The year was 497AS. AS meaning After Storm, the first which had ever been recorded hitting the planet. Of course there were more before this, but with technology being so stunted, regions only began taking in dates around five hundred years ago. And each time the storm hit, their kingdoms lost good men, good worlds, and were forced back to stone age. The storms not only killed around 90% of the population, but also brought Great Kingdoms to their downfall. Men fought wars over these storms, kings pledged lives to pleas the Gods' for protection, and good people turned insane by just the mere thought of another storm.
And with the approaching year being 500, it would only be two more years until the apparent storm hit.
The greatest one in five hundred years.
Here to replenish its cycle.
Everyone believed in the Stormbringer, as well as his wreckage. You'd have to be a fool or beyond wild not to, for even wolves hid during lightning, and bees burrowed underground.
There was no creature that didn't fear the Stormbringer, not after centuries of consuming death that tortured their families.
The talk of the Storm was always lingering in Central Taru, and as much as people feared to mention the Stormbringer, the subject of the massive event stained more lurid and more like a brutal legend. A fairytale that was all too real, and with no happy endings. A terrible story that could occur any day.
For he would come, they all knew it.
But when? Why? And who WAS the Stormbringer?
That, the population of Izaraath would not know for many years.
Reagan might have been a rude and egotistical prick, but he was honest and stuck to his word, because he left to go to the market during their lesson and Jilton was left to fend off the rest of the day alone. He couldn't follow him, as Mother had requested him back home, and entering the city as a farm boy always caused suspicion. So he stayed behind, waiting until school ended, then left early.
He tried to avoid them… he really did. It wasn't like he sodding TRIED to get beat up.
But destiny always had a way of finding you, even in the strangest places.
And, for Jilton, that place was behind the barn where he tried to pick some mint.
The boys approached him quickly with the girls strolling from the side. The girls didn't do the beating but they watched and marveled. He didn't understand them, and didn't need to, because being kicked around was bad enough, and having them around was just cream on the crop.
The first boy, Cathal was his name, came whistling from the side. He approached with hands in his dusty pockets and kicked his feet with rhythm.
Jilton tensed.
"Woohoo, what do we have here, hm? You picking flowers for Mrs?"
He didn't answer and sauntered away from the bush.
"This is district grounds. You DO know that, right Flicker?"
He nodded quickly, swallowing hard.
"Speak."
"I-I-I" Jilton quivered.
"I this, and I that," another boy laughed, "you sound like a damn pirate."
"I, he be picking his treasure behind the district quad."
"Yeah, and in his nose during class!"
The girls laughed and Jilton got up quickly. Cathal tripped him as he tried to move away and he tumbled down again, sending soil spilling.
"There, you forgot to clean your shins."
"It's probably cleaner now that he's covered in dirt."
They laughed more and Jilton suppressed the urge to cry.
He got up and looked away, but his red cheeks were a giveaway, and the boys chuckled more.
"Aw, you know we're only joking with you, right Flicker? At least you don't run away from some teasing now, ey?"
"Yeah, but can he handle a fight?"
"Yeah Flicker, can you handle a fight?"
Jilton desperately wanted Reagan back because he was one of them. He was brutish and rude and awful, but he sided with Jilton. He always left when this happened, though, and Jilton always regretted not following him.
Before he could turn away, Cathal smacked his neck. It stung badly and he fell forward. The girls giggled but a few turned away and left. When things got too serious, no one wanted to be around.
And that's what scared him most.
"Huh? Say something."
"I-I don't know what you want from me."
They smacked him again and, as he fell forward, the other boy elbowed him in the stomach and Jilton fell to the ground. He spat out phlegm and groaned. Shapes began to dance beneath his eyelids.
"Your father owes my uncle money," Cathal spat, "he bought a rotten fox skin and never got his money back."
He kicked him hard. Once, then twice.
"His meat is always rotten and tastes like dirt. Can no one in your Makers-forsaken household cook?"
He kicked again, but the pain landed right on his ribs and Jilton jerked forward. He crouched and made as if to vomit, and the two boys backed away.
"Damnit Cian! You kicked 'em too hard!"
"No I didn't!"
"He's gonna puke blood you dunce."
The two backed away, then turned and ran back to the main path. The girls had left long ago, leaving Jilton alone behind the building. He crawled to the satchel and checked that none of the herbs were stolen. Of course they wouldn't steal it. What would they do with these? Still, he was grateful, and quickly deposited the rest before setting off. He made sure to avoid the main path, and traveled closer to the forest.
The Taru forest was, naturally, very dangerous. It surrounded the city for miles, and Central Taru being a Northern Kingdom, the southern part of the woodlands extended for nearly a hundred kilometers. No one really knew what lay in the forest, but legends foretold of Wreather sightings, as well as nymphs and wolves. There'd been wild attacks before, but that was long ago, and Taru was a kingdom that was slowly expanding. Expanding, not in borders, but in security. They couldn't fight the dangers of the woodlands, but they made it safer for the villagers within the kingdom.
Of course, the pasture men and women was a different problem…
He stuck to the outer coarse and got home in ten minutes. The wooden cottage laid on a hill overlooking the other homes. Around it were the huts the cows were kept and a large fence kept the seven cows in place.
The days weren't what they used to be, and they weren't much before. He at least hoped that Jared wouldn't be home, but when he walked over the hill and saw his father sitting by the porch, polishing his ax, his chest swelled up.
His clothes were muddy and dirty, sure to get his mother furious.
And inside, his bruises ached.
If Jared were to find out about those….