximity to the forest and vulnerability to monster attacks.

  In the kitchen, Lorn ladled soup from a clay pot over the fireplace. “It's almost winter, and without food reserves, many of our neighbors would die. Wild beasts would emerge from the forest, and without homes, there will be many victims.”

  Lorn added a wooden spoon and served the soup. “I'm proud of both of you.”

  Varne almost choked when he heard his father say that. He was embarrassed and happy at the same time.