Ruin Star: Chapter One

I write it in the year five-hundred and fifty, nearly six hundred years after the desolation of the Impeder’s Ruin. The account begins in the year 0. It is an ongoing chronicle that continues to this day and hopefully into the future.

From Master Archivist Baradin's "Chronicles" 

Fifth day of Vasca, 550 Post-Ruin

* * *

Aithen began the morning wondering if something different would happen that day.

Instead, he dressed in his usual white robes and sandals—cleaned by his mother the night before while he slept. He ate his typical breakfast of bits of chicken, cheese, nuts, and berries. When he stepped outside the door to join his father, the sun blasted him with the heat of its overwhelming rays. An ill sensation washed over him and settled in his stomach. 

Same as the day before.

He ground his teeth and started forward along the path that cut through the small, empty courtyard down the center toward an open gate. In his arms was a heavy, strapless satchel filled with ledgers his father had told him to carry with him.

Fatigue burdened him; it weighed heavily on his brow and shoulders. It wasn’t physical labor that tired him. His father was a bookkeeper for Ward Governor Ellar. Aithen might fill his position one day if he found favor with Ellar. No, it wasn’t the physical labor. It was the labor of living in the Desolation.

Beyond the courtyard, Aithen stepped onto Ward Governor Ellar’s land. Technically, everything within the walls was the Ward Governor’s land—even their home. He followed a long, beaten path to the main gate guarded by Stelzan, Ellar’s new gate guard. The Ward Governor had dismissed the old guard, Hadran, only weeks ago. Hadran was an older man, perhaps in his sixties. Aithen was sorry to see him go, and according to his parents, the old man had lost his usefulness for the Ward Governor.

Stelzan may have been the exact opposite of Hadran in every way. And he never changed.

Aithen never had conversations with Stelzan. The man didn’t seem to want to talk to anyone at all. He sat in the guardhouse all day: a small room cut into the stone wall next to the gate. As far as Aithen was aware, he never entertained himself, though he ate and drank the Ward Governor’s food and water and seemed content, if not bored.

When Aithen approached the guardhouse, Stelzan was standing at a window. He cast a quick, uninterested glance at Aithen and then returned inside. And that was something else: Hadran had opened the gate door for Aithen every day while Stelzan had never offered such kindness. Aithen had to open and close the gate himself without complaint. It took him longer to arrive at his destination, which he saw as a blessing rather than a curse. He didn’t mind an extra few minutes of twisting the lock open and then twisting it closed again on the other side. It was a change from his routine, however small.

His father had told him to meet him at Town Hall instead of the Ward Governor’s house, and his only instructions were to carry a book of ledgers. Aithen knew from his father’s lessons that these ledgers contained Ellar’s accounts with the council members. The Ward Governor was one of the wealthiest waterholders in Grenstike. Water cost much out in the desert. Sometimes too much—and sometimes, the council took it for granted. Of the water he gave out to the town’s citizens, Ellar expected to be paid in return with harvests. Sometimes, the citizens didn’t deliver what they owed—including the council.

From the gate, Aithen followed the path across a field that the Ward Governor technically owned as well, though not officially. No one could build houses there since it was too close to the gate and the Desolation. Aithen reached Grenstike’s main road from that path and stepped onto the well-trodden dirt. By this point, the sun had already begun sapping his energy. He now wanted nothing more than to return home and cool off in the cool darkness of his room. Somehow, he forced himself to press on.

The Town Hall had been erected in the center of the western district where the wealthiest council members lived. It wasn’t much different from the huts that everyone lived in: square and made of baked clay, except theirs were higher and broader than all the rest. Several of the injured or lame settled along the road and begged for food and water. Some of them had lost limbs. Often, they would reach out to him with tears streaming down their cheeks. He hated seeing people cry and did his best to stay away from them.

One man without feet crawled toward him on his knees, crying and begging for water. Aithen sped up and escaped the man’s grasp just in time. He wasn’t sure why they disturbed him, and most everyone in the town ignored the beggars. Only Ward Governors, servants, or master servants would deign to offer anything to the poor wretches. Without them, the beggars would disappear, and just as well.

As he approached the Hall, Aithen found a small crowd of perhaps ten others standing outside the front of the building. Waiting to enter and have their say to the council. Aithen pushed past them and swiped the heavy drape in the doorway aside.

It was hotter inside than outside. Aithen stopped just inside the door, already in the main room where the council held their hearings. Ahead of him, Aithen saw his father standing with his back to him, addressing a council of fifteen men and women. They were all pillars of the community, widely influential, and recognizable. They enthroned next to each other at a long table—one of the few wooden tables in the town of Grenstike.

When one of them took notice of Aithen, they all did. His father faced about and gave Aithen a distant smile. “Ah, you’re right on time.” His father set his arm around his shoulders. “Esteemed members of the council. You all know my son, Aithen. He has helped me with a comprehensive review of the council’s transactions with Ward Governor Ellar. He’s here to report his findings.”

So that’s why he wanted me here.

He knew the records as well as he knew everything he’d written over the years. He knew the council hadn't given Ellar his due for the water he’d loaned them, and he knew what Ellar intended to do because of it.

Aithen opened his mouth to speak, but Saral, one of the elder women at the center of the table stood, cutting him off. “There’s no need for that, Avenell. You’ve made your point. However, we don’t have what Ward Governor Ellar demands. It has been a wretched harvest this year. We are short forty bushels of barley, fifty of oat, and fifty-five of corn. The people are starving as it is.” She hesitated, as if deciding whether to continue speaking. Her tone changed as if she’d lost a game. “It’s likely we will lose our subsidy from Milicho within the year.”

Aithen blinked. Lose the subsidy? This was the first he’d heard of it, and his father didn’t seem shocked at all.

“Well, Saral, I'm sorry to hear this,” he said. “I can ask his Ward Governor to extend the date, but I cannot guarantee that he'll agree.”

“I pray you try your best, Avenell,” Saral said, crossing her arms. “For all our sakes.”

* * *

Avenell squeezed Aithen’s shoulder as they left the Town Hall. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “Sorry they didn’t let you speak.”

Aithen rubbed his chin. “You knew? You knew they wouldn’t let me give the report?”

Avenell didn’t meet his eyes. “I had a feeling,” he said. “But now we know about the subsidy. Word will get out, and the Word Governor will need to know if he doesn’t already.”

“What does that mean? What will happen to us?”

His father glanced around. “Let’s not speak too loud of this,” he said in a half-whisper, leaning in. “It means that Grenstike could cease to exist. The Authority will force the townsfolk to move elsewhere. Losing a subsidy means losing the support of Milicho.”

A thrill surged through Aithen just then. He watched his father pull at his graying beard as they walked and thought of the implications. 

What it really meant was they could leave Grenstike! They could go wherever the Ward Governor goes. If all went well, Ellar would return to Brucove. They could leave the Desolation!

Avenell stared at nothing. “Don’t you worry about it, though,” he said. “I may have an idea to save the town.”

“What do you mean?” Aithen said, trying not to betray his disappointment.

“I need to speak with the Ward Governor first,” Avenell said. “If it’s viable, I’ll let you know it.”

Aithen remained quiet on their way to the Ward Governor’s manor house. It may be what he’d been waiting for: something to happen in this town. Inwardly, he wished his father’s plan didn't pan out.

When they arrived at the manor house, Ellar’s master-servant, Gadan, and his wife, Ruia, welcomed them at the door. They didn’t question why they were late or where they'd been. Gadan had become friends with Avenell over the years. Aithen liked them too but didn’t speak to them much.

They entered and took an immediate left down a hallway toward the records room. Inside, they found Simm, Ellar’s other bookkeeper, and his daughter, Tenuta. They’d already seated themselves at their desks, entrenched in writing on expensive parchment paper with ink and pen. They glanced up only briefly and returned to their work—Aithen surmised they were writing up more water transactions or touching up old waterdebt contracts.

“Avenell—Aithen,” Simm muttered with a curt nod. He kept his attention intently on the paper he wrote on.

“Good morning,” Avenell said with a smile.

“Hi, Aithen,” Tenuta said, casting him a bright smile.

Aithen gave her a polite smile in return. “Hello, Tenuta.”

She was a plain girl, younger than him by only a month, and a golden-haired southerner like himself. She'd taken a liking to him early on. Aithen liked her differently. She was kind, considerate, and set on remaining in Grenstike. They were both eighteen years old, and many thought he should already have married her and had children. Aithen didn’t see it that way.

His father glanced at him. “Let’s start a report for his Ward Governor. It should summarize all the reviewing you did into the council’s debts and obligations as they stand.”

Aithen reclined in his chair. “All right.”

“I’m going to speak with his Ward Governor. Join me when you’re finished, and I’ll find something else for you to do.”

Aithen took his seat at his desk as his father left the room. His arms felt heavy, and he didn't look forward to writing this report. He drew a deep breath, opened the drawer in his desk, and took out a parchment paper, pen, and ink—extra careful not to spill any.

Before he began, he stared at the paper and let his sight lose focus. He allowed his gaze to wander around the room, taking in the dusty shelves filled with ledgers, books, reports, and all kinds of records—all covered in dust and time.

Then he glanced to the side and saw Simm and Tenuta working quietly and diligently on whatever it was they were working. They really enjoy this work. They find pleasure in it, somehow. Aithen wasn’t sure he could ever find satisfaction in what his father did.

Refocusing his attention on the parchment, he dismissed his thoughts and went to work. He recalled all the information he could about the council’s debts to Ellar. Holding his elbow to steady his hand, he drafted up ten pages filled with figures, dates, account holder names, how many barrels of water were lent out, and to whom.

He only referred to the ledgers twice, hunting for names and their spelling. When he finished, the better part of the hour had passed. He pored over his work for mistakes—there were none—and stood up to leave.

“Oh! Aithen!” Tenuta blurted. “Do you…could I speak with you after you’re finished with today? Privately?”

Aithen blinked at her. “Sure.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you around back?” Her giddy smile split from ear to ear.

“Sure.”

Aithen left with a wooden smile on his face. He wondered why she wanted to speak to him. Then, all at once, he didn’t want to know. He pushed the meeting out of his mind and would revisit it later.

In the foyer, a narrow staircase led up to the upper floor of the manor, where the Ward Governor spent his days. Few could approach the Ward Governor unannounced. He made a right at the top of the stairs and came to a large, ornate wooden door. It was partly open, and he knocked on it.

“Who is it?” said an irate voice.

Aithen poked his head in. The anger dissipated off the Ward Governor’s wrinkled face when their eyes met. 

“Oh,” he said. “It’s you.”

Ward Governor Ellar Kianan towered over Avenell, wearing robes of loose white cloth and a sash around his middle. The room was mostly bare except for the minimum requirements: a bed, chifforobe, chest of drawers, and desk by the window on the opposite wall. The open windows allowed a sultry breeze to circulate the air in the room.

Ellar held a glass of glowing water.

Aithen had to blink several times to make sure he hadn’t hallucinated. No, he’d been right. Ellar’s glass had a faint golden glow to it.

The Ward Governor downed the glowing water in several gulps and slammed it down on his desk. He lurched to the window, rubbing his eyes. Avenell motioned him in with a wave of his hand, and he handed his father the ten-page report he’d just drafted.

“Aithen has written up a report for you,” he said. “So that you’ll see what the council owes you.”

Ellar rubbed at his temples. “Oh, gods,” he muttered. “Not now, Avenell. I don’t want to read it—my head is…it’s bad enough we’re losing the subsidy.”

Aithen glanced at Ellar’s desk. Next to his empty glass was a closed jar that contained wriggling insects, along with several plant leaves. Both the insects and the leaves carried the faint golden glow that illuminated the surrounding area.

He gaped at them. Of course, he knew of the common ildan—a name given to both plant and insect—but had never seen the worm before. Westerners used their merna-infused leaves to make tea and used the insect’s silk to weave robes that only the Wardens wore—robes that made them shine like the sun.

“But, Ward Governor,” Avenell was saying. “The plan I proposed to…”

“Yes, I heard you the first time,” Ellar snapped, dropping his hands. “I don’t know what good it’ll do. Whereabouts do you plan to dig?”

A sudden and worrying realization snapped Aithen’s attention away from the ildan worm. It finally occurred to him what his father’s plan had been all along: he wanted to dig for more water to save the town. If they could find an underground spring and create another well or two, they might save Grenstike. But there was no likelihood of finding water out in the Desolation. Hope filled Aithen’s chest. Grenstike was doomed.

“Leave that to me, Ward Governor,” Avenell said, sounding confident. “Let me organize a group of men with spades. We have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

Ellar scoffed. “You don’t even know how far down you’ll have to dig,” he said. “There could be no water for several kilometers underground.”

This time Avenell didn’t offer a rebuttal, and Aithen wondered if his father’s plan would die before it was born.

Ellar reeled away. “Oh, gods, Avenell,” he said. “Very well. Let it not interfere with your other work. And the men must be volunteers. I won’t pay anyone. I assume you want to dig on my land?”

“Yes,” Avenell said. “I’ll take all responsibility and start tonight. I’ll report back if we find anything.”

Ellar waved his hand and didn’t respond after that. Both Aithen and his father gave the Ward Governor a bow, even though he didn’t face them. Aithen cast one more glance at the glowing insect before following his father out of the Ward Governor’s quarters.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Avenell stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “We have a blessed life here,” he said. “We’re protected and have everything we need. We must fight for this town, Aithen. Are you with me?”

Aithen suddenly realized in shame what he’d been hoping. He hadn’t thought it through. The people’s lives were built into this dirt—hundreds of them—and he would have it all blown away. And there was something else he hadn’t thought of: what if they didn’t get sent back to Brucove? What if the Authority sent them to another town in the Desolation, one more hostile than Grenstike? Suddenly, leaving this town didn’t sound so appealing.

And yet if they had a chance—any at all—to return to Brucove….

He smiled in spite of himself. “Yes, I’ll help.”

Avenell grinned. “Good,” he said. “Now, let’s talk to Simm and get his help.” He leaned in to whisper. “There’s no need to mention the subsidy yet. This is a project that the Ward Governor has approved.”

He followed his father back down the hallway and to the main floor. He pondered his decision to help would make him feel better. Fighting to protect Grenstike sounded like a noble cause. 

Then why did he still feel ill?

* * *

When the day ended, Aithen finished rewriting old waterdebt contracts onto fresh parchment. He cleaned his desk and readied to leave. Simm remained behind and said he would lock up when he finished updating an old ledger. So Aithen closed the door behind him as he left.

Exhausted, Aithen headed for the rear door to Ellar’s manor house. He hadn’t forgotten Tenuta. She was the first thing he saw when he opened the door, standing only feet away from the entry. Her hands were behind her back, and she beamed at him. He managed a smile in return.

“Aithen,” she said. “Thank you for coming.”

“Is everything okay?” he asked, glancing around.

“Yes, everything’s fine—of course,” she said. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Aithen shifted his weight from one foot to another. “What is it?”

“You know…we’ve known each other for a long time,” she said. “I was born here…you were brought here as a child…”

All at once, he knew what she would say—that they should marry, that they’d be an ideal match—that they’ve laughed together, and he’d spent more time with her than any other girl. They had even kissed once after she’d told him she felt safe when he was around, that she would never want to leave Grenstike or her family. He knew that his eventual position as master bookkeeper would be assured for the rest of his life if they married. He would remain a bookkeeper for House Kianen’s next generation.

If Grenstike’s subsidy isn’t dissolved…

Even then, they would marry. Perhaps Aithen could convince her to leave.

The poor girl struggled with her words, standing before him with her white-knuckled hands wringing some invisible cloth. Her face burned with embarrassment, and something came over Aithen then as he watched Tenuta squirm.

She spoke again, but Aithen cut her off. “You’re right,” he said, shaking his head in wonder. “You’re right. About everything—and I’m sorry, Tenuta. I’m sorry, I can’t go through with it. Not until I understand what I need to do.”

She stared at him with wide eyes. “What do you mean?”

The chance was his to do something different, and he knew it. He couldn’t do that to Tenuta. She deserved someone to love her and stay in Grenstike for the rest of their days.

“Tenuta,” he said. “I can’t be your husband now. Maybe ever. I’m sorry.”

With that, he reentered the manor, feeling more drained than usual. As he made his way back home, he grew more aware that the sick, almost out-of-place feeling within him had only increased since he left Tenuta standing alone, humiliated.

Rejecting her hadn’t made him feel any better about Grenstike.